The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 85

Chapter 85: Skills Originating from Genes

Paris, Saint-Germain District.

In a luxurious villa on the east side of Saint-Germain Avenue, a salon is being held.

The villa's owner, Madame Valéville, listens to the guests' philosophical remarks, occasionally clapping her hands in delight.

Servants bring trays of snacks and fruit, placing them before each guest, or refill empty wine glasses with expensive wine.

After several young people make lively speeches, a middle-aged man with disheveled hair stands up. Before he speaks, the guests burst into applause:

"Mr. Marat, we are all waiting for your insight!"

"Here comes the highlight of the day."

"Mr. Marat, your report was magnificent; I’ve read it several times!"

"Everyone, quiet down, let Mr. Marat speak..."

Marat smiles, placing his hand on his chest to acknowledge the guests, then raises his right hand and speaks loudly:

"Today, I wish to talk about the most decayed and darkest place in Paris— the High Court!

"You must have heard, just two days ago, they actually sent publishing police to harass the Paris Commerce Journal and even tried to seize the press!

"These madmen, these filthy maggots! They use their power of censorship to prevent many revealing articles from being published in the Paris Commerce Journal, they are the enemies of freedom!

"Those sanctimonious judges, they think newspapers and publications are toys they can manipulate at will, as if they can control the thoughts of the people..."

His speech was harsh and sharp, with an intense, compelling tone that stirred the emotions of the crowd. In terms of inciting emotion, his ability was truly powerful.

The dozens of people seated around him occasionally voiced their approval, applauding vigorously.

These people were all influential journalists in Paris, and Marat was the most authoritative figure in this circle.

After Marat set the tone with an impassioned speech, the entire salon focused on attacking the High Court. Madame Valéville, with a look of deep admiration, urged several scribes to make sure they recorded every word of his speech.

Marat raised the wine in front of him, gave a thumbs-up to the journalist who was speaking, then turned to speak in a low voice to the young journalist seated to his right, whose hair stood on end and whose gaze was sharp:

"Viscount Demoulin, my old friend, it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, hasn’t it?"

Demoulin respectfully nodded:

"Y-Yes, it has been over half a year... I’ve been meaning to visit you, but... I didn’t want to disturb you..."

Marat smiled:

"As you know, I welcome you anytime. By the way, I remember you once worked as a judge at the High Court, correct?"

Demoulin’s face flushed slightly, and he said indignantly:

"Yes, that’s true. As you said, it’s a filthy place, and I really couldn’t tolerate it, so I resigned and became a journalist. My father scolds me every time we meet because of it."

Marat’s voice lowered further:

"Then you must know quite a bit about those corrupt judges, right?"

Demoulin responded:

"I... I know a lot. I even have some... evidence."

Marat’s eyes lit up immediately, and he said sternly:

"We must, like warriors, bravely expose their crimes to the people!"

Demoulin nodded seriously:

"I’ll follow your lead! By the way, I also know a few friends who worked in the court, they must want to do something as well!"

...

Just one day later, numerous manuscripts from Demoulin’s apartment were sent to newspapers across Paris.

Unlike previous articles analyzing the pros and cons of the court system or criticizing the court's interference with freedom of the press, this batch of manuscripts contained real-life cases.

Cases of corruption and bribery among High Court judges, leading to countless tragedies.

The case details were not only clear but also highly inflammatory, written in a style that was unmistakably Marat’s.

Such content would never be printed in the newspapers, but a team preparing pamphlets seized the opportunity and began typesetting and printing overnight.

Naturally, some bolder newspapers, such as the small Paris Morning News, directly published these cases without passing the censors.

The following morning, thousands of pamphlets, detailing the misdeeds of High Court judges, began circulating throughout Paris.

Real-life cases resonated far more with readers than theoretical or policy analyses, especially the tragic fates of the victims in these cases, which ignited the fury of countless Parisian citizens.

The protest skills embedded in the French people's genes were instantly activated. Before long, under the leadership of some journalists, hundreds and even thousands of citizens spontaneously gathered outside the High Court, shouting curses and protests. The bravest among them threw dirt and dung into the court's surrounding walls.

A few hours later, the citizens realized that the police were only patrolling the outskirts of the High Court and weren’t intervening with the protesting crowds. As a result, more people joined in, and the numbers swelled.

Women formed "support teams," distributing bread and water to the protesters, which led to the involvement of homeless people.

Street speeches became more frequent, and speakers could even receive prepared scripts—written by Marat, filled with provocative rhetoric—prompting the crowd to shout and cheer.

At the corner of Sabote Street, a man dressed in a dark gray long coat looked conflicted as he shook his head and spoke to the fat man beside him.

The passionate voices of the speeches nearby caught their attention. "…Those so-called judges of justice and morality are nothing but silver coins! Miss Angéle’s inheritance was shamelessly handed over to that scoundrel, and she was driven out into the cold, snowy night..."

They glanced at the nearby policemen chatting and curiously squeezed into the crowd around the speaker.

The speech continued, "And yet, according to that twisted judgment, she still owes that scoundrel a large sum of money! Do you know what happened to her? She died from overwork at the laundry in the academy when she was only twenty-three, her body covered in frostbite..."

The man in the gray coat felt a surge of anger in his chest. He squeezed the script in his pocket and said to the fat man:

"I’ve decided. I’m going to rehearse this play when I get back!"

The fat man also looked outraged and nodded vigorously:

"So, will it be performed at the French Comedy Theatre next Wednesday?"

"No!" the man in the gray coat replied. "A free street performance, to let more people see it. I’ll cover the costs!"

He was the leader of a theater troupe that had previously collaborated with the Paris Commerce Journal for the performance of Breaking the Sky.

After discussing the adaptation of the next novel with the newspaper, Denico had given him a script about an Ottoman judge accepting bribes, which was, in fact, a thinly veiled critique of the High Court of Paris.

Initially, he hadn’t wanted to take the play, fearing trouble with the censors, but after hearing the speech, he decided to become a warrior!

Moreover, starring in this play would guarantee him a year-long contract with the Paris Commerce Journal for novel adaptations into theater.

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