Chapter 491: The Grand Mass
Queen Marie pondered for a moment and said, "The Prince is highly capable and blessed by God. I believe it's time to give him a larger stage."
Briand carefully observed the Queen's expression, sensing her seriousness. He cautiously replied, "I understand Your Majesty's intention to give the Prince more experience. Perhaps he could begin by chairing a few cabinet meetings, with you guiding him. That way, there shouldn't be any issues."
Hearing this, Queen Marie finally made up her mind. "Since you think so too, let the Prince chair the next cabinet meeting."
As soon as she said it, she felt a wave of relief wash over her, like the moment after returning from an all-night ball, when she could finally take off her tight corset and stiff shoes.
Briand, too, felt a weight lift off his shoulders and quickly bowed. "As you wish, Your Majesty."
Once he left, and the grand golden doors of the meeting hall closed with a loud "bang," Queen Marie stretched her arms and relaxed, her mind drifting to thoughts of cakes, jewelry, and beautiful dresses.
"Tell Séchillien to make me a peppermint cocoa cake," she smiled, instructing her maid, Déborah. Then, she whispered to herself, "My Joseph will handle everything perfectly."
June 3, 1790
The grand hall of Notre Dame was packed, with thousands more gathered outside the cathedral, gazing reverently at the giant, barely visible figure of Christ inside.
At the front of the hall, a deacon in a white robe stood facing the congregation, bowing with an open Bible held above his head. In front of him, Archbishop Beaumont solemnly recited the scriptures with a sacred and serious expression.
It was a large mass for the Feast of Corpus Christi.
Sitting at the very front, Joseph, the Prince, barely paid attention to the Latin being muttered by the archbishop—after all, he was perhaps the worst Latin speaker among French princes in the last century. He couldn't understand Latin texts, let alone keep up with the spoken language.
He subtly turned his head and whispered to Fouché, who was seated just behind him, "Has it been confirmed?"
"Yes, Your Highness," Fouché, the head of the intelligence bureau, leaned forward and lowered his voice. "The information came from Charles de Bernis, passed through one of the officers guarding him. He and six others have already confessed."
Joseph narrowed his eyes slightly.
Bernis had clearly been unhappy with his punishment of exile and deliberately leaked the information about being pressured to expose other officials. He likely hoped to stir up resentment among the bureaucrats, forcing the high court and the royal family to back down.
Fortunately, Joseph had strengthened his influence by holding police reviews across various regions, and the church had also helped sway public opinion. The bureaucrats hadn't bought into Bernis' "rumors." Had this happened a year earlier, the entire bureaucracy could have been in turmoil.
Angered by Bernis' actions, Joseph instructed Fouché, "Conduct a thorough investigation of all officials involved in this corruption case. As for Bernis, change his place of exile to New Zealand. Oh, and send that prison guard friend of his along to keep him company."
Originally, Joseph had made a deal with Bernis and others—if they exposed corrupt officials in court, they'd be exiled to a relatively decent place like Lille and allowed to keep a small portion of their wealth. But since Bernis was trying to stir up trouble, he could go herd sheep on a distant Pacific island instead.
"Understood, Your Highness," Fouché replied, then hesitated. "But Your Highness, I believe Bernis' rumor has already spread among the officials. Though they may not say it openly, there is likely some discontent brewing."
A gleam of excitement flashed in his eyes as he suggested, "Perhaps we should arrest everyone who has spread this rumor to put a stop to it…"
Joseph shot him a sidelong glance, thinking, You just want to boost your achievements, don't you? Shaking his head, he said, "That would only escalate the situation. I have plans in place for this. There's no need to worry."
Having made significant progress with his administrative reforms, Joseph realized that the bureaucratic class had now mostly accepted the changes. It was time to ease the pressure—"a slap followed by a reward" was always the best management strategy.
As part of his next steps, Joseph planned to announce the admission of some commoners into the Royal Administrative University, while drastically reducing the fees for official positions and increasing civil servant salaries.
Yes, he intended to raise the income of officials because, at the moment, the legal salaries of French civil servants were pitifully low.
This stemmed from how successive French kings had always treated the bureaucracy like a business. If it was a business, it had to generate profit. As a result, prices for government positions were sky-high—any post with even a bit of power cost thousands of francs, with city-level positions starting at 30,000 francs.
Meanwhile, civil servants were paid very little. A typical government worker earned about 50 francs, and even a deputy mayor only made around 90 francs. And on top of that, they had to pay an annual "office tax"!
This absurd tax, established by the Paulette Decree under Henry IV, required officials who had purchased their positions to pay one-seventieth of the purchase price each year to retain their office. Otherwise, they were immediately dismissed.
For example, a regular civil servant, after paying the office tax, might be left with less than 40 francs. A deputy mayor, after taxes, would have just 60 francs.
Under this system, since King Louis XVI's reign began, the sale of offices and the collection of office taxes had brought in more than 40 million livres annually for the treasury.
This situation forced most French civil servants to find "alternative sources" of income—ranging from accepting gifts to outright embezzlement. Corruption had become the norm in French governance.
To ensure integrity, Joseph believed that officials needed to be paid enough to maintain a respectable lifestyle.
The first part of his reform was about breaking the nobility's monopoly over the bureaucracy and selecting capable individuals for leadership positions. The second part would involve improving the pay of officials and phasing out the corrupt practice of selling offices.
Of course, given France's current financial state, the sale of offices couldn't be completely abolished right away. However, according to his plan, by next year, at least half of the positions up for sale would be eliminated.
At the front of the cathedral, Archbishop Beaumont finally finished the long recitation of scripture, and the priests, led by the deacons, began distributing communion to the faithful.
Seizing the pause, Beaumont glanced at the Prince, who had been quietly conversing with the head of the intelligence bureau throughout the mass. Unbothered, the archbishop cleared his throat and, switching to French, loudly proclaimed:
"The Lord said, 'The love of money is the root of all evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.'
"Behold, those greedy officials—though they face punishment in this world, they shall also face judgment from the Lord."
(End of Chapter)
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