Chapter 492: The Church Is the Real King of Wealth
Previously, Archbishop Beaumont had promised the Prince that the church would support his efforts to reform the bureaucracy. For the past few months, he had been dedicated to this task, frequently and publicly condemning the corrupt officials currently on trial.
At Beaumont's request, churches around the country would occasionally parade the image of Gehazi through towns, giving speeches about him—Gehazi, from the Bible, was punished by God with severe leprosy for his greed, his body turning pale and disfigured. The image was highly visually striking.
However, as the situation gradually settled, the church had stopped focusing on these matters. So, Beaumont bringing it up again now was simply his way of trying to impress Joseph.
Fouché, who had just accepted a glass of wine from a priest, glanced disdainfully at the archbishop, who was talking non-stop. He sneered under his breath, "He talks about those officials, but he's more corrupt than any of them."
Joseph turned his head curiously and asked, "What do you mean?"
Realizing he might have spoken out of turn, Fouché hesitated but, under the Prince's gaze, finally whispered, "Your Highness, many within the church know that Archbishop Beaumont has amassed a fortune of three to four million francs. The way he got that money..."
Since Fouché himself had once been a clergyman, he was privy to a lot of insider information.
Hearing this, Joseph let out a deep breath and frowned, nodding in understanding.
He knew that, as a member of the First Estate, it was almost impossible for someone not to be corrupt. Especially since France had long limited the church's influence over secular matters, their main focus now was hoarding wealth.
Still, for now, Joseph had no choice but to cooperate with the church. After all, compared to the nobility, the church was more dependent on the crown and therefore easier to control.
To carry out his nationwide reforms, Joseph needed to align with whatever powers he could use, dividing the clergy and nobility to weaken their cooperation.
Once the major reforms were complete, reforming the church would surely be next on the agenda.
For one thing, the church owned about 10% of all the land in France—something that couldn't just be ignored.
Historically, after the success of the French Revolution, the National Assembly had seized church lands and used them as collateral to issue paper money called assignats, helping to get through the early financial crisis.
Moreover, the church was still collecting the tithe, which, though not the full 10%, amounted to about 7%—still a heavy burden on the nation's economic development.
As the congregation finished receiving communion and Beaumont wrapped up his tirade against corrupt officials, he gave a subtle signal to a nearby priest.
The priest quickly brought out a piece of paper, elaborately decorated and covered with tiny, tightly packed writing, holding it up for everyone to see.
With a cheerful smile, Beaumont announced, "This is the 'Protection Bond,' which the church, following divine inspiration, has introduced. By purchasing this bond, you receive a blessing that will protect you from the harm caused by greedy individuals."
Joseph's eyes widened in shock—The church really knows how to take advantage of anything! They had turned this whole situation into a way to sell bonds!
Still, he could only watch in silence.
After all, he had promised the church that in exchange for their cooperation, he would allow them to sell a modified version of indulgences to raise funds.
Clearly, over the past year, the church had found plenty of ways to make money from various bonds.
Joseph clicked his tongue in thought, growing even more eager about the eventual day when he could reform the church.
Ajaccio, the capital of Corsica.
Inside a second-floor room at the home of Councilman Giralomo, fellow councilman Bartorio spread several sheets of paper across the table, then addressed the others in the room.
"These were sent by Mr. Ennio from Charleston. He went to the United States on my behalf four months ago."
One of the Corsican council members picked up the top sheet, puzzled, and began reading aloud:
"In the past 30 years, there have only been three women named Mrs. Massimo in the town of Nabos near Charleston. Two of them are still alive, and the other passed away earlier this year. The deceased Mrs. Massimo never mentioned having any relatives in Corsica, and she died in poverty, leaving behind less than 30 dollars in assets.
"However, a man with an Italian accent was seen speaking with her nephew, her only living relative, after her death. Soon after, her nephew started claiming that she had once lived in Corsica."
"So..." one councilman began.
Bartorio slammed his hand on the table in anger, "So Mrs. Paoli never had an American aunt! And even if she did, that aunt would have left her at most 30 dollars, not 10,000!"
"Now, take a look at this," Bartorio continued, pulling out two more documents from the pile and passing them to the councilman next to him.
Since the man couldn't read English, he handed them back to Bartorio, who jabbed his finger at the papers, almost tearing them.
"These are official documents from Charleston City Hall. One shows a villa on the west side of Charleston, the other a large cotton plantation in the southern suburbs. Both are registered under Mrs. Paoli's name."
"Didn't you just say Mrs. Paoli didn't inherit anything?" Giralomo, playing dumb, acted confused.
"This isn't an inheritance! Look at the purchase date on the documents," Bartorio gritted his teeth. "It's from late April, meaning Mrs. Paoli recently bought these properties!"
Giralaro pointed at the prices listed on the documents, exclaiming, "The house and land together are worth 100,000 dollars! Where did she get that kind of money?"
The faces of the seven councilmen in the room immediately darkened.
Oscar Paoli had always portrayed himself as solely focused on Corsican independence, claiming to have no personal fortune. He even lived in a house in London gifted to him by supporters. Yet suddenly, he had access to 100,000 dollars.
None of them needed any further explanation—they all immediately connected it to the 25,000 British pounds of funding that had mysteriously been lost in a fire a few months ago. That sum, equal to 120,000 dollars, matched exactly with the value of the properties Paoli had purchased in America, plus the 10,000 dollars supposedly inherited by his wife in the Netherlands.
"I think it's clear what happened," Bartorio said coldly. "Paoli betrayed us."
Someone in the room asked, "But why would he do that?"
"He has a reason," replied a thin, dark-haired man who had been silent until now. "In fact, we received intelligence earlier this year that the British were negotiating with the French. There's a chance they'll stop providing Paoli with protection."
This man, who oversaw intelligence for the Corsican independence movement, took a deep breath and continued, "I reported this to Paoli at the time, but he said he wasn't afraid of the French and told me not to worry."
Giralaro immediately jumped in, "It seems Paoli was already planning to leave Britain at that time."
His intention was to be the one to reveal that the British were no longer protecting Paoli, but someone had beaten him to it.
The dark-haired man pondered aloud, "No, it's not just about leaving Britain. I think he may have made a deal with the French."
(End of Chapter)
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