Chapter 575: Genius and Beetroot
When the revolution broke out in Saint-Domingue, France was under the rule of the Jacobin government.
The revolution resulted in France losing enormous sugar revenues, causing the already dire financial situation of the Jacobin government to collapse entirely and eventually leading to their downfall.
A glimmer of joy flashed in the Duke of Leeds' eyes as he cautiously remarked, "To enable the black slaves in Saint-Domingue to challenge the French effectively, we would need a substantial amount of funding."
"You don't need to worry about that," Lord Grenville replied immediately. "I've already requested £200,000 from Parliament to alter the situation there.
"Additionally, you can allocate part of the savings from the reduced support for Native Americans in North America."
"Excellent... I mean, that would make our mission much more certain."
Grenville added, "When you arrive in Saint-Domingue, you should get in touch with a man named Vincent Ogé. Our intelligence department has already established contact with him.
"He's currently a leading figure in the abolitionist movement in Saint-Domingue and enjoys great respect, particularly among the black slaves, who regard him almost as a savior.
"If you can win his trust, the plan will proceed smoothly."
The Duke of Leeds remained silent for a moment before a cold smile appeared on his face. "Your approach is indeed sound. However, we might take a more aggressive route—for example, arranging for Ogé to be assassinated, with the murderer conveniently being a Frenchman."
"That's an excellent idea!" Grenville praised immediately. "Your rich political experience is always worth learning from."
The two continued discussing their North American strategies until the carriage began to slow.
Grenville peeked out of the window and saw officials from Vienna arriving to greet him. He exhaled, leaned back into his seat, and said to the Duke, "Another round of time-wasting formalities.
"By the way, we've talked about so much and yet haven't addressed the most critical issue. How is your progress in persuading Prussia and Austria to cease hostilities?"
"There has been some progress," the Duke replied confidently. "Baron Walter's faction is doing everything they can to make it happen. The biggest obstacle right now is State Chancellor Kaunitz and the pro-French faction under his influence.
"We've drafted plans to remove him from Vienna's political center."
The carriage came to a stop, and Grenville sighed. "It seems we'll have to discuss the rest this evening."
Paris
Bright sunlight filtered through the leaves along the Champs-Élysées, casting dappled shadows on the ground. Two men in their 30s strolled down the avenue, stepping on the shifting patterns of light.
"This is so exhilarating!" exclaimed the taller man with a prominent nose, waving his hands enthusiastically as he spoke in German. "It's every scholar's ultimate dream. That podium is the closest place to heaven!
"If I could stand there one day, I wouldn't care if I died the next!"
He twirled in place, his face aglow. "Ah, Paris—the land of dreams. Praise the great King! Praise his Supreme Prize!"
As he spoke, his mind replayed the scenes from the Supreme Louis Prize award ceremony he had just attended.
In the gilded grandeur of the Tuileries Palace, the awardees were surrounded by esteemed nobles and a sea of journalists, as if they were stars in the night sky.
The host recounted their academic contributions repeatedly, drawing waves of applause from the crowd.
What left the deepest impression on him, though, was the solid gold trophy and the crisp 50,000 francs in fresh banknotes!
It was even said that the King would confer titles of nobility upon the winners—if they were willing to accept.
By tomorrow, their names would dominate newspapers across Europe, and everyone would discuss their achievements.
Such was the glory bestowed by the Supreme Louis Prize!
The shorter, slightly chubby man beside him, his hair disheveled, appeared less enthusiastic. "August, I hate to dampen your excitement, but the reality is that neither your mushrooms nor my beetroot research will ever make it onto the Prize Committee's shortlist."
"Franz, you need to have faith!" August clapped him on the shoulder with enthusiasm. "In this magical city of Paris, anything is possible!
"And aren't we standing here right now?"
Franz lowered his head even further. "Oh, Paris—you've already received its blessing. Yes, you've been invited by the Talent Committee. Next week, you'll move into that luxurious mansion with your own butler and maids."
The "Talent Committee" was the official name of Joseph's talent recruitment program.
Although August had only been rated as a low-tier "E-grade" talent, he was still entitled to a villa in the Scholar's Palace, an annual stipend of several thousand francs, and two beautiful Italian maids.
If his research yielded significant results, such as extracting something useful from his mushrooms, he could be promoted to "D-grade." This would increase his stipend to 7,000 francs annually—and earn him French maids!
But none of that mattered to Franz anymore.
August, oblivious to his companion's dejection, clapped his shoulder again. "You'll get invited too. You're the most talented person I know!"
"Actually," Franz stopped walking and spoke despondently, "yesterday, the committee sent me a 'Pending Review' notice."
"Pending Review" was a polite way of saying his application had been rejected.
The Talent Recruitment Program offered extraordinary benefits to foreign scholars, so it couldn't accept everyone. The selection criteria were exceptionally high.
"Ah," August scratched his head awkwardly. "Next year—you can reapply next year. You'll definitely..."
"No," Franz interrupted, "I've decided to return to Bavaria. I'm leaving the day after tomorrow."
"Don't give up!" August pleaded. "And what about Miss Marianne? You can't just leave her behind."
"There's no future for us," Franz muttered, lowering his head further. "Yesterday, her brother came to see me—with two burly, intimidating servants. He said Marianne is to marry a paper merchant and warned me to stay away from her.
"Yes, I'm just a poor professor from Bavaria. I'm not worthy of her."
Marianne was a young woman Franz had met in Paris. The two had fallen in love at first sight, but her wealthy family disapproved of the penniless German scholar.
"Ah… perhaps you'd like a drink?" August suggested.
Tuileries Palace, Second Floor
Joseph savored a rare moment of leisure after lunch, sipping tea in one hand and flipping through the Talent Recruitment Program's midyear list in the other.
The list wasn't long; top-tier talent was always scarce.
He then turned to the list of rejected applicants, arranged by their evaluation scores in descending order.
Second on the list was a biologist named Franz Achard. His evaluation scores were high across the board, but his application had been rejected for a single reason—his research field was deemed too obscure and insignificant.
Joseph's eyes narrowed as he skimmed Achard's work: improving beetroot varieties, cultivating them, and developing methods to extract sugar crystals from beetroot.
Joseph stood up immediately. This man was the pioneer of the sugar beet industry, who had transformed sugarless Germany into Europe's third-largest sugar exporter!
And such a talent had been screened out?
The Talent Committee's members would have their salaries docked for the month!
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