Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

Schonbrunn Palace second floor.

Austrian Foreign Minister Baron Tugut escorted Archbishop Talleyrand out of the hall, his face brimming with smiles:

"That’s about it, Archbishop Talleyrand. The formal notice will be sent to Paris next week.

"I wish to thank France for its outstanding contribution to the defeat of the Southern Netherlands Rebels. Oh, His Majesty the Emperor has also specifically instructed to hold a grand farewell banquet in Brussels for the French heroes, and General Leao will take care of the matters thereafter."

Talleyrand nodded indifferently:

"Please convey my thanks for His Majesty’s arrangements, long live the Franco-Austrian Alliance."

"Long live the Franco-Austrian Alliance."

As soon as Talleyrand stepped out of the main entrance of Schonbrunn Palace, his expression immediately darkened. He took out his notebook, flipped through it, and, looking at a line of words, said to his servant:

"Go to 31 Uzburger Street."

That was the residence of Baron Ferrari, a staunch anti-Prussian, yet his influence was not considerable. However, over the past few days Talleyrand had met with the key players of the anti-Prussian faction, and now all he could do was to ally with as many anti-Prussian ministers as possible.

Meanwhile, in the private room of Vienna’s most luxurious brothel "Red Boots," Viscount Martel of the Vienna Secret Police, having just enjoyed the exquisite services, lifted a glass of gin—it was said to have virility-enhancing effects—squinted his eyes drunkenly, and gestured to the corpulent man opposite him:

"You’ve really outdone yourself today, Mr. Kugel, don’t worry about that matter."

Mr. Kugel had treated him to the top-tier package costing eighty florins a day, a luxury not even Viscount Martel usually allowed himself.

"I can’t thank you enough, my dearest friend," Kugel raised his glass, "To Miss Elina."

She was the "technician" who had serviced Martel.

The two men drained their glasses, and although Martel was clearly inebriated, his eyes suddenly sharpened, he sat up straight, and smacked his forehead, saying:

"I almost forgot, I haven’t signed the review authorization yet..."

In Austria, news review was overseen by the Secret Police, and he was the highest official in charge of news review.

He straightened his disheveled clothes and staggered to the door, shouting outside the private room:

"Erice, bring me my briefcase."

Soon, Martel handed the signed standard authorization to his attendant and instructed:

"Hurry back to the office and give this to Harper."

"Yes, Marshal."

Erice left "Red Boots" and hailed a carriage waiting across the street—daring not to use the Viscount’s coach carelessly.

"Grabon Street."

"Very well, Your Lordship," replied the coachman and cracked his whip to urge the horses on.

However, after traveling less than a kilometer towards Grabon Street, the carriage suddenly turned into a secluded narrow alley.

As Erice realized the carriage had stopped, and before he could question the coachman, the carriage door was yanked open and two masked brutes dragged him out, declaring in a gruff voice:

"This is a robbery!"

"Let me go! I am from the Secret Police...ow—"

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Erice only got halfway through before he was knocked unconscious with a blow.

One of the masked men leafed through his leather bag, took out the authorization document, and handed it to the shorter man beside him:

"Mr. Boduan, this should be it."

The latter immediately got down to the wooden table in the carriage and began painstakingly copying the signature from the authorization. After ten minutes, he handed a slip of paper with "Martel’s signature" on it to the brute:

"It’s ready."

The brute examined the paper, tucked it away carefully, and then shredded the original authorization document to pieces.

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Inside a three-story building on the south side of Grabon Street, a crowd of newspaper staff packed together, anxiously shouting at the uniformed person behind the desk:

"Sir, when will Viscount Martel be back?"

"It’s already past 4 p.m., if we don’t start the review soon, we’ll be too late for printing!"

"Please, will you tell us where Viscount Martel is? We’ll go fetch him ourselves…"

Indeed, this was Austria’s news censorship agency, and Martel, the censor in charge, was still at the "Red Boots" discussing life with a courtesan.

"Please keep it down!" a square-faced Secret Police officer shouted impatiently, waving his hand.

That was Harper, Martel’s assistant, a deputy officer in charge of news censorship, but he too could not proceed with the review work without Martel’s authorization document.

However, the authorization document had long been torn up and discarded in the trash bin by an agent of the French Intelligence Bureau.

Just then, a nondescript middle-aged man in a felt hat squeezed through the crowd and kept winking at the square-faced officer.

Harper understood and took him into an upstairs office.

After shutting the door, the man in the felt hat produced a slip of paper and handed it to Harper:

"Sir, this is an emergency approval by Viscount Martel. Thank you for your trouble."

The recipient glanced at the note, which read: "I have already reviewed the content submitted by Life and Truth newspaper today, please grant approval." Below was the signature of Viscount Martel, though it bore no personal seal.

He frowned at the man in the felt hat:

"Where is the Viscount?"

The man revealed a secretive smile, "He’s with a lady. Do you need the specific address?"

"Cough, no need." Harper waved his hand, still cautious though, "Let me see your articles."

"Right away, sir." The man in the felt hat hurriedly passed a stack of papers to him.

Harper flipped to the first page, and the headline read, "Great Victory at Legnica, Prussian Bandits Defeated."

He wasn’t surprised; for the past few days, rumors had circulated that Marshal Lacy had won a victory in Silesia, and Legnica was indeed located in the southwestern province of Silesia.

The man in the felt hat immediately added at his side:

"Our war correspondent sent back the news just this noon, and the official announcement should be issued tomorrow. Our newspaper needs this to join the ranks of the top publications."

"You reporters are faster than the marshals’ couriers." Harper smiled and looked down at the article, which stated that the Austrian Army had annihilated 4,000 of the Prussian Army at Legnica, capturing 1,000 and seizing a large number of cannons. The frontline had already pushed northeast of Legnica, and according to the current battle situation, Legnica might be retaken within the month.

"Quite the news indeed." He was quite excited, "Finally, we’ve taught those damned Prussians a lesson!"

The man in the felt hat promptly slipped 10 florins into his pocket:

"Sir, please hurry it up a bit."

It wasn’t long before he emerged from the Secret Police building followed by about a dozen people from other newspapers.

"Are you really willing to sell the news to us?" one of them asked anxiously.

"Of course."

Today, no news from any newspaper got approved except for the articles from Life and Truth newspaper.

And just a moment ago, the people from Life and Truth newspaper told them that for just 30 florins each, they could sell them the news articles.

Although there would inevitably be a massive overlap in the news, it was still better than having to compensate customers for not publishing and causing a negative impact on the newspaper’s reputation.

That afternoon, nearly half of Vienna’s newspapers were printing the news of "Great Victory at Legnica, Prussian Bandits Defeated."

The next morning, all of Vienna was abuzz!

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