Chapter 411: Queen Marie's Birthday Celebration
Soda ash can be considered the "seasoning" of industrial production. Historically, the industrial production of soda ash heralded a new era in the chemical industry, significantly impacting the entire industrial sector. In this era, France, thanks to the latest achievements of Lavoisier and his wife, had firmly established itself at the pinnacle of the European chemical industry!
Marianne suddenly remembered something and turned to her husband:
"My dear, I heard from Perna that the Prince mentioned you would be granted the title of Baron once the casein glue factory officially goes into production?"
This royal title, formally bestowed by the crown, would place him among the sword-wearing nobility, a status far more prestigious than that of the robe-wearing nobility, who simply bought their titles. Such titles were usually reserved for those who had made significant contributions.
Lavoisier smiled and nodded:
"I was planning to surprise you, but it seems you're always well-informed."
Marianne, overjoyed, wrapped her arms around his neck, jumping up and down like a little girl:
"So, from now on, we'll be among those 'upper-class people,' haha."
Lavoisier chuckled, "But that means you'll have to spend more time socializing with the ladies at Versailles."
"I'll just hide in the lab and pretend I didn't receive the invitations."
Marianne winked playfully, then suddenly hugged her husband tightly, whispering shyly in his ear:
"In that case, shouldn't we get started on providing an heir for the barony?"
"Absolutely!"
Seeing that no one was around, Lavoisier scooped his wife into his arms and kissed her deeply…
November 2, 1789.
Today was Queen Marie's 34th birthday.
Historically, around this time, Marie Antoinette and her family were being escorted out of Versailles by revolutionary citizens, headed for the long-abandoned, dilapidated Tuileries Palace in Paris. But today, she was seated in her dressing room, surrounded by her makeup artist, hairdresser, and seven maids, happily preparing her gown for the evening's birthday banquet.
There was a knock at the door, and a maid entered, accompanied by Brienne.
The chief minister bowed to Queen Marie, who was seated before a mirror, and began with praise:
"Your Majesty, it seems that God has bestowed all the world's grace and beauty upon you alone. You will make all the women in Paris envious to the point of breathlessness.
"However, Your Majesty, I must apologize for disturbing you briefly."
As he spoke, he placed a document on the small round table beside her:
"This is the final draft of the treaty, which requires your prompt signature. You know it's scheduled to be formally signed at the port of Le Havre in five days."
"Thank you for your kind words." Queen Marie smiled and nodded, taking the quill and signing her name at the bottom of the document.
She had already gone over the contents in detail with the Prince a few days earlier. The treaty was extremely favorable to France—no, it had secured considerable benefits. She marveled at how her son was becoming increasingly capable. This time, he had managed to get Britain to cease its interference in North Africa with minimal cost to France in the Far East. He even got Britain to agree to withdraw its protection of that troublemaker inciting rebellion in Corsica, along with other gains she didn't fully understand…
Handing the document back to Brienne, Marie glanced around the bustling dressing room, her smile growing wider. If it weren't for Joseph handling these state affairs, she might still be stuck discussing how to deal with the North African troubles with her ministers. How could she then enjoy the lightheartedness and relaxation of this moment?
After seeing Brienne off, Queen Marie turned to the mirror, made a few adjustments, and pointed to the golden birdcage the size of a coconut next to her, saying to her hairdresser:
"Now, may I wear that?"
"Of course, Your Majesty."
The Queen flicked a small switch on the birdcage, and the metal nightingale inside fluttered its wings, poking its head out and chirping.
"Ah! How perfect!" The hairdresser waved her silk handkerchief in admiration. "His Majesty the King must have been blessed by God himself!"
Indeed, this clockwork birdcage accessory was a birthday gift from Louis XVI to his wife—a fully automated, rotating birdcage with a lifelike mechanical bird that could move its entire body and produce over a dozen different sounds, far more complex than the most intricate clocks of the time.
Soon, the melodious and joyful music from Versailles could be heard.
Queen Marie stood up, admiring her luxurious gown as she turned this way and that. Satisfied, she began her walk towards the court theater, the birdcage gently rotating atop her head.
While Versailles was bustling with celebrations for the Queen's birthday, the British Royal Navy's third-rate ship of the line, HMS Ajax, was sailing through the stormy Bay of Biscay. Its destination was the distant Indian subcontinent.
In an unremarkable officer's cabin on the ship's second deck, the Marquis of Wellesley lit his pipe and took a deep drag.
Having stepped down as Foreign Secretary, Wellesley now enjoyed a rare peace, free from the people who used to fawn over him.
He pulled out a map of the Mysore region from his pocket and spread it out on the table. A letter from the Governor of India, Cornwallis, which had fallen from his pocket, caught his eye.
The letter, which had arrived in London just two days earlier, detailed the ongoing conflict in India.
Wellesley frowned deeply as he read it, a sense of frustration and anxiety washing over him. He recalled Cornwallis's mention of the so-called "improvised fortresses" that the Mysoreans were building.
Before boarding the ship, Wellesley had been confident that once he arrived in India, the Mysoreans, deprived of French support, would soon be crushed under his command.
However, after a full day of contemplation, he realized he had no effective strategy to deal with those "fortresses."
He was likely facing another failure in India…
Meanwhile, in London, England.
A black carriage raced down the road on the northwest side of St. James's Palace.
Inside, a white-haired man in his sixties looked at the young man across from him and finally couldn't hold back:
"Wyndham, I still think taking over as Foreign Secretary at this time is not a wise decision."
The young man, with deep-set eyes and a slightly Scottish appearance, was none other than the new British Foreign Secretary, William Wyndham Grenville, Lord Grenville.
Grenville smiled sincerely:
"Uncle, you see, the Prime Minister must appease the Whigs right now. I'm afraid I'm his only choice."
After two successive "strategic blunders" by the Dukes of Leeds and Wellesley as Foreign Secretaries, Prime Minister Pitt the Younger faced immense pressure from the Whig Party. To placate them, he decided to appoint a Whig as the new Foreign Secretary.
However, Pitt had cleverly chosen a member of the Grenville family, who were allied with his own family, and his close friend, Lord Grenville.
(End of Chapter)
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