650: Chapter 319: The Handover of an Era 650: Chapter 319: The Handover of an Era As the conversation deepened, a foggy drizzle began anew on the streets of London.
Through the dense moisture and water-beaded windowpanes, one could barely make out the clinking glasses and the lively corners of mouths in the private dining booths.
Arthur, while playing cards with Talleyrand, asked, “So you say, the reason you rose from an overlooked minor noble’s youngest son to prominence was entirely reliant on Mada Du Barry’s support?
How exactly did you captivate the lady who had Louis XV completely bewitched?”
Although well into his sixties, Talleyrand recounted his romantic exploits of yesteryear with undiminished ambition, apparently quite proud of his ability to maneuver among many ladies.
“What else could it be?
Just as you see, handso looks, elegant manners, a smooth-tongued eloquence that could make the ladies swoon, and back then, I was even younger.
My dear young brother Arthur, it really isn’t that hard to make a lady offer herself to you, you just needed to analyze them thoroughly before making your move,” he said.
Arthur played a card, “Just like you painstakingly analyze the Russians?”
“No.”
Talleyrand replied seriously, “I put much more heart into analyzing won than into analyzing the Russians.
The Russians might be able to strike anywhere on the Eurasian Continent because of their high latitude, but Mada Du Barry had the sa geopolitical advantage in the French high society.
She knew everyone around the king—many of those who had the power to determine France’s fate were her friends or even suitors.
Capturing her affection gave a sense of achievent far greater than conquering Russia.”
Agares, upon hearing this, couldn’t help but burst into hearty laughter, the sound of his sharp teeth rubbing together reminiscent of a chainsaw cutting through wood.
Arthur furrowed his brow slightly and, glancing at the Red Devil who was neglecting social etiquette, asked nonchalantly, “Aren’t you exaggerating a bit with that statent?”
“Not at all,” Talleyrand said.
Talleyrand lit a cigar and took a puff, savoring the lingering smoke in his mouth, “The sense of achievent primarily cos from the power balance between both parties upon realizing the goal.
Mada Du Barry was the star of the entire Parisian social circle, whereas I, at that ti, had nothing to my na but the noble surna ‘Perigord’.”
“My family and parents paid no mind, and you might not know this, but the closest I ca to my father during the first decade or so of my life was at Louis XVI’s coronation.
I was a spectator, while he was holding the anointing oil for the new king.
Even Louis XVIII, still a prince then, mocked during the ceremony, telling others, ‘This guy is rely a mber of the Perigord Family, not a Perigord family mber.'”
Sympathetically, Arthur said, “Didn’t you fight back?
If I were there, I would have likely rebutted.”
“I appreciate your righteous words then,” Talleyrand said with a laugh.
“However, his lack of decorum doesn’t an I lack it.
And besides, though his words were harsh, they weren’t entirely incorrect.”
To that, Talleyrand self-deprecatingly patted his la leg.
“See this?
This la leg has been with since I was two years old when I fell down from a staircase, and my parents didn’t know about it until months later.
Being crippled ant I couldn’t be a soldier, nor could I be a proper heir to the Perigord family na.
Consequently, they sent to Theological Seminary afterward, trying to deprive of my inheritance rights by making a priest.
I admittedly take pride in the Perigord surna, but I must also concede that for a long period, I wasn’t treated as a mber of the Perigord family.”
This is precisely why I thirsted all the more to stand out.
I always say that although I am a noble, I am unlike those depraved nobility.
Everything I have was earned through my own endeavours, my hands, and my la leg.
I had always struggled to find a way to make my mark until I read Voltaire’s books and learned about his experiences.
I was amazed to find that this man, famous throughout Europe, was just as sharp-tongued as I am, only he always managed to make people accept it with his wonderful way with words.”
In his youth, Voltaire was imprisoned in the Bastille for writing poetry that mocked the Duke of Orleans, the Regent, and, upon his release, he remarked to the Regent, ‘I’m deeply grateful to His Majesty the King for his gracious hospitality, the provision of food and lodging, but next ti, just the food will suffice, and I kindly request that Your Highness not provide the lodging!'”
Voltaire’s rise began with his affair with Mada Châtelet.
Though he was a bit too sarcastic, it did not stop Mada Châtelet from fancying this talented young man.
Despite their constant bickering, to the point of resorting to English just so the neighbors couldn’t understand, their bond remained unaffected from start to finish.
With this relationship, Voltaire soared in the French social circle.
His works and sharp wit quickly spread across Europe.
Frederick II of Prussia offered him an annual salary of twenty thousand livres just for one of his phrases: ‘neither holy, nor Roman, nor an empire.'”
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