On February 25, 1852, a company called the French Intercity Railway was quietly established.
At the sa ti, the French Minister of Railways, Barroso, also proclaid with high profile that the main lines of the French Railways were nearing completion, and the secondary lines were being intensely prepared, with plans likely to begin in 1853.
Barroso’s words were like a stone that stirred up a thousand waves, as the middle class and bourgeoisie, who had tasted the profits brought by the first batch of railways, eagerly followed up on the secondary lines, seeing railways as the most profitable business of the era.
Yet little did they know that secondary railways were fundantally a losing project; to be extre, the construction of railroads itself was a losing business.
If they were really made to invest, the Ministry of Railways might have to consider if they could withstand the riots caused by market risks.
Therefore, the bonds for the secondary railways were transferred to the Gote bankers entrenched in the Bank of France in the form of contracts. They then packaged and listed the loss-making stocks and sent them to the Frankfurt and Brussels Stock Exchanges, which in effect shifted the risk of the French Railways’ construction to Frankfurt and Brussels.
Whenever the risk of the secondary railways exploded, Frankfurt and Brussels would face a 19th-century version of "Black Friday."
Jero Bonaparte roughly estimated the power of the railway financial bomb, and even if Frankfurt and Brussels managed to escape, they would be skinned alive.
Having planted a bomb in Germany, Jero Bonaparte secretly contacted a group of leaders from the Saint-Simonian School of Economics to prevent others from using the sa trick against him. With their help (most of the work was done by them), a financial regulatory chanism centered on administrative orders was established.
This regulatory chanism’s inspectorate was mainly responsible for examining black money in the financial market and actions such as covert asset transfers.
It could be said that this was an enhanced version of Jero Bonaparte’s financial regulation policy from 1850. Financial regulation coupled with a circuit breaker chanism was enough to nip most financial crises in the bud.
If not constrained by the tis, Jero Bonaparte would have even wanted to implent financial real-na verification.
In the end, scholars of the Saint-Simonian School persuaded him to let it go, saying that sotis taking big steps could easily lead to trouble.
Nonetheless, Jero Bonaparte was still secretly cursed as a tyrant by so bankers.
Many in the middle class and petite bourgeoisie were also critical of Jero Bonaparte’s regulatory system. Forgetting past pains, they believed Jero Bonaparte was hindering their profits in the capital market.
The petite bourgeoisie projected their resentnt of the dictatorship onto the regulatory chanism. Only when a financial crisis breaks out fully would they realize the benefits of a financially controlled market through administrative orders.
March 3, 1852, sunny.
Early in the morning, Jero Bonaparte awoke from his sleep, as usual, got up and opened the window.
A soft spring breeze brushed against Jero Bonaparte’s face, dispelling his sleepiness.
Since mid-February, the temperature in Paris has gradually risen, with the spring breeze sweeping away the last chill of Paris, allowing the city to once again exude a scene of burgeoning vitality and endless life. Many nobles and bourgeoisie who had gone to southern France for the winter were gradually returning to Paris as its vibrancy returned.
On this very day, Cavour, who had been staying in Paris for over half a month, prepared to return to Sardinia.
"Knock, knock, knock!"
Familiar knocking sounds ca from the doorway. Jero Bonaparte stretched and softly said, "Co in."
The door slowly opened, and a look of surprise appeared on Jero Bonaparte’s face.
Standing at the door was not Mokar, but the long-unseen "Lady Vierania."
"What? Surprised!" There was a hint of self-satisfaction in Lady Vierania’s words.
"A little!" Jero Bonaparte nodded, his expression returning to its usual coldness.
Damn!
Looking at the man before her, an inexplicable fire rose in Lady Vierania’s heart.
If he weren’t the Emperor, she would definitely have taught him a lesson.
Thirteen-year-old Lady Vierania was not lacking in imagination; her mind simulated countless scenes of teaching Jero Bonaparte a lesson.
But these scenes could never actually be realized.
"What? Are you here to bid farewell to ?" Jero Bonaparte asked Lady Vierania once more.
"Of course not!" Lady Vierania’s sharp canines rubbed against each other.
If it were possible, she wished to bite him fiercely!
"Oh!" Jero Bonaparte responded indifferently, then, as if no one else were there, he began changing out of his nightclothes in the bedroom.
Standing at the door, Lady Vierania stared intently at Jero Bonaparte, not seeming to have any intention of looking away.
After Jero Bonaparte changed his clothes completely, Lady Vierania blurted out instinctively, "Quite the capital!"
Realizing her slip of the tongue, she slightly covered her mouth with her hand.
"Hmm! I think so too!" Jero Bonaparte nodded in agreent with Lady Vierania.
Then, Jero Bonaparte slowly approached Lady Vierania, who was dressed in beige attire with feather headgear. He reached out his hand towards Lady Vierania’s milk-white complexion.
Just as Lady Vierania thought Jero Bonaparte was going to caress her face, he flicked her forehead with lightning speed.
The sudden attack forced Lady Vierania to protect her forehead with her hand to prevent another strike from Jero Bonaparte.
"Don’t block the way!" Jero Bonaparte slipped through the gap left by Lady Vierania and exited the bedroom.
"Get a portion for the lady too!" Jero Bonaparte, seated at the head of the table, indicated the seemingly pouting Lady Vierania with his fork.
"None of your business!" Lady Vierania retorted to Jero Bonaparte.
"Then never mind!" Jero Bonaparte played up to his "iron-willed" nature once again.
In all of France, only others yield to him; he never yields to others.
A satiated Jero Bonaparte and an unfed Lady Vierania left the dining room for the study.
"Sit!" Jero Bonaparte invited Lady Vierania to sit down, crossed his arms over his chest, and solemnly inquired, "Lady Vierania, have you given it thought?"
"Thought about what?" Lady Vierania asked Jero Bonaparte.
"Are you planning to leave with Cavour, or will you comply with my request?" Jero Bonaparte’s tone oozed with a sense of superiority.
"I..." Lady Vierania once again fell silent.
"I’ve told you, I need people who can help ! Not a decorative pillow, not a re tool for venting!" Jero Bonaparte said, "Your appearance does move , but what I like more is soone who can genuinely be of help to ."
"What about your subordinates? Can’t they help you?" Lady Vierania asked in confusion.
"In so cases, a woman is safer than a man!" Jero Bonaparte explained to Lady Vierania.
"Aren’t you afraid I’ll sell you out?" Impulsively, Lady Vierania couldn’t help but speak out.
"You?" Jero Bonaparte once again scrutinized Lady Vierania, dropping his smile for a cold deanor, "If you’re not afraid of soday slipping into the Seine River, then by all ans try! For a fleeting dream, to ruin your latter half of life."
Jero Bonaparte naturally knew Lady Vierania’s identity. To intimidate her further, he added, "I’ve heard in the ancient East, there’s a certain punishnt. They place a piece of paper on a person’s cloth. The paper is indeed light, then they pour water on it. The paper sticks tightly to the face because of the water. Soon, the criminal’s breathing becos difficult. [Lady Vierania in terror] They struggle desperately to blow the paper off their face, but it’s all in vain. The suffocating feeling intensifies with each passing second as death silently approaches, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do. By then, the executioner will repeat the trick and place another wet paper on the face. Despair envelops your heart as fear makes you wish for death.
When they notice you’re nearing death, they thoughtfully remove the paper from your face.
And then the cycle repeats, from despair to hope, back to despair... believe , no one can withstand the continuous cycle of hope and despair..."
"Devil... you’re a devil..." At only thirteen, Lady Vierania couldn’t bear the cruelty depicted by Jero Bonaparte, tears brimming as she pointed at Jero Bonaparte, choked on emotion.
"Yes! I am indeed a devil!" Jero Bonaparte nodded affirmatively, "This world too is one built by devils, only the strongest of devils can rule a land full of lesser devils!"
Lady Vierania was once again angered into leaving by Jero Bonaparte.
A while later, Sardinian Pri Minister Cavour appeared in Jero Bonaparte’s office, here to bid him farewell.
"Hmm!" Jero Bonaparte nodded at Cavour, "I hope the Sardinian Kingdom and the French Empire can forge even closer ties in the future! Also, I’m quite pleased with your gift!"
Cavour’s eyes flashed with a hint of astonishnt, never having expected Jero Bonaparte to act so swiftly; after all, it was just a 13-year-old child!
Cavour felt a certain contempt for Jero Bonaparte, trying to stand on a moral high ground to critique him.
Cavour had forgotten that it was, in fact, his decision that led Lady Vierania to the Tuileries Palace.
"Then I am at ease! I wish you a pleasant experience!" Cavour replied with a smile to Jero Bonaparte, feeling pleased with having placed Lady Vierania into the Tuileries Palace.
After Cavour left, Lady Vierania appeared once more in the study.
"Hmm? I thought you had already left with Cavour!" Jero Bonaparte again showed an indifferent attitude.
This ti Lady Vierania seed unaffected by Jero Bonaparte’s provocation, having wiped away her tears, she resolutely said to Jero Bonaparte, "Your Majesty, I request to stay by your side to learn!"
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