Chapter 551: Graduation Season at the Administrative University
As the British ministers nodded in agreement, Prime Minister Pitt continued:
"With the plans submitted earlier by each of you, combined with the military strategies articulated by the Marquis of Wellesley, I am confident that we can restore France to its proper position before it becomes a threat to Europe."
Indeed, the decision to shift a nation's grand strategy was not something a prime minister could make on a whim. Over the past months, the British cabinet had mobilized all key officials and countless experts to draft detailed plans across political, economic, trade, military, and media domains. These plans underwent rigorous review and revision before taking shape.
Even now, the strategy required approval from the King and the House of Lords (later known as the Upper House) before it could be implemented.
This was a commitment of national resources, a gamble on the nation's destiny for decades, even a century. Once set in motion, there would be no turning back.
Victory would bring dominance over Europe and perhaps the world; failure could lead to decline—or even national collapse. Caution was imperative.
Pitt tapped the thick stack of strategic documents to align them neatly and addressed the ministers again:
"The complete plan will be submitted to His Majesty for signature tomorrow. Following that—"
At that moment, the Duke of Portland, Home Secretary, hesitated before lightly clearing his throat and interjecting:
"Mr. Pitt, regarding our trade policies in the plan, I believe there may still be room for improvement."
The Duke of Portland, a Whig, was not a member of the ruling Tory Party. However, in his efforts to unite all political factions, Pitt had included him in the cabinet.
Pitt quickly responded:
"I greatly look forward to your suggestions."
"Recently, I've been in contact with a Dutchman," the Duke began. "You may have heard of him—Henry Hope, a man of considerable reputation in credit and shipping.
"He pointed out certain vulnerabilities in France's financial and trade systems, which I believe warrant attention."
He then glanced toward the Second Chancellor of the Exchequer.
"Mr. Wilberforce also finds his perspective highly agreeable."
The Second Chancellor of the Exchequer effectively acted as Britain's head of finance. The "First" Chancellor of the Exchequer was none other than Pitt himself.
At the time, the title "Prime Minister" was not yet an official position in Britain and had only recently lost its negative connotations. The Chancellor of the Exchequer was the de facto head of government until the early 19th century, when the Prime Minister became a formal role.
Wilberforce nodded.
"Indeed. Hope lived in France for many years and has an intimate understanding of the country's internal workings. His suggestions are insightful.
"Not long ago, he was persecuted by the French government over certain matters. At the request of the Dutch Parliament, we helped him escape to London. Now, he's quite eager to see the French suffer."
Pitt considered this for a moment before setting aside the documents and nodding.
"Excellent. Please prepare a detailed report on this matter as soon as possible."
"Of course, Prime Minister."
February 7, 1791
Paris, France
At the grand and imposing French Royal Administrative University on the eastern bank of the Seine, the first cohort of students was undergoing final interviews for graduation.
The written exams had taken place three days earlier. Candidates who passed were now being interviewed, and those who succeeded would graduate and continue their careers as officials. Those who failed the written test, however, would remain for another three-month semester.
Why a "graduation" and not a "commencement"? After only six months of study, they had barely scratched the surface of administrative knowledge. Did they think earning a diploma from the Royal Academy would be that easy?
The full program required three years of study. Only after earning sufficient credits could a student officially graduate. Graduates were automatically promoted one rank in their administrative careers.
Students without prior government experience could assume roles such as department secretaries in city halls, launching promising careers.
Many officials, recognizing the benefits, opted for further studies. After all, in the traditional bureaucratic system, promotions in three years were almost unheard of.
In the interview room, Baron Corseppe, feeling nervous, addressed the examiners:
"Charging merchants on major roads entering the city can supplement municipal funds, which could then be used to widen roads or improve market management."
Previously, Corseppe served as an assistant in the municipal finance office, making him well-versed in such matters. However, he had overlooked what he had learned just last month—lectures on taxation and tolls emphasized the drawbacks of such practices from various angles.
One of the examiners subtly shook his head and proceeded to the next question.
To be fair, these questions were simpler than later civil service exams. But for French officials unaccustomed to such assessments, they effectively tested attitudes and basic capabilities.
An hour later, Corseppe left the room with a spinning head. He instinctively considered bribing the examiners but quickly abandoned the thought when he caught sight of the royal guards stationed at the door—guards sent by Joseph himself.
The next afternoon, Baron Corseppe received his formal completion notice. Along with it came an invitation to the graduation ceremony two days later.
Opening the paper envelope, he discovered another document tucked inside—a letter of appointment. After wading through the flowery prose, he found his new title: Assistant Administrator of the Finance Department, Auxiliary Administration, Rouen City.
Confused, he turned to a fellow classmate, Barnell, the municipal secretary of Rouen:
"Did you receive an appointment too?"
"Yes, but it's just my old position. Nothing changed."
"Mine's the same, except it includes 'Auxiliary Administration.' What does that mean?"
Barnell's letter contained no such designation.
Unbeknownst to them, their futures had already diverged.
Baron Corseppe, marked by his "Auxiliary Administration" prefix, was effectively sidelined. Meanwhile, Barnell, integrated into the new bureaucratic system, had a promising career ahead.
The distinction stemmed from their prior work performance, their studies at the university, and their interview results. Though not foolproof, the process identified those inclined toward bribery or corruption—like Corseppe—and steered them toward irrelevance.
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