Chapter 102: Shine or Go Mad (6)
Chapter 102: Shine or Go Mad (6)
This was a lie.
It had to be a lie.
Across the night sky that should have been pitch-dark, flashing red bursts lit up the world in place of starlight.
Those flares, using the sky as their backdrop, now reflected in Louis XVII’s eyes as well, as though his eyes were their canvas.
“Your Majesty, you must flee at once! The forces stationed in Nancy have already collapsed!”
“What—what in the world is happening, General Dumouriez?!”
Louis XVII shook Dumouriez’s shoulder back and forth, his hands trembling violently as Dumouriez supported him.
“It seems the revolutionary army discovered our rebellion plan! Your Majesty! This is no time for this!”
“The—Royal Guard! Summon the Royal Guard, General Dumouriez!”
“The Royal Guard is already engaging the revolutionary army, Your Majesty!”
“This can’t be. This can’t be. This can’t…!”
Where in the world did the secret leak out? Who—who told the traitorous rabble?
KWA-BOOM!
“Oh—oh dear!”
At the massive roar of a cannon, Louis XVII dropped the golden scepter he had been holding.
“Your Majesty, this way, quickly! The Swiss Guards are buying time, but they will not hold out long!”
“A-alright!”
Leaving behind the sight of the scepter—like a crown, the symbol of the king—rolling away on its own without its owner, Louis XVII dragged his massive body out of the war room.
Bang bang bang!
As they passed each room, gunfire rang in his ears.
No—now he could even hear someone’s screams.
Louis XVII threw his cumbersome cloak onto the floor and began running in step with Dumouriez’s support.
How long did he run? Seeing the red bursts exploding in the distance, it seemed they had already crossed beyond the Palace of Versailles, cut across the gardens, and run a long way.
“We are almost there, Your Majesty!”
“A-almost there? What do you mean, General?”
Even as his sovereign questioned him, the commander of the Royal Guard gave no real answer—he simply kept running with his sovereign.
“Your Majesty, please get into this carriage!”
“Hah… hah… Where in the world is this carriage taking me, General?!”
Louis XVII panted as he looked at the plain wooden carriage Dumouriez pointed to.
“It is a carriage to the Dutch border, where the Count of Artois is. If we ride at full speed from now, we can reach the Netherlands within a few days, Your Majesty.”
“You—you are truly a loyal subject! You are the Archangel Michael to me!”
“You overpraise me, Your Majesty.”
“Hurry and get in as well. Didn’t you say every moment matters?”
“I will gather the remaining troops and cover the rear, Your Majesty. Please do not worry about me—go on ahead.”
“I-is that so?”
Dumouriez smiled broadly and bowed his head to Louis XVII.
“Understood. Do be careful.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Coachman! Depart!”
“Yes, sir!”
The heavy carriage wheels began to move with a creak.
Soon, the plain wooden carriage disappeared far down the road.
“Tch. Looks like acting does not suit me very well.”
With a sour expression, Dumouriez pulled a cigar from his waist, put it in his mouth, and lit it with a match.
“Orléans, I have owed you plenty all this time, so I will take what I am owed from you for once.”
For some reason, Dumouriez’s cigar smelled especially fragrant today.
Right. If he went to the Netherlands, it was not too late.
If he told Europe’s monarchs in detail what this traitorous rabble was doing and urged a joint response to the danger, there might still be one last chance.
He did not like acting like that idiot Artois, but first, he had to live.
Inside the shabby carriage—worm-eaten in places, as if it had not been refitted with new wood—Louis XVII, dressed in dazzling golden silk, propped his chin on his hand and thought.
“Ugh!”
The carriage stopped abruptly. Louis XVII’s hand slipped from under his chin and struck his own eye.
His eye stung.
“Y-you… Coachman! Why did you stop so suddenly—what is going on?!”
“Why else? We arrived at the destination, so we stopped.”
“What are you talking about? The destination is the Netherlands!”
At that moment, the carriage door opened with a grinding rattle.
“W-what?!”
Seeing the young field-grade officer staring at him with cold eyes, Louis XVII began to howl.
“You bastards! Do you know who I am?!”
“As if I would not. In the name of National Guard Major Louis Nicolas Davout, I place you, Orléans, under emergency arrest for plotting national insurrection. Gentlemen, drag him out.”
“Yes, Major!”
“Aaah! You traitorous bastards, let go! Let go! Get away from me!”
“You still do not grasp the situation, Orléans. General Dumouriez sold you out. Stop struggling and come along.”
“Dumouriez…? Dumouriez! Dumouriez, you son of a—!!”
After I placed you in such high favor! So you are the traitor! You shameless bastard!
In Paris’s 3rd district, the Temple Tower of the Temple Monastery gained a new resident.
August 17, 1790.
Paris, Kingdom of France.
Ears of the Nation office, also serving as the temporary Finance Minister’s office.
So what exactly was my job?
A businessman, or a civil servant—or neither.
“You want me to read this in front of people. What am I, some dictator?”
I stuck out my tongue and shook my head.
“A dictator… Well, in a way, you might be. You are someone who dictates the citizens’ approval rating, after all.”
“That is not the point, Deputy Talleyrand. Is this not basically martial law? If the citizens do not calm down and instead smash our Ears of the Nation windows and steal convenience meals, we will be lucky.”
“Hahaha.”
Mr. Talleyrand, stop snickering and say something.
I brought you in because you were supposed to be good with words, and all you do is threaten to wipe everything out if this continues.
“Why did I even call Deputy Talleyrand here?”
“Because you told me to write a speech to reassure citizens who are anxious from news that foreigners are invading, Minister.”
“You remember well.”
I thought you did not. If you remember so well, how can you do this?
“As they say, words can sound different depending on how you say them. It is not martial law—think of it as something comparable to it.”
“That is just wordplay.”
“Politics and diplomacy are all wordplay, Minister. ‘I understand’ means ‘I will consider it,’ ‘I will consider it’ means ‘no,’ and ‘no’ means ‘do not you dare’—is that not exactly what people like us do?”
“…Anyway, anything that can make people even a little anxious is unacceptable.”
“Hmm. I thought I wrote it quite gently, but if that is how you feel, Minister.”
Gently, my ass. The rumors going around are all baseless nonsense, and if anyone spreads them, you will have the military police beat them—how is that gentle?
Still, perhaps this was an era where infant mortality exceeded sixty percent, where you gave birth to more than ten children and hoped two or three survived, where you pulled a pistol because you disagreed and pressed it to someone’s forehead. No wonder the standard for gentle was different.
Maybe this man converted the royalists by walking up with a pistol to their heads and saying, “Convert or not, five seconds. Four. Three.”
“Then what about this?”
Seeing my sullen face, Deputy Talleyrand scribbled something on paper and handed it to me.
“Let’s see… No, for heaven’s sake. You changed the words, but it is the same thing!”
“Hahaha.”
“Is there nothing else you can write besides this?”
“I will consider it, Minister.”
“…Didn’t you just say ‘I will consider it’ means ‘no’?”
“Hahaha!”
Damn it. It would be better if I just wrote it and read it myself.
Behind the Champ de Mars.
“Father Sieyès. Did many people gather?”
“Hah. If Guillaume is giving a speech, would they not all put off their work and come out? In times like these, with absurd rumors spreading nonstop—Prussian forces already occupying Strasbourg and so on—the fact that a Finance Minister like you comes out personally to speak says it all.”
“That makes sense.”
With ominous rumors swirling, if a minister came out and took responsibility to speak, who would not listen?
“How is the Assembly’s mood?”
“How else? It is grim. A king who is called the pillar of the nation tried to launch a palace coup and was crushed—of course it is. The royalists cannot even squeak and just get beaten day after day, and the revolutionary side split into two camps.”
“Two camps?”
Father Sieyès nodded.
“They are arguing over what to do with Orléans. Everyone agrees up to stripping Orléans of his claim to the throne, but the problem is what to do with the throne that will be left vacant after that, and how to dispose of Orléans.”
“They must be tearing their hair out.”
Father Sieyès sighed.
“Hah… Do you know what gives us the biggest headache, Guillaume? If we depose Orléans, which royal do we place there? The Count of Provence? The Count of Artois? We cannot put lunatics on the throne who beg overseas day after day for France to be invaded.”
“Hoo. My chest feels tight—may I have a smoke?”
“What a coincidence. I feel the same. Let us smoke together.”
We took out our pipes, lit them with matches, and drew in a deep puff.
A coat of nicotine over my stifled chest made it feel livable again.
“Setting aside deposing Orléans, when you say ‘dispose of him’… do you mean killing him?”
…
The way he only held his pipe in silence said yes.
“It is obviously Deputy Robespierre, right?”
“No—how did you know that?”
“I know that man pretty well.”
“…Even I think Orléans deserves to have his head cut off. But if we cut his head off, what happens next? War. War immediately.”
“What is the ratio—those who want to cut him versus those who say cutting him is difficult?”
“Right now it is even, but more and more people are starting to side with the radicals.”
While I listened, the tobacco in my pipe had already burned down.
“Let us talk more later. We cannot keep the audience waiting.”
“Right. Fine. It is not something that gets decided overnight anyway.”
I pulled out the folded speech note from inside my clothes and stepped onto the platform.
“Minister Guillaume! Are the rumors true?!”
“They say Prussia crossed Strasbourg—what do we do?!”
“Please answer us, Minister!”
I cleared my throat several times and read the speech calmly.
“I, Guillaume, do not lie to you. I believe you citizens know this as well. Going straight to the point: the day before yesterday, after a fierce battle in Nancy, our National Guard repelled the rebellion forces of Louis XVII. Soon, Commander Lafayette will return to hold a victory procession.”
“Huh?”
“W-what?”
…
At the shocking words—practically a declaration of war—people’s faces hardened.
Even so, I took a breath and continued.
“I am informing you of this shocking fact for one reason: to make one point absolutely clear. That I never lie to you.
Germans crossed the border? That is a lie. Prussia and the Holy Roman Empire used somewhat aggressive diplomatic rhetoric toward our National Assembly, but the claim that they moved troops is an outright lie.
Then who spread that rumor? It was the Count of Artois, who leads the royalists at the border and spews nonsense day after day.
Citizens, one month ago, I stood here at the Champ de Mars and told you we should honor our neighbors who faded away at the Bastille. To be toyed with by the vicious lies and schemes of wicked men and shatter the peace we finally won would be the greatest sin we could commit against those martyrs.
From now on, I will leave the Ears of the Nation office open, so if you have questions about state affairs, please come and ask directly. I cannot meet everyone, but to everyone I do meet, I will answer your questions with the truth.
That is all.”