Chapter 176: Sleeping Lions (6)
Chapter 176: Sleeping Lions (6)
When he forced his heavy eyelids open, the ceiling above him was not the familiar one from his home but a completely unfamiliar one.
“Where… am I?”
His body had stiffened from anxiety, yet he forced himself upright from the bed. Joints that had not moved for days immediately began screaming in protest.
“…Is this a hospital?”
The thought came to him as he looked at the blanket and bedsheet. They had probably once been pure white, but they were now soaked with sweat and stained gray in places.
There was no place in France besides a hospital that used such simple white blankets and white bedsheets.
Once his thoughts reached that point, his memories slowly began to return.
—Now then! To the deputies of the Plain Faction and the Mountain Faction who honored this gathering today! And to the people of France! A toast!
—A toast!
—Ha ha! Indeed, even if our thoughts differ somewhat, are we not all comrades! A toast! A to—
—Ugh…!
—Chairman Mirabeau!!
—I… can’t breathe… my chest… it’s tight…
—The chairman has collapsed! A doctor! Call a doctor!!
Yes. That was how he collapsed.
Then what about Sieyès and Robespierre? What about the Plain Faction and the Mountain Faction? What about Commander Lafayette and the military? Had something happened while he lay unconscious?
Pistol attacks. Bomb attacks. Assassination. A military coup.
“…Ghk.”
The thought alone made Mirabeau’s chest tighten. Gathering all his strength again, he reached for the bell the doctors had placed beside the bed in case the patient regained consciousness.
Sweat soaked once again into the white underclothes already stained gray, but such trivial things did not matter right now.
Ring. Ring.
For a moment the sound of footsteps echoed through the hospital corridor outside.
The door opened, and several doctors hurried toward Mirabeau on the bed.
“Chairman! You’ve regained consciousness!”
“…Seeing doctors here confirms it. This really is a hospital. How long have I been lying in this bed?”
“Almost a month now.”
“A month…”
Mirabeau spoke cautiously.
“Did anything happen while I was unconscious?”
“No, as far as we know, nothing unusual occurred.”
“Phew… That’s a relief. Truly a relief.”
The greatest worry strangling his throat lifted at last. Only then did Mirabeau properly look at himself sitting on the bed, drenched in sweat as though caught in a downpour.
“But… doctor. Why did I collapse?”
“…Well.”
The doctors exchanged several glances before answering slowly.
“You have developed a problem in a very unfortunate place.”
“Why? Don’t tell me there’s something wrong with my precious lower half? I have many ladies waiting for me.”
“….”
He had intended the joke to lighten the gloomy atmosphere, but the doctors’ expressions remained serious.
“Doctor. Is my condition that serious?”
“…The problem lies with your heart.”
“My heart?”
“That is our medical opinion. You complained of sudden chest pain, you lost consciousness, and…”
The doctor continued explaining for quite some time, mixing in various medical terms, most of which Mirabeau could barely understand.
In the end, he understood only one thing.
The heart that had been beating in his left chest since birth—his lifelong companion—was very… very sick.
His heart. His heart.
During his time in the army long ago, Mirabeau learned that a person dies if struck by a lead bullet in the head or the heart. Hearing that his heart had a problem left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Doctor. How long do I have left? Ten years? Five?”
“…We cannot guarantee that you would survive the next attack.”
“I clearly asked in years. Since you’re avoiding answering in years, it seems I don’t have much time left.”
He laughed hollowly.
How complicated it felt.
He had spent his entire life fighting to destroy the rotten feudal system, yet only three years after achieving that dream, he would leave the world like this.
“…Is Finance Minister Guillaume de Toulon still in Britain?”
“No. He returned to France a few days ago.”
“He’s in France?”
“Yes, Chairman. Shall we send for him?”
“Please do.”
Good. Good.
Even if he was living on borrowed time, at least he could burn with all his strength one last time.
“Ah. Please also bring me fresh clothes and a towel to wipe this sweat.”
These hospital clothes were filthy.
When the news came that Chairman Mirabeau had awakened, I rushed over riding that thing—what was it called again? The L&C Automatic Steam Carriage No. 1.
But the one who welcomed me was not a dying Mirabeau lying on his sickbed.
It was the same Mirabeau as always, energetically moving his short, stout body.
“Ah! Isn’t this the Finance Minister so admired by the French people! Welcome. But what is that strange carriage outside making the ‘vrooom, vrooom’ sound?”
“I heard you had just awakened from a coma, but you seem… perfectly fine.”
“Of course! Have you ever seen a man as robust as Mirabeau?”
Mirabeau, who was at least a head shorter than me, raised his arms high and struck a pose like a bodybuilder showing off his muscles.
“So then, since you’ve returned, does that mean everything in Britain went well?”
“No. I came back because of that wicked old devil woman in Saint Petersburg.”
“…Tsarina Catherine?”
“Yes. That crazy woman.”
I explained to Mirabeau step by step everything that had happened in Britain and afterward.
“Robespierre and the Mountain Faction must have demanded an immediate full-scale war.”
“That’s why I threw the position of Minister of the Interior to the Mountain Faction last time. Idealists only understand reality after seeing it with their own eyes. They’re not carelessly shouting for war now.”
“Hmm.”
The political situation of the Assembly.
“Borrowing the British fleet, you say! Do you have a plan?”
“I’m thinking of going down to the Port of Toulon first. Even if they received orders from their prime minister, wouldn’t it hurt their pride to take orders from a foreign general? At the very least, someone high-ranking should go in person to reduce their complaints.”
“…Wouldn’t it be better to send the Minister of the Navy instead?”
“Admiral Treville? Don’t worry. Even if I go down there, nothing will happen here in the meantime. Chairman Mirabeau himself looks perfectly healthy.”
Britain’s proposal.
“Do you trust Britain? Those island pirates?”
“…Well. To be precise, I trust the profit they stand to gain. When you throw a bone to a starving wild dog, it’s because you know the dog will gnaw on the bone instead of you. At least until it strips the bone clean, we should be safe.”
“…And when the meat is gone?”
“Two possibilities. Either we tame it before then, or we beat it with a club when it lunges.”
“At least that isn’t a completely absurd idea.”
The future situation.
“I lived in that gloomy country for more than ten years. I learned about parliament there. I learned about constitutions.”
“Is that so?”
“My mind isn’t capable of creating things like constitutional monarchy or constitutional theory from scratch. I merely bring over systems that already exist. I’m not intelligent enough to create grand doctrines or great theories like Rousseau or Diderot.”
Things to watch out for.
Chairman Mirabeau nodded as he continued speaking.
“But you are different. Aren’t you, Guillaume?”
“Excuse me? What do you mean?”
“You are different from me.”
Has this old man finally lost his mind?
“Do you know what I was doing at fifteen?”
“How would I know?”
“I was singing hymns in front of the king. ‘Oh great Louis! Lead this France and its people to glory!’”
And that brat grew up and threw the king out.
Mirabeau smirked and continued.
“But what about you at fifteen? You were already an excellent businessman running a shop here in Paris. And it was a kind of business no one had ever seen before.
You have ability. The ability to create.”
Mirabeau grabbed my hand firmly and spoke with eyes wide open.
“W-Why are you suddenly doing this?”
“With that creativity, promise me you will protect this country, the people, and the revolution.”
Kingdom of Revolutionary France, Toulouse.
National Guard Southwestern Regional Command.
[Russian Empire offensive imminent. All regional commanders are to prepare for emergency situations.]
[Commander of the National Guard, Marquis de Lafayette.]
The Southwestern Regional Commander of the National Guard wiped the sweat running down his forehead with his collar, waved the secret order in his hand, and spoke.
“Well now, that nearly took ten years off my life! We almost had a real disaster on our hands! Don’t you think so, adjutant?”
“You’re absolutely right, General.”
“Kheh-heh-heh!”
“Heh-heh-heh!”
The two men laughed together for quite a while.
“So it looks like I won’t have to go back to that hell called Paris! I’m going to stay out here in the provinces, live comfortably, and not care about anyone’s opinion!”
“Exactly, General! Absolutely!”
“When I retire, I’ll make sure to recommend you to the central command as a general candidate. The army needs someone perceptive like you who understands every situation.”
“Of course, General! You’re absolutely right!”
“What a pity! If I had met someone like you earlier, I would have aged less by now.
Davout—that stiff fellow—ah, ahem. My mistake. The former Chief of Staff, Lieutenant Colonel Nicolas Davout, is certainly a fine man and a good soldier, but every person has those they get along with and those they don’t.”
Former Nancy Regional Commander and current Southwestern Regional Commander Charles-François Dumouriez personally poured wine for his adjutant as he spoke.
A genius of defense and fortification.
The nemesis of Prussia.
The guardian of Nancy and protector of the revolution.
Damn it. If I’d earned that title by choice, it would be one thing. If I’d wanted it.
But because I struggled desperately just to survive, I ended up with that damned reputation. I almost spent my entire life rotting under Lafayette.
—General Dumouriez. You will continue as Nancy Regional Commander, correct?
—Do you think I’m insane enough to remain at the frontline—!! Ahem! If I were ten years younger, I would gladly obey Commander Lafayette’s orders, but this body has grown too old. I beg your understanding.
—Hmm… The people of Nancy also want you to remain in command. Are you truly not interested?
—Cough! Cough! My chronic illness again!
—Well, if that’s the case, it cannot be helped.
That bastard Lafayette.
He probably didn’t like the idea of a former surrendering general like Dumouriez commanding frontline troops either, yet he pretended as though he knew nothing of it.
—Where would you like to be assigned?
—I wish to guard a distant frontier far away from Paris.
—How about your previous post at Nantes? It’s near the English Channel—the frontline with Britain.
—A veeeeery distant frontier.
—Then Grenoble? The frontline with the Holy Roman Empire?
—Toulouse! Toulouse! Spain! Northern Pyrenees! I’m not going anywhere else!
At least Spain belonged to the same Bourbon royal family. If he stayed in the rear there, he wouldn’t be dragged into something dangerous like war.
“Now then! Adjutant! Go out and bring the ladies who will attend tonight’s party! Today we’ll celebrate in grand fashion with the heroic tales of Dumouriez, the protector of the revolution!”
“Yes, General!”
Right. Unless it’s Russia, there’s no way Spain would attack France.
What a ridiculous thought.