Chapter 206: Brave New World (8)
Chapter 206: Brave New World (8)
Literally translated, it meant “Land of Louis.”
This region, named by the French explorer René-Robert Cavelier de La Salle in honor of the then-reigning monarch, the Sun King Louis XIV, carried several different meanings for the French.
“Opportunity of a lifetime! Recruiting settlers willing to depart for the untamed land of Louisiana!”
“But if it’s by sea… isn’t that dangerous?”
“Please don’t worry! The navy led by His Majesty’s proud admiral, Pierre Le Moyne d’Iberville, will guarantee your safe voyage!”
“The navy, you say? Then I suppose it’s safe.”
“Good heavens, look at that horizon stretching endlessly!”
“Hah, all of this is my land? I’ll never have to worry about starving again!”
When settlement first began under the command of the Sun King, it was a land flowing with milk and honey.
“No! The fields are flooding!”
“My God! Our house is being blown away!”
“G-God is angry! Save us!”
“I want to go back to France!”
But after the Mississippi River’s flooding, along with typhoons and hurricanes, it became a cursed land where disasters struck constantly.
“Hey, have you heard? That fellow—John Law, or Johan Law or whatever his name is—is all the rage these days.”
“I heard His Majesty granted him the rights to Mississippi River shipping.”
“Rights over a colony? That sounds profitable.”
“Right? I bought some shares a few weeks early myself.”
“Come to think of it, that man John is even touching the Royal Bank now. If you don’t buy now, there might not be any left soon.”
“Oh! Oh! It’s going up! Let’s ride this all the way to the moon!”
“The house deed! Where’s the house deed?!”
“Dear, why do you need the deed?”
“Why else? We sell everything and go all-in on Mississippi stock! That fellow John is shoveling money into people’s hands!”
“To the moon, Louisiana coin!”
When the Mississippi Shipping Company soared again and again—its shares rising from a face value of 300 livres to twenty thousand livres per share—Louisiana became a beloved land that brought wealth.
“Have you heard about that hunchback beggar in front of Notre-Dame Cathedral? He realized people visiting the stock exchange had no desk to sign their share certificates, so he rents out his back as a writing table for money. The world’s gone mad!”
“…Colonies may be valuable, but is it really worth this kind of overheating?”
“I already pulled out. My heart can’t take it.”
“H-hey, why are the shares falling?”
“Extra! Extra! The Mississippi Company securities are being devalued!”
“Devalued? What does that mean?!”
“What else? Mississippi stock is now worth dirt! Dirt! No one buys it even at face value!”
“…Is the water of the Seine River warm today?”
“What a damned world! Was it such a crime for me to earn a few coins?!”
When the worst stock bubble in history burst and the crash continued—twenty-thousand-livre shares collapsing to one hundred livres in a single month—Louisiana became a cursed land that ruined people’s livelihoods.
Seeing its reputation swing between heaven and hell not once but twice, it seemed as if God himself was deeply concerned about Louisiana falling into French hands.
Or perhaps God was simply a severe hysteric.
“And you’re telling me to develop that place? Hahaha.”
Dumouriez checked that no one was around, popped the cork from a bottle, and began drinking straight from it.
The liquor tasted excellent. Alcohol always went down smoothly when one’s heart felt bitter.
—You know, I once happened to check the general’s assets.
—Frankly, I was surprised. I didn’t know General Dumouriez was such a talented investor.
—To accumulate that much wealth on a soldier’s salary. Truly impressive. Say, if you retire someday, how about joining my investment company?
Infuriating.
So infuriating he felt as though he might die of sheer rage.
But he couldn’t just flip the table and shout, “Damn it, Guillaume is pissing me off!” If he charged recklessly like Mirabeau and got it wrong, he would end up hunted by the Counterintelligence Bureau for thirty years.
Thus the future Governor of Louisiana could only clutch a bottle alone and shed tears of sorrow.
Meanwhile, on the deck, a robust officer gazed through his telescope at the approaching land.
One amusing detail was that his uniform was completely custom-made except for the rank insignia, unlike the other officers.
Even for a cavalryman who enjoyed standing out, wearing a flamboyant multicolored silk uniform instead of regulation attire—aside from the epaulettes—was excessive.
Yet the officer seemed unconcerned.
Peering through the telescope, he shouted loudly.
“So that is the New World waiting for me! Hahaha!”
Being born the son of an innkeeper and living one’s entire life as an innkeeper was unbearably dull.
For those who preferred stability and a quiet life, perhaps it was acceptable.
But if one was born with a powerful body over 180 centimeters tall and a handsome face that charmed the ladies of Paris, shouldn’t one roam this vast world and create heroic tales that future generations would remember forever?
Alexander, the Carolingians, Caesar—
Ah, except Caesar. Becoming bald held no appeal.
No matter how glorious a hero’s legend might be, baldness took away some of the charm.
“America, let us test ourselves. Let’s see which is greater—your vastness or my stamina!”
The white teeth of Major Joachim Murat of the Louisiana expedition cavalry gleamed under the blazing light of the Atlantic.
There was once a saying in twenty-first-century South Korea.
If you wanted people in a nursing home to say to your parents, “Your child is truly filial,” then instead of buying them a massage chair for thirty-six monthly payments of 39,900 won, it was better to book them a thirty-day cruise.
Ah, the important point here wasn’t that a cruise was better than a massage chair.
The key detail was that the cruise lasted thirty days.
A twenty-first-century cruise with roaring engines could circle the world in thirty days.
So how long would a ship of sails—nothing more than wind and canvas—take to travel from France in Europe all the way to faraway Nouvelle-Orléans in America?
Two months.
A full two months.
Imagine not being able to work for two months. And since you’re in the middle of the ocean, you can’t even receive documents sent from land.
What a serious problem.
Naturally, with such distress, I have no choice but to open a bottle of cognac.
It absolutely isn’t because I plan to legally loaf around for two months away from Versailles.
“Ahhh, hell yeah.”
The warm sunlight of the Atlantic, the brilliant blue ocean, and good liquor combined into the perfect vacation spot.
This was life.
Why was I going to America, you ask?
If you’re launching a business in an unknown land, you have to check things personally. It’s not like the twenty-first century where you can make international calls from afar.
The United States of America might be a friendly country, but once borders meet, strange ideas can arise.
Florida still borders British territory, and Texas to the west is a Spanish colony. Unexpected incidents could easily occur.
This eighteenth century was an era filled with intrigue and schemes.
Those who were careless simply didn’t survive.
Shouldn’t I stay in Paris as the Controller-General of Finance?
No—the current Controller-General was Marquis de Condorcet.
I’m not the Controller-General anymore.
Legally the term lasts four years, and I resigned last year. The next election should happen in three years.
If they keep trying to drag me back before that, it ruins the fun.
Yes, I wasn’t the one at fault.
The real problem was all those people in Versailles and Paris—forty or fifty years old—bullying a mere twenty-year-old civilian.
Why were adults so desperate to torment a kid?
“E-excuse me… boss?”
“Yes, Mr. Le Bon?”
Philippe Le Bon, the senior engineer participating in this expedition as a technician from our company.
Murdoch and Trevithick said his skills were quite good, and even that penny-pinching Lavoisier must have thought so too since he recommended him for this expedition.
I remembered seeing him during the previous Paris development project.
“The captain says we’ll soon arrive in Nouvelle-Orléans.”
“Really? Ah, what a shame.”
After running nonstop for more than five years, I’d finally managed to secure something like a real vacation.
Too bad it was ending.
Time to get up.
The success or failure of the steam locomotive project depended on this venture.
And whether we could mass-produce steel—the very starting point of the Industrial Revolution—also depended on it.
At that moment, someone walked up behind me and spoke gently.
“And the future relationship between the United States of America and France may depend on it as well. Wouldn’t you agree, Monsieur le Contrôleur?”
I sighed.
“I told you—I’m not the Controller-General anymore.”
“Hahaha!”
What?
Was something funny?
Don’t laugh, damn it.
Talleyrand, you bastard.
Stop looking at an innocent man like he’s a clown.
“What kind of country assigns state affairs to a civilian traveling for work?”
“Haha, but you are hardly an ordinary civilian.”
“What makes me different from everyone else?”
“How amusing. I didn’t know you had such a sense of humor.”
“Aaaagh! Guaaagh!”
Impossible.
This was unconstitutional.
My dream was to roam that vast continent and enjoy the sweet rewards of opportunity—not to go to backwater towns like New York and Boston and boast with empty talk.
What benefit would I gain from that?
Seeing Jefferson again after a long time?
“Deputy Talleyrand, let’s settle this here. I have absolutely no intention of going from Nouvelle-Orléans to Boston. Please handle the American affairs yourself.”
“Hmm. Must you be so extreme?”
“If I ever become Controller-General again, I’ll personally cancel your vacation.”
“Haha, it would be inappropriate to involve civilians in state affairs. Leave American matters to me.”
People only came to their senses when a knife was pressed to their own throat.
When I kept saying my mind and body were exhausted, he ignored me completely.
But the moment I threatened his vacation, he switched positions instantly.
“Harbor ahead! Harbor! We’ve arrived at Nouvelle-Orléans!”
In any case—
It was time to work.