Chapter 223: First Impressions (1)
By the time the cold North Sea winds had withdrawn from Britain and the warm spring breeze had slowly begun to show itself in Stevenson, a small village in Hampshire—
George Austen, the country priest in charge of the village’s only church, was sunk in deep worry.
“…Is it really right to send Jane all alone to distant France?”
If it were somewhere on British soil, like London, Liverpool, or Manchester, that would be one thing. But to send an unmarried young woman to a foreign country…
No matter how he thought about it, perhaps he should have married her off when a good match had come two years earlier. George pressed his aching temple with his thumb as he thought.
However—
“No, Father. When will an opportunity like this ever come again? Why are you even hesitating?!”
His eldest son, Henry Austen, stared at George with wide eyes, as if asking what in the world he was saying.
“It’s a foreign country, and France at that. You children may not really feel it, but until not long before you were born, that country was at war with England. And you want me to send our Jane there all by herself? Good heavens, if your grandfather were still alive, he would have fainted on the spot.”
“But he also wouldn’t have left a talented child like Jane to rot away in this English backwater.”
“…Ahem.”
Henry leaned toward his father and spoke in a low, serious voice.
“Father. For ordinary people like us, born in this stifling land of England, succeeding is no different from an elephant passing through the eye of a needle.”
“…That is not wrong.”
“Ever since that damned Foreign Study Prohibition Act, the means for people like us to receive higher education have only grown fewer. And if you’re a woman, then forget Oxford or Cambridge—you’ve got nowhere to go except some convent boarding school where, instead of lessons, they teach you how to police the length of your skirt.”
The Foreign Study Prohibition Act. A grotesque law of historic absurdity that banned overseas study under the bizarre logic that if you studied in France, you became a French spy, and if you studied in Spain, you became a Spanish spy, so to protect England’s national security, people must not be allowed to go abroad.
When heard for the first time, one might perhaps think, Oh, doesn’t that make some sense?
But if one examined, one by one, the noble lords in the House of Lords who passed that bill, even a complete fool would immediately realize that thought was mistaken.
The exalted nobles with their seats at Westminster were perfectly free to take French wives and mistresses, but if commoners—who would only be ostracized and bullied by nobles even if they entered Oxford—finally snapped and said, Fuck it, fine, you lot can have your mighty shit. I won’t study with you either, and went abroad to study, that counted as espionage.
Which was more dangerous to national security: high-ranking officials taking foreign-born wives, or commoners trying to study? Obviously the former.
What kind of insane world was this? If Beelzebub himself were dragged up from hell and shown it, even that great demon would probably shudder and say, Ah, this is a bit much…
In any case, on this land called England, for a brilliant child like Jane to display her talent was no different from plucking stars from the sky.
However, if it was a place like France across the sea, where even women served as deputies in the House of Commons—if it was a place like that, then might Jane not be able to fly? The opportunity Jane had gained this time was no ordinary one.
Moreover, there was no need to worry about legal trouble. Was it not clearly written there: “Planned entrusted education at the Faculty of Literature of the University of Paris”? It did not say “admission to the Faculty of Literature of the University of Paris.”
A single word made all the difference, so unless someone deliberately tried to force the issue, there was no need to worry about this being treated as overseas study. On top of that, rumors even said that Guillaume, the organizer, was personally close to the current Prime Minister, William Pitt, so any civil servant with half a brain would probably let it pass.
“Hmm.”
“I recently got to know someone while working in Manchester. Nathan Rothschild—the head of Ears of the Nation’s British branch. He was asking whether I knew anyone worth recommending, since the head office was selecting aspiring writers this time.”
“…Is he trustworthy?”
“Of course. I’ve done business with him several times now, and he has never failed me even once.”
At his eldest son’s words, George drew in a deep breath. If a trustworthy sponsor like the branch manager of Ears of the Nation was looking after her, then even in a distant foreign land, she would at least not come to harm.
“………Very well. If you, Henry, sharp as you are, think so, then I will trust your judgment. Let’s send Jane to France.”
“You’ve made the right decision, Father!”
Henry grinned from ear to ear and hurried up the stairs with long strides.
“Jane! Jane! He says yes! You can go to France now!”
“Waaah, Brother…!! Sniff, thank you!”
“Why are you crying, you fool! Khk.”
“…Honestly, I don’t know who they take after, but those siblings cry so easily.”
George said that, then raised his sleeve to wipe at the corners of his eyes. His hand kept going there, as though dust had gotten into them.
France, Paris.
After passing through alley after alley, he arrived at a tiny tavern. Dressed in black so as not to draw attention, a man knocked on the tavern door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me, Mathieu.”
“What was the name of the professor who taught us mathematics?”
“No, are we children or something? Do we really have to do this at our age? My kid can walk now, damn it.”
“If you don’t do it, I won’t let you in.”
“You lunatic, how is it that you haven’t changed since school? Hah… Professor Pierre-Simon Laplace. Is that enough now?”
Only then did the bolt slide free, and the door opened with a creak.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the married man François Mathieu. Come on in.”
“Why the hell are we holding a reunion in some back-alley tavern like this?”
Why else? If people found out I was in Paris, it wasn’t as if only one or two people would try to drag me off. If word got out that I’d entered Paris, wouldn’t Robespierre show up with a mob of red guards carrying bamboo spears and kidnap me? I don’t like meeting like some secret contact either.
“If you hadn’t gone around sticking your nose into everything in the first place, that wouldn’t be happening.”
“Enough. Just pour me a drink.”
“Oh my, how am I supposed to accept a glass poured by the former Controller-General of Finance? …Hm, not bad. Ah, where are the others?”
Instead of answering, I pointed toward some corner of the tavern.
“This, this is absurd! My monster card clearly has higher attack power! How can I lose so ridiculously!”
“You should have read the effect written below more carefully, Colonel Grouchy. Didn’t you know this pikeman card’s attack power rises when there is cavalry on the field?”
“What nonsense! A seasoned cavalry force charging at full speed would easily overwhelm mere pikemen! Do I, Grouchy, look like some worthless officer who can’t crush a single pike formation?”
“That’s in the field. This is card play, isn’t it?”
“Colonel Nicolas Davout! This is fraud!!”
“If you want to complain about fraud, the founder is over there, so perhaps say it to him rather than me.”
“Just you wait. Tomorrow I’ll come to your quarters with even more impressive cards!”
“Well, even then, I think you’ll still lose to me.”
“Gyaaaah!!!”
Grouchy shrieking at the top of his lungs, and Colonel Davout calmly scraping away at him from the side—
Were those really men in their thirties now? It was enough to fill one’s chest with awe. Truly, there was never a single moment of peace.
Did they perhaps mix cannabis into the army rations at the Paris Central Military School? How was it that every graduate except me turned out insane?
After watching Grouchy and Davout and shaking his head, Brother Mathieu asked me again,
“Come to think of it, where’s Napoleon? Where’s the second most successful among us?”
“He should be here soon. It’s quitting time now.”
Knock, knock, knock.
“Looks like he’s here.”
After completing the same sacred rite of passage as before and opening the door, in stumbled a working man with dark circles hanging beneath his eyes.
“Is this a corpse or a person?”
“…Have you all been well?”
“Judging by the fact you can talk, I guess you’re not a corpse yet.”
“…I don’t even have the energy to joke right now. Just pour me a full drink.”
Napoleon, whom we were meeting face-to-face after several years rather than through letters, threw his military cap carelessly onto the table and dropped heavily into a chair.
“Ugh, I’m dying.”
“You were so pleased when you got assigned to Counterintelligence Command, so why do you look half dead?”
“Fuck, some complete idiot is my superior, and he pisses me off to no end.”
Napoleon now let his head fall all the way back over the chair and waved both arms as he spoke.
“That old freak, even the word ‘old fogey’ is wasted on him. That thing is the Counterintelligence Commander? Hah. If a passing dog laughed itself to death at that, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“What the hell has he got bottled up inside to be like that?”
“Seriously.”
Napoleon turned his head slightly to look at us and spoke again.
“That bastard called the Counterintelligence Commander is blind to everything except power struggles with the Minister of Police. No matter how much I twist myself inside out and send reports up from below, that old freak only cares about fighting with Police Security. The useless shit-for-brains.”
While I had been running back and forth between America and Europe doing all sorts of things, it seemed Napoleon had been under tremendous stress because of a superior obsessed with turf wars.
Certainly, since counterintelligence straddled both the police and the military, those struggles over authority were fierce. When whales fought, the shrimp’s back broke; seeing Napoleon so worn down from being caught in the middle, I could understand it.
Napoleon uncorked a bottle of wine from the table and began drinking straight from it. After he had downed about half of it, he thumped the bottle back onto the table and said,
“Khh. Sorry. It’s been a long time since we met, and all I’ve done is complain.”
“Well, isn’t that what friends are for?”
“Hah, I guess I’ll need to buy a few more card packs tomorrow morning. …Alright. Let’s shove the irritating things aside and have some fun.”
That night, the lights of the tavern stayed on for a long, long time.
Ugh. What time is it?
I got out of bed, roughly scratched through my disheveled hair, and looked at the clock.
“What? It’s already nine?”
“Ughhh… why, do you have something to do?”
Napoleon, who had come back to my place for a second round last night and slept on the sofa as his bed, hauled himself upright and spoke.
“Today’s the day the future writers of Ears of the Nation are arriving. If I don’t get ready quickly, I’ll be late.”
“Can’t you just send one of your subordinates? Do you really have to go yourself?”
“Come on now. Do you know how important first impressions are to a businessman? I have to go out myself, show my face, and give them a proper encouraging speech, so they’ll think, ‘Ah, I’m glad I joined this company!’”
“Hah. What kind of long-winded speech are you planning to give?”
“If you’re curious, why not come along?”
“Well, it happens to be my day off.”
The two of us hurriedly boarded a carriage and began racing toward Le Havre, where our new aspiring writers were waiting.