Chapter 29: How to Live (2)
Chapter 29: How to Live (2)
A reception room in Versailles Palace.
Dozens of people, lavishly dressed in a way that reeked of “nobility” and “clergy,” filled the room. Centered around a dais in the middle, the surrounding gallery seats formed a square shape enclosing it, almost reminiscent of the Westminster Parliament in England.
“Ahem.”
The Presiding Velvet-Clad Noble cleared his throat and swept his gaze across the room. He was checking whether the famous Paris figures who absolutely had to be present today had arrived on time.
‘Good. Looks like everyone who matters showed up.’
He briefly stroked his chin with his right hand, then spoke with a solemn expression.
“Now, we will begin the Assembly of Notables. This Assembly of Notables has been convened at the earnest request of the Controller-General of Finance, Charles Alexandre de Calonne, to His Majesty. Let the Controller-General step forward and explain what this is about.”
As soon as he finished speaking, a man stood from among the attendees and walked forward onto the central dais. With dark circles sinking down to his cheeks, and with an age nearing fifty, his appearance was enough to evoke pity from anyone who saw him.
Once he reached the dais, he looked around the room, drew a deep breath, and slowly exhaled.
“I am Charles Alexandre de Calonne, Controller-General of Finance of the Kingdom of France.”
His tone trembled as he spoke. There was urgency in it, as if he were being chased by something.
“I will speak plainly. France is on the brink of bankruptcy.”
A bombshell declaration.
The instant the Controller-General’s words fell, audience members sprang up here and there and began shouting.
“Controller-General! What do you mean by that!?”
“S-say that again! B-bankruptcy?”
“What exactly has happened!? Are the British attacking the New World again!? Or have they attacked our colonies in the West Indies!?”
Some demanded to know what had happened. Some demanded to know whether they had truly heard correctly. Some guessed at plausible causes and asked whether their predictions were right.
But one thing was clear.
They were all shocked.
And the Controller-General’s answer sent another massive shockwave crashing into their heads.
“Debt. Debt, I tell you. Debt! It is not because of the British, nor because of the colonies. The liabilities France has carried have now exceeded the line we can contain.”
At his words, the room went quiet as if doused with cold water.
Debt? Debt?
France was an economic great power that ran a ten-million-livre surplus every year. True, it had paid back money borrowed from the Dutch during the era of the Sun King, Louis XIV, somewhat late, but it was still a nation capable of bearing enormous debt.
France had debt it could not repay?
That was absurd.
“Controller-General! What are you saying!? France is the greatest power on the continent! We even make a net profit of ten million livres every year—how can we have debt!?”
“Exactly! Did you perhaps misread the numbers in the ledgers?”
It took only one sentence to turn those people into speechless fools.
“France’s national debt is 3.5 billion livres.”
At those words, every single person who had been throwing objections fell silent.
How long did that frigid atmosphere last? One minute? Ten? Perhaps even longer. No one could spare attention for the passage of time with the words “3.5 billion livres” filling their heads.
The one who broke the chill was a nobleman in uniform, around thirty years old.
“Your Excellency, Controller-General. The 3.5 billion livres… is that certain?”
The Controller-General looked toward the voice and met the nobleman’s eyes.
He drew a deep breath and let it out, then spoke calmly and carefully.
“That is correct, Marquis de Lafayette.”
A confirmed kill.
At once, the reception room turned into something no different from a chaotic marketplace.
Some spoke among themselves in low voices. Some stared blankly at the ceiling with shocked expressions. Some, faces flushing red and blue, ranted that the former finance minister Necker should be beheaded immediately. Some merely offered prayers to God.
Even the velvet-clad noble who had first declared the opening was stunned by Calonne’s bombshell—until he came to his senses amid the uproar, struck the table with his gavel, and shouted.
“Order! Order yourselves!”
When the noisy room finally quieted, a middle-aged man stood and spoke.
“I am Marquis de Condorcet, Director of Taxation. Your Excellency, do you have a plan in mind? Or perhaps issuing bonds—”
Controller-General Calonne bit his lip and thought for a moment.
When the metallic taste of blood teased his tongue, Calonne slowly—yet clearly—opened his mouth.
“With our current finances… we cannot issue bonds.”
The nobles gathered at the Assembly of Notables were shocked once again. If they could not even issue national bonds, was there truly any path for France to rise again?
Hearing that, Marquis de Condorcet spoke with a hardened face.
“Then only one course remains.”
“…That is so, Director of Taxation.”
At those words, the nobles’ faces brightened again. Yes—God had not abandoned France after all. France, the great power. We believed in you.
But at the Controller-General’s next words, their faces turned paler than when they had heard the initial bombshell.
“As former Controller-General Turgot attempted, we will impose taxation upon the First Estate and the Second Estate.”
Tax the First Estate and the Second Estate.
That meant imposing upon the clergy and nobility—the First and Second Estates—the taxes that had so far been borne only by the commoners of the Third Estate.
If the earlier statement had been a bomb, this was a nuclear bomb.
“…What? We’re not lowborn trash—how dare you tax us?”
“Controller-General! Don’t spout nonsense! There has to be another solution!”
“Right! Controller-General Calonne is trying to suck the blood of loyal subjects and men of God just because he can’t be bothered!”
If the earlier bombshell had turned the Assembly into a marketplace, now it escalated into something closer to a street brawl.
Here and there, people threw ink and pen shafts at Calonne, and some even shouted obscene words at the top of their lungs.
Unable to contain his anger, Marquis de Condorcet stood and shouted.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing!? People who make up only three percent of this country monopolize more than fifty percent of its wealth and pay not a single coin—yet when the nation is in danger and asks for help, you dismiss it as nonsense!? And you still call yourselves French!?”
“Hah! Listen here, Director of Taxation! You’ve probably gone soft in the head from mixing with low-class commoners. Compared to the blood we blue-bloods have shed for our homeland, that petty tax exemption is nothing!”
“Exactly, exactly! And Director of Taxation, you know full well you didn’t get your position because you were exceptional. You received it because His Majesty ordered you to devote yourself to the nation instead of mixing with ‘reactionaries’ like Rousseau who threaten the state. Compared to you, aren’t we far more patriotic?”
“Boo! Condorcet, get lost—you who abandoned the duty and responsibility of blue blood!”
As Marquis de Condorcet’s face reddened as if it might burst, Marquis de Lafayette, seated opposite him, stood.
Marquis de Lafayette.
A hero of the American Revolutionary War, the sword of France, and America’s unmatched friend.
No matter how arrogant the nobles were, when Lafayette rose, they had no choice but to shut their mouths for a moment.
“That’s enough. Everyone is far too heated right now. Let us take a few days as a grace period to settle our emotions, and then meet again.”
At his words, even the velvet-clad noble holding the gavel nodded and declared a recess.
And not long after, in the name of the Assembly of Notables, the dismissal of Controller-General Charles Alexandre de Calonne was decided.
“Haaahm.”
“Why is that, sir?”
A soldier spoke when he saw the small-statured second lieutenant yawning heavily.
“Just… you know. I’m bored, that’s all.”
Even though nearly a year had passed since being stationed in Valence, Napoleon Bonaparte had not been caught up in anything noteworthy. All he did was artillery-officer training and inspections of facilities within the unit.
It was dull.
A soldier, by rights, should fight the nation’s enemies, win, and raise his honor. Was he really going to live like this—just drifting along without any achievement? He hated that.
As if reading Napoleon’s mind, the soldier nodded and said,
“Well, officers might like it when trouble breaks out and war starts. But for low-ranking soldiers like me, I really like this peaceful atmosphere.”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
A soldier and an officer saw things differently. A soldier hoped to support himself and his family; an officer hoped to earn merit and rise higher.
“I’ll be going now, sir. Have a good day!”
The soldier—at least ten years older than him—saluted. Napoleon returned the salute, and the soldier disappeared into the distant barracks.
Once the soldier vanished completely and not a single silhouette remained, Napoleon muttered under his breath.
“Ah… I really want a war to break out already. Nothing’s happening.”
It was the truly dull, tedious daily life of Second Lieutenant Napoleon Bonaparte, artillery officer.
“How… how can this be! General Lafayette! Do you think this makes any sense!?”
Marquis de Condorcet glared with eyes full of fury at Marquis de Lafayette, seated in the reception room. Because of what happened that day, Condorcet had been all but exiled from the Assembly of Notables, and Lafayette too, unable to withstand the atmosphere, had chosen not to participate of his own accord.
Lafayette nodded at Condorcet’s words.
“It truly is an absurd outcome.”
Controller-General Calonne had been dismissed. His seat was taken by Brienne, the Archbishop of Toulouse.
It felt as though the world were collapsing. In the face of such a massive economic crisis, was it normal for a country to dismiss an economic man and appoint a religious man as Controller-General of Finance?
Marquis de Condorcet, his earlier anger gone, spoke with a depressed expression.
“France… France can rise again, can it not?”
“…The friends I met when I was in America protected their nation under even worse conditions than this. There is no reason we should be inferior to the people of the New World. If the nation falls into crisis, then I will burn this body of mine to protect it.”
Hearing that, Marquis de Condorcet managed a faint smile.
But Lafayette’s words were heavy.
‘If the nation falls into crisis, I will step forward and protect it.’
Most of France’s debt was money owed to massive financial powers in other countries—
the Netherlands, Spain, Britain, even the Holy Roman Empire.
If the bankers in those nations lost money to France, all of those countries would try to tear France to pieces.
And would the French simply allow that?
No. Absolutely not. The French, who valued pride and dignity above all else, would never stand by and watch their homeland be ripped apart.
Right now, France had no way to repay all its debt.
And the only method had been completely denied by the Assembly of Notables, that collective of nobles and clergy.
So then—
With a hardened expression, Condorcet asked,
“General Lafayette… do you believe war will break out?”
The thirty-year-old, handsome war hero answered with a resolute face.
“Of course.”
An age of chaos was approaching.
Author’s Note
I’m truly sorry. I should have checked beforehand. I’m really, truly sorry.
This incompetent author is truly sorry…