Chapter 40: The First Chapter of the Stage (3)
Chapter 40: The First Chapter of the Stage (3)
In the end, Florian and I were right.
And not just right—right as hell.
“…Did you really verify this properly?”
“Yes, Boss. I went there myself and saw it.”
“Out of four suppliers, three have zero stock.”
My neck felt like it was going to snap from how hard the back of my head was throbbing.
Following the massive crop failure of 1788, another enormous failure continued into early 1789, and wheat and rye yields dropped noticeably.
As a result, grain prices on the market jumped to nearly 2.5 times their usual level, yet the moment grain appeared, it sold out at gouged prices.
There were even rumors going around that out of Paris’s 650,000 citizens, close to 100,000 couldn’t even properly fill their stomachs.
“Still, thanks to you moving quickly in advance, Boss, it’s fortunate our losses aren’t that big.”
“That was only possible because you dug up the information early, Mr. Florian.”
We had already stockpiled enough grain to last a generous five months, and about three times that amount was crossing the Atlantic right now. For now, we could say we’d gotten past the worst of it.
“Ah, just in case, when the ship docks, complete payment immediately. Even if we signed the contract in advance, if they dock and find out what’s happening on the mainland, they might clamp their mouths shut and sell it to someone else at a gouged price.”
“Yes, understood.”
“And also—”
Right then, someone kicked our office door open and barged in.
“Guillaume! Young Guillaume, are you here?!”
That plump face, that body that clearly had nothing to do with exercise, and the person who called me like that…
“…Marquis de Condorcet? Why are you here all of a sudden…?”
“Why else? You were chosen as the Estates-General representative for the 14th arrondissement, so I came to congratulate you!”
The Marquis de Condorcet said it as if it were obvious, smiling broadly.
“…Pardon?”
Why me?
I could only sit there with my jaw hanging open, blank.
Back when we were all tiny grade-school brats, do you remember class president elections?
—Teacher! I want to nominate my desk mate, Cheolsu!
—Teacher! I think Minsu should be class president!
—Teacher! I want Suyeon to be class president!
That’s right. Class president elections were a nomination system.
A nomination system with a crazy amount of personal bias.
—Cheolsu is handsome, so I think he’ll do well as class president!
—Minsu is good at soccer, so I think he’ll do well as class president!
—Suyeon is good at studying, so I think she’ll do well as class president!
And that’s fine. They’re cute kids at an age where they’re growing and learning.
The problem is—
Why are grown adults doing that?
—I nominate Guillaume de Toulon as our district’s representative.
—Guillaume de Toulon? That man never even said he was running, did he?
—That’s true, but he’s also one of the Enlightenment men. He simply doesn’t show it outwardly, but he’s someone who wants to change the present reality. As proof, I can state with certainty that I have never seen anyone who puts people first more than him. Look at the business he runs!
While other nobles pay wages smaller than a mouse’s tail and sell goods at ridiculous prices, how much has Guillaume spent on wages for workers, and how cheaply has he sold goods? He is not like those soaked in greed.
And I have never seen the lights go out at the office of The Wheat People where he works. Guillaume is one of our people, bound by diligence, sincerity, and brotherhood!
—Hmm. Hearing it, that’s true. Does anyone object? If not, we elect Guillaume de Toulon as our district’s representative!
—Waaah! Long live the citizens! Long live the Third Estate!
After hearing the whole story from the Marquis de Condorcet, I was just dumbfounded.
What the hell—why do they decide without listening to the person involved?
Wow. You finish one task and a new one appears—magic! Is this the law of conservation of mass?
“Gyaaaaaaah!”
That day, Guillaume de Toulon was elected as a Third Estate representative for the city of Paris.
—I, Louis XVI, will permit all nameless people across every corner of the kingdom to speak their wishes and demands to me.
The king’s words spread across all of France in an instant.
Paris, Lille, Marseille, Caen, Toulouse, Arras, Amiens, Saint-Quentin… cities across the country were swept up in cheers.
“His Majesty the King says he’ll listen to us!”
“Long live His Majesty King Louis XVI! Long live France!”
“Waaah! Long live the citizens! Long live the Third Estate!”
Then the Enlightenment men who had been holding their breath in the shadows appeared.
From every class—nobles, clergy, bourgeois, commoners—the consciences of the age began pouring out.
“I renounce all the rights I hold as a noble. My land, my right to collect taxes—everything.
I want only one thing: that everyone in this country can live like human beings!”
“Waaah! Long live His Grace the Duke of Aiguillon! Long live the citizens!”
“The mission the Lord gave us clergy was to treat all people with love, not to set people against each other and exploit them. Therefore I, Emmanuel Sieyès, Archbishop of Chartres, will rise from this empty position called ‘clergy’ and proclaim proudly.
What is the Third Estate? It is all of us!”
“Waaah! Long live Archbishop Sieyès! Long live the citizens!”
Most people believed a new era, a better life, would come.
“Augustin, do you believe those hypocrites?”
A thirty-one-year-old lawyer sneered as he looked at the scene outside the window through the curtains.
At his brother’s words, a twenty-six-year-old young-looking lawyer spoke.
“Hyungnim. Still, didn’t His Majesty the King promise it himself?”
“A promise? A promise…”
The man called “hyung” repeated the word promise to himself, then looked at his younger brother Augustin and spoke again.
“Fine. What did he promise?”
“What do you mean what—he said he’d listen to all the people’s words.”
“And?”
“And what else? What other words were there?”
“No. That’s all.”
“…What?”
Augustin tilted his head at his brother’s words.
Seeing his younger brother like that, the older brother spoke with a small smile.
“The king said only that he would listen. He said nothing beyond that.
Fine—let’s grant you a hundred concessions and say the king truly listens sincerely and, moved, issues reform orders.”
He took a sip of milk from his glass and continued.
“As you saw, the ones with real power are the trash of the high courts and the vermin of the Notables, not the king. Do you think those bastards will even pretend to listen to the king?”
“….”
After patting his silent brother’s shoulder, the older brother opened the door to the law office and walked out.
On the street outside, countless citizens of Arras were hugging each other and singing.
Filling his eyes with that scene, the thirty-one-year-old lawyer murmured in a voice so small no one could hear.
“If the trash won’t hand it over themselves, then no matter what happens, I’ll gladly make them hand it over.”
That day, the thirty-one-year-old lawyer Maximilien Robespierre was elected as a Third Estate representative for Arras, Artois Province.
It was April 1789—spring.
“Teacher! If you make one wrong move, it could be dangerous!”
“Dupont, that again? His Majesty issued an order in person this time. Even the rioters will quiet down now—what are you so worried about, honestly.”
Lavoisier couldn’t understand why, after his friend Laplace, his student Dupont—whom he hadn’t seen in a while—was also acting like this.
“My safety will be protected by the military and police, and I haven’t broken any law, so there’s no reason I’d be denounced. People aren’t beasts—they’re rational creatures. What you’re worried about won’t happen.”
At Lavoisier’s words, Dupont had no choice but to squeeze his eyes shut.
Just months ago, a riot erupted in the middle of Paris and hundreds were killed or wounded, yet Lavoisier, instead of being cautious, was still only thinking about how to collect taxes better.
“Get sponsorship from rich men, Teacher! Even if it means fewer experiments than now, that doesn’t mean your achievements won’t be recognized!”
Lavoisier sighed and said,
“I’m approaching fifty now. How much longer can I stay vigorous? I can clearly feel my mind is performing worse than it did a few years ago—do you think when I turn fifty, and grow older than that, I’ll still be able to keep my sharpness?”
Without sharpness, you are no longer a scientist, Dupont. Lavoisier added.
“…If you die before you can even fully use that sharpness, isn’t that also disqualifying as a scientist?”
“Hmph. You went gallivanting around with some strange fellow you call your friend, picked up a bit of ‘society,’ and now you’re talking back to your teacher—looks like you’ve grown quite a head, Dupont.”
At his teacher’s words, Dupont only bit down hard on his lips and stepped out of the laboratory.
But he had to stop for a moment at Lavoisier’s words from behind.
“Still… since a student said it out of concern for his teacher, I’ll keep it in mind to some extent.”
That very day, Lavoisier decided to stop his tax-farmer work for a while.
It was May 1, 1789.
Author’s Note
Thank you always to everyone who reads my writing.
Honestly, last night I thought a lot.
When I first started writing, I was so happy each time someone left a comment, and even when the likes and favorites increased by one, then two, I was truly happy.
But people say humans are naturally greedy.
Recently, when I couldn’t climb higher in the Toube rankings and kept circling the same spot, bad thoughts started creeping in.
‘Am I bad at writing.’
‘Is there a problem with the progression.’
‘Why can’t I climb higher.’
I used to be happy even with the small attention you gave me, but before I knew it, I was only wanting more.
When I realized that, it felt very bitter.
So I’m going to push forward strongly again.
To everyone who gives me more attention than I deserve—comments, favorites, likes—thank you so much.