Chapter 41: The First Act of the Stage (4)
Chapter 41: The First Act of the Stage (4)
“...Your Highness, Duke. This situation seems to be getting out of hand.”
“Damn it, I know that already, Baron. You don’t need to remind me again.”
The royal addressed as Duke ground his teeth before speaking. Once again, he could feel dozens of pairs of eyes—the blue-blooded nobles surrounding him—fixed squarely on him.
Damn it. To think Louis would use commoners as weapons and corner me like this. He’s always behaved in ways unbefitting a king—so what sudden madness took him now!?
The Duke took a deep breath, then let it out. After repeating this several times, his turbulent thoughts gradually settled.
“For now, send our people to the Estates-General. The idiots of the Assembly of Notables have served their purpose—cut them loose.”
Using the Assembly of Notables as a Red Guard to keep King Louis in check was over.
The Assembly of Notables had been a body through which commoners were wielded to exert political influence. But now that the king had sided with the commoners, the Assembly was bound to lose its political power.
To prevent future trouble, the Duke believed it best to sever ties with the Assembly now.
“Yes. Duke of Orléans. We will act as ordered.”
At the words of the Duke of Orléans, first in line of succession to the throne, the blue-blooded nobles who had been waiting only for his command answered in unison.
Seeing this, the Duke of Orléans smiled in satisfaction.
That’s right. The king fit for France is me—Orléans—not that weak, useless Louis. I’ve already secured the sharp-minded nobles. If I can somehow win over the support of the commoners, driving that bastard Louis out won’t be impossible. Ah, come to think of it...
“For the First and Second Estates attending this Estates-General, select men who can actually think. If fools like those from the Assembly of Notables go, they’ll obviously clash with the commoners.
Remember this well: we must draw the commoners entirely to our side. As long as their demands aren’t things like abolishing the monarchy, lend them our full support.”
“As if there could be any doubt, Your Highness.”
Versailles Palace. The most magnificent and splendid structure in all of Europe, where the King of France resided—and the site chosen for this Estates-General.
Bathed in sunlight and gleaming gold, the palace buildings stretching hundreds of meters in both length and width, along with gardens twice as expansive, displayed France’s opulence and aristocratic splendor in full.
“Wow… this is insane…”
“Seriously…”
Having somehow become a representative of the Third Estate, I stood there with Mathieu, who had followed along claiming he wanted to see the palace once in his life and had volunteered as my assistant. Both of us could only gape at the palace’s grandeur.
Even my eyes, hollowed out from weeks of overtime to make time for my duties as a representative, felt jolted awake by the sight.
To think this was built in an era without excavators or cranes—this was truly on another level. No wonder Versailles always showed up in those French documentaries on KBC or whatever.
As I was admiring the spectacle, someone beside me muttered,
“…So this is how they live, throwing money around like that?”
As if on cue, voices began rising from all around.
“In our city, forty people froze to death because there was no firewood. This is beyond words. Heh heh heh.”
“Snicker, snicker. Filthy pigs. Nothing but pigs.”
“Do those noble bastards even know how much grain costs?”
The poorly dressed representatives from the provinces were grinding their teeth.
Ah. This feels dangerous.
“Brother Mathieu, how about we move somewhere else?”
“Mm. You’re probably right.”
Following the guards’ guidance, Mathieu and I hurriedly moved away, heading toward the reception room where King Louis XVI was meeting the representatives.
“…What did you say?”
“Aren’t you representatives of the Third Estate? His Majesty has decreed that the commoner representatives will be received after his meetings with the First and Second Estates.”
The guard spoke firmly as he blocked our way to the reception room.
Seriously. Does this king have any sense of shame? In a way, we’re guests, aren’t we? He calls us here and then treats us differently—how does that make any sense?
“…Then where are we supposed to meet His Majesty?”
The guard rolled his eyes for a moment, thought, then answered.
“His Majesty will summon you to his bedchamber late this afternoon. Please wait until then.”
Ah, I see! So when he’s full of energy, he ignores us, and when he’s sleepy, he’ll lie in bed and give us a half-hearted wave?
Wow. Wow. As a citizen of a 21st-century democracy, I could feel my blood boiling. If this were a president, impeachment articles would already be sharpening their knives.
No wonder that guy’s head eventually flew off at the guillotine. I’m this pissed—if those shabby commoner representatives earlier had heard this, their faces would’ve turned beet red.
Mathieu and I only managed to see the king’s face after night had fallen.
King Louis XVI lay on his bed, his face heavy with fatigue, and spoke.
“So. What is your name?”
“…I am Guillaume de Toulon, representative of the Third Estate from Paris, Your Majesty.”
“Toulon? If I recall, Toulon is in the south, is it not? A Paris representative—that’s curious.”
“My origins are indeed in the south, but I live in Paris for my studies and work, Your Majesty.”
“I see. Very well. You may go now and tell the next person to come in.”
“…Yes, Your Majesty.”
Wow. After waiting over five hours, a twenty-second conversation—how deeply moving.
I think I understand Louis XVI’s mindset perfectly now.
This man sees us as nothing but props. Some people are absurdly busy, dragged out here by force, running back and forth like madmen, while this so-called king receives guests while lying in bed. That’s crossing a line.
“Come to think of it, he’s someone who’ll get swept away anyway. Would it really make a difference if I poured a little oil on the fire?”
“Guillaume, what are you talking about now?”
“It’s nothing, Brother Mathieu.”
“You saying things like that has never led to anything ordinary.”
Mathieu shook his head.
When have I ever done anything abnormal? I’m completely normal.
I’m a very cool-headed, rational person. Even if I did think about cutting off the king’s head a few days ago, I didn’t actually plan to do it, so that still makes me rational.
But calling us here and then wasting five hours spouting nonsense—that’s crossing the line. Even mild-mannered Brother Mathieu was sighing heavily beside me.
Among the commoner representatives inside the hall, anger was beginning to boil.
Throughout the five-hour opening ceremony, the king appeared briefly at the start and then vanished, while the man called the Finance Minister came out and read off a string of incomprehensible numbers.
So are you going to listen to us or not? I’m already buried under work as it is, and you expect me to waste my time on this meaningless farce?
This is fucking awful.
“Your Excellency, Finance Minister. I am Guillaume de Toulon, representative of the Third Estate. May I speak?”
Breaking through five hours of silence, a voice rang out along with a raised hand, drawing every eye in the room.
Uh, being stared at like this is a bit embarrassing.
“…You may speak.”
Finance Minister Necker said, looking taken aback.
“Thank you, Your Excellency.”
“You crazy bastard… what are you doing!?”
Mathieu whispered in panic, his voice so low no one else could hear.
When have I ever done anything strange? What’s with this reaction?
“Reading all the numbers in those ledgers is fine, but please be precise. Tell us clearly: how much money is currently in the treasury, what the net balance is, whether it’s a deficit or surplus, and how much debt there is. Just tell us that.”
……
The Finance Minister flinched at my words, sighed once, and then spoke.
“Very well. No matter how much time I try to drag this out, nothing will change. The debt is 3.5 billion livres. Annual interest is 80 million livres. There is no surplus. On the contrary, due to unrest across the country, taxes are not being collected, and the finances are worsening.”
Is that enough? Necker added.
The king had been using Necker as a sacrifice to kill time.
The plan was for Necker to stall the commoner representatives while the king negotiated with the nobles to somehow make them open their purses. But now that the commoners had demanded a proper financial report, Necker had no choice.
If he dismissed the commoners here, their anger would explode directly at him—and then Necker might end up taking a stone to the back of the head in the middle of the night and dying a miserable death.
“…Could you repeat that one more time? The debt is… how much?”
“3.5 billion livres.”
At the Finance Minister’s final words, the chilled atmosphere ignited in an instant.
All around the hall, commoner representatives leapt to their feet, pointing fingers and shouting at the Finance Minister.
“Three point five billion! 3.5 billion livres! Have you all lost your minds!?”
“You insane bastards, talking about blue blood and all that crap?”
“Explain yourself immediately, Finance Minister!”
I stood there alone, utterly stunned.
What did he just say? 3.5 billion? Wait—wait. What was France’s annual revenue again? Around 100 million livres, wasn’t it? Did they carry out some kind of currency reform? No, that can’t be.
What the fuck, is this Zimbabwe!?
Incredible. Europe’s “China.”
“Hah. A bold young man.”
The representative from the city of Arras spoke as he watched the twenty-year-old Paris representative who had stood alone to address the Finance Minister.
While representatives everywhere were standing and denouncing the Finance Minister, the Arras delegate fixed his gaze only on the Paris representative who had sparked it all.
“There need to be more like him for this country to function properly. Among all these people, not a single one with courage equal to his—what a pity.”
After all, even if they were representatives of the commoners, if many had the courage to challenge a high official like the Finance Minister, this would be the United States, not France.
“In that case, shouldn’t I change this France together with young men like him?”
The Arras representative stood and shouted loudly.
“I! The representative of the city of Arras! Maximilien Robespierre! Demand that responsibility be taken for the misrule of the First and Second Estates, and that credentials be reviewed for a true Estates-General in which all estates, without distinction, exercise one vote per person, as well as for all subsequent proceedings to be overseen accordingly!”
“Guillaume. I knew you weren’t ordinary, but I didn’t expect you to pour oil on the fire like this. Hahaha!”
Emmanuel Sieyès, representative of the city of Chartres, laughed heartily.
“Indeed. How can one reform and change the world under such an unjust system? Perhaps it really does need to be burned down once, just as you did, Guillaume.”
Sieyès stood from his seat and declared,
“I, Sieyès, representative of the Third Estate of Chartres, also declare my agreement with this demand.”
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