Chapter 49: Provisional Government (2)
Chapter 49: Provisional Government (2)
“Ah, the moon is so bright and clear—what a beautiful world~.”
“…No matter how I think about it, you’re not just an ordinary kind of crazy.”
Mathieu said that as he watched me come back early for once, creak the rocking chair, stare at the moon, and recite some flowery verse.
“Ahem, Mr. Mathieu, don’t slander me. I’m a toootally rational person.”
“Ah, yes. Of course you are?”
“Of course, of course. I’m perfectly rational and reasonable.”
How could someone be crazy when they could flatly refuse an irrational, unreasonable demand in a single sentence?
Mm-hm. Yes. I’m not at fault. The problem is the ones who can’t even read the situation and only care about picking up scraps.
You think so too, right, hyung?
…No, hyung, why are you looking at me like that. Guillaume’s delicate heart gets hurt easily.
“Yes, yes. If ‘His Excellency the former Finance Minister’ says so, then that must be how it is. What would a mere infantry second lieutenant like me know?”
“N-no, what are you so unhappy about now?”
“It’s funny, that’s why! The guy who turned the Assembly into a complete shitshow is sitting there talking about being rational and reasonable!”
“Wellee. You can’t interpret it like that…?”
Now Mathieu asked with a look of disbelief.
“How is it a wrong interpretation to say something you turned into a shitshow is a shitshow?”
“Well, it is a shitshow, but… it’s probably the kind of shitshow we need right now.”
“…What?”
“Ah, f—… stop looking at me like that and listen. To put it plainly, France’s finances aren’t just ‘going bad.’ They’re rotten to the core.
“So if we’re going to pay that money back, what do you think we have to do?”
“…Raise taxes?”
“Raise taxes my ass. If you do that, you’ll get beaten to death with clubs.”
“Then what do we do? Wait—don’t tell me…?”
I nodded.
“Yeah. Unless we cut open the nobles’ bellies, the finances will never ease up. I tried thinking of other ways too, but every single one was unrealistic.”
Now Mathieu crossed his arms and started speaking seriously.
“…It’s not like there aren’t poor nobles too. If you sweep everything up indiscriminately, it’s obvious even bigger chaos will come.”
“Of course. I did some rough calculations. If we target only those with assets of around 100,000 livres or more and take about twenty to thirty percent, we can secure roughly 700 million to 1 billion livres immediately.”
“…Do you think the nobles will accept that quietly?”
“Whether they accept it or not stopped mattering a long time ago. The moment the nobles start clutching their bellies, the citizens will run up and cut them open themselves.”
“Then how about selling long-maturity bonds to the nobles instead?”
I shook my head.
Selling bonds? Sure, fine. But if foreign countries catch on to France’s fiscal-collapse situation and start demanding repayment, a second IMF crisis—no, a crisis that makes the IMF look tame—will hit immediately.
The bonds will turn into wastepaper, and if we keep printing banknotes to repay, France could become the original Zimbabwe.
A one-trillion-livre banknote—oh my god. What a horrifying object.
Distrust of paper money leads to distrust of the government, and distrust of the government leads to rising prices for hard assets like gold and silver.
Rising hard-asset prices will wreck the real economy, and a wrecked real economy means bread prices will jump up and down by ten million won every ten seconds.
Hell, by that point, everyone in silk clothes will have lead buried in their skulls.
And if bonds become wastepaper, do you think the nobles will leave me alone? In the end, I won’t have either the commoners or the nobles as allies, and the whole world will go to shit.
I’m planning to live well and eat well until at least eighty.
When I shook my head, Mathieu spoke again.
“If that won’t work, then instead of stirring up trouble like you, you should mediate in between!”
Mediate? If that had been possible, would the king’s head have gone boing in the original history?
“No. It’s better to blow it up now before the grudge builds deeper, and make them face each other and argue it out.”
“…I don’t know, Guillaume…”
I shrugged my head and shoulders and looked at Mathieu.
“Think about it simply, hyung. Start with why we’re here in Versailles in the first place. This happened because the estates never spoke plainly, not once—just kept everything bottled up inside.”
“…Mm.”
“If they spit out everything they’ve been holding back and confirm what they really mean, it’ll be hard at first, but later it’ll be easier.”
Mathieu drew in a deep breath, then slowly let it out.
“Whew… I can’t tell if you’re a crazy bastard or a bastard pretending to be crazy.”
I told you not to slander me.
“You’re no different from the king! Do you still think it’s the Middle Ages?!”
“What nonsense are you spewing? You commoner bastard—just because I defended you a few times, you think I’m on your level?!”
Five days after the fall of the Bastille fortress, three days after the establishment of the Provisional Government.
July 19, 1789. Versailles Palace, National Assembly.
Emmanuel Sieyès had one hand hooked over the armrest, repeatedly rubbing up and down across his nose bridge and forehead.
“…Guillaume. I really can’t figure you out…”
The Assembly hall that had shouted cheers together when the Provisional Government was formed was now trading harsh words because Finance Minister Guillaume de Toulon had resigned just one day after the Provisional Government’s establishment.
No—more precisely, harsh words were flying because of what Finance Minister Guillaume de Toulon said when he resigned.
• Yes, hello. I am Finance Minister Guillaume de Toulon. Time is precious, so I’ll be blunt. I’m resigning as Finance Minister. I don’t know who the next Finance Minister will be, but I hope you manage well.
• N-no, Finance Minister Guillaume! Resigning after one day in office—what on earth is the reason?
• Oh, that? People keep picking fights because they really dislike my economic policy.
• …Pardon?
• There are people who don’t want to give up the lords’ feudal rights, and people who don’t want a one-tenth property tax on those with assets of 100,000 livres or more. Anyway, good luck. Call me when everything’s done. I’m off.
Finance Minister Guillaume de Toulon—no, former Finance Minister Guillaume de Toulon—said that, and while all the deputies sat there stunned, he calmly opened the door and left the Assembly.
From that day on, the Assembly split into those who wanted to wipe away every remnant of the Middle Ages, and those who said such rapid, radical change would be difficult, and they began to argue fiercely.
Of course, the reform side outnumbered the other side by about two to one, but thirty percent was still enough to show the opposition wasn’t trivial.
“…If this continues, the Provisional Government and the National Assembly we barely built will destroy themselves.”
Sieyès’s hand rubbing his nose bridge tightened.
At the same time, he recalled what Guillaume had told him the night Guillaume resigned, when Sieyès went to Guillaume’s lodging.
• Father, wouldn’t it be better to fight with words now than fight with guns later?
“Mm…”
With a low groan, Sieyès swallowed once.
“…True. It was something bound to collide sooner or later. Yes—maybe Guillaume’s right. Rather than letting it fester until it bursts, it may be better to burst it now.”
Sieyès rose from his seat, passed through the deputies who were in the middle of arguing, and sat down beside the Duke of Aiguillon.
The duke, stern-faced in a coat that looked expensive at a glance, spoke without even glancing at Sieyès.
“What business do you have with me, Archbishop Sieyès.”
“Archbishop—been a while since I’ve heard that, Your Grace.”
“Hm. Then I will call you Deputy Sieyès.”
“Much better.”
The duke shot Sieyès a sidelong look once, then spoke.
“Then, Deputy, I will ask again. What is it?”
“It would be a lie to say it’s nothing, Your Grace.”
“Hm. As you know, I have already given up most of my feudal rights. I see nothing more I must do.”
Sieyès nodded.
“Of course, I know of Your Grace’s honorable action. But I wish to ask that Your Grace perform one more honorable act.”
The Duke of Aiguillon drew in a deep breath through his nose with a faint hm.
“Not others… but why must I do it?”
Now the duke looked Sieyès straight on.
Sieyès shrugged.
“Because you are France’s foremost lord, and the highest-ranked among the blue bloods in this Assembly.”
“…Fine. I’ll hear it. Just how big is it that you sought me out.”
Sieyès said with a hardened expression,
“Gather all the nobles, and make them voluntarily lay down their feudal rights.”
“Hahahaha!”
The Duke of Aiguillon burst into loud laughter.
After laughing for quite a while, he wiped the tears that had pooled in his eyes with a handkerchief and said,
“Haaah… Deputy Sieyès. Do you understand how difficult that is?”
“Of course.”
“And knowing that, you still say it?”
But Sieyès only smiled.
“Your Grace. Do you know that people are heavily swayed by atmosphere?”
“…You want me to play the hype man.”
“Yes. They’re privileges you already gave up anyway. Help me just once more.”
The Duke of Aiguillon closed his eyes for a moment and thought, then said,
“Fine. Suppose I do. Do I get anything out of it?”
“Let’s see. How about an indulgence from a former archbishop?”
“An indulgence—what do you mean?”
Sieyès turned his gaze away from the duke and stared straight at the center of the hall where the commotion was raging.
“I trust you know unrest is breaking out in the provinces.”
“…Are you threatening me?”
“A threat—one could see it that way. But I’m not threatening you. I’m showing you a way to survive.”
“You know this as well. I already relinquished my privileges long ago.”
“Of course, Your Grace the Duke of Aiguillon is beloved and respected by your tenants, so you will likely be safe. But other nobles…”
Sieyès paused.
“I trust you understand.”
“Hah. You’re trying to make me feel guilty—like other nobles’ fates rest on me. I should’ve thrown you out the moment you came.”
Unlike the Duke of Aiguillon, whose face had turned sour, Sieyès smiled brightly.
“That too, yes. But if Your Grace plays the hype man as I’ve said, then consider how you’ll be recorded by posterity. Isn’t it tremendously honorable?”
The highest blue blood truly fulfills noblesse oblige!
Sieyès added in an exaggerated, opera-singer-like tone.
At that, the Duke of Aiguillon rubbed his chin with his right hand, thought deeply, then said to Sieyès,
“Fine. I’ll put on this play however you like, just once.”
“You’ve made a wise choice, Your Grace!”
The next morning, July 20, 1789. National Assembly.
“Seeing our Assembly—gathered to reform the corrupt old era—shaken like this by a mere small conflict, I cannot help but feel deep regret as one of its deputies.
“From the beginning, the fief and feudal rights I, the Duke of Aiguillon, received are nothing more than an obsolete system destined to vanish into the back alleys of history.
“For the honorable will of our National Assembly, and from my desire not to burden the generations after me, I will renounce all feudal rights I hold.
“I pray my action does not end with me alone, and that all blue bloods who deem themselves noble will be moved to act likewise.”
Starting with the Duke of Aiguillon, the deputies of the National Assembly declared the renunciation and abolition of all feudal rights.
“What the hell! What do those Paris bastards think our blue blood is?! To hell with the National Assembly and all that—fuck it all!”
Of course, it seemed the provinces outside Paris did not think the same.