Chapter 57: Poisoned Chalice (5)
Chapter 57: Poisoned Chalice(5)
“Philippe Égalité! Long live the Duke of Orléans! Long live the Revolution!”
“Long live! Long live! Long live!”
“Long live His Majesty King Louis XVII!”
Despite the bitter cold of early December, all kinds of people kept streaming nonstop toward the carriage of the Duke of Orléans as it headed for Reims for the coronation.
An ordinary housewife in an apron,
A successful lawyer dressed in a neat suit,
A young officer who had come out in full uniform—even though he was off duty—going so far as to whiten it with chalk,
Even a laborer who had roughly thrown on shabby, comfortable cotton trousers instead of expensive culottes.
They were hundreds, thousands—Paris citizens of every kind—but their voices and hands all reached toward the lavishly decorated carriage bearing the Bourbon symbol: three fleur-de-lis.
“Long live His Highness the Duke of Orléans! Long live! Long live! Long live the National Assembly! Long live the citizens of Paris!”
Countless hands and small tricolor flags wriggled out between the shoulders and faces of the people in front, dancing.
Of course, no matter how much they waved, no matter how loudly they shouted, no matter how many tricolors fluttered in the wind, the carriage windows did not open even an inch—but the citizens didn’t much care.
What mattered was that the citizens of Paris believed the Revolution had won.
They had no doubt that the change of the throne’s owner was something the citizens of Paris themselves had produced—the victory of the Revolution.
“Tch, vermin.”
Watching the figures swarming outside the window, Orléans clicked his tongue.
“Hey. Hurry up. If we dawdle here any longer, I’m going to vomit.”
In the end, Orléans opened the small window connecting to the front where the driver sat and spoke in a voice thick with irritation.
“Yes! As you command, Your Highness the Duke!”
“Hm?”
Orléans narrowed one eye at the driver’s words.
“S-sorry! Your Majesty the King! This lowly one’s mistake!”
“Hm. Fine. Just hurry up.”
At the sight of the driver repeatedly bowing his head as he spoke, Orléans finally smiled in satisfaction and stroked his chin.
Of course. “Your Highness the Duke,” my ass. Wasn’t he now the King of France and Navarre, and the head of the House of Bourbon? Yes. I am the king!
“Hyah! Hyah!”
Behind the driver whipping the reins hard, Orléans wore a greasy smile.
About an hour after the Duke of Orléans’s coronation procession left Paris for Reims—
The procession could go no farther and had stopped in the middle of the road.
“…What the…”
“It’s been cold lately, but I didn’t think the road would be frozen like this…”
General Dumouriez, commander of the escort, made a grim face with his aide and stomped the road with his boots, making heavy thuds.
“…General. I think we’ll have to break through it. If we pull the carriage over this…”
“Right. One wrong move and it’ll overturn.”
Dumouriez took a deep breath, then exhaled with a long “huh—.”
“…Aide.”
“Yes, General.”
“How many engineers do we have among the men we brought?”
“…Not many.”
“Even if it’s not many, mobilize them and solve it somehow. And send a courier back to Paris—tell them to bring plenty of pickaxes. The rest of the soldiers will stand by, and the moment the tools arrive, put them to work.”
“Yes. I will carry out your orders.”
“Good. Get to it.”
As the aide saluted and ran off to the soldiers, Dumouriez took off his tricorn hat, scratched at what little hair he had left, and muttered,
“Damn it. How is the ground this rock-hard in early winter?”
Putting his hat back on, Dumouriez headed toward the ornate carriage in the middle of the formation.
Knock knock knock.
At the sound of someone knocking on the carriage door, Orléans lowered the arm he had been resting on and spoke in a stern posture.
“Who is it.”
“It is Dumouriez, Your Majesty the King.”
Dumouriez swallowed something bitter inside. “Your Majesty the King”—he would become king soon enough, but he hadn’t even been crowned yet. Dumouriez didn’t want to attach that title this early, but what could he do.
Dumouriez was the obedient type, not a rebel.
“Hm. You may open it.”
At Orléans’s words, the middle-aged general nearing fifty opened the carriage door and respectfully removed his tricorn hat in salute.
Orléans also inclined his head slightly in return.
“So. What is it, General Dumouriez?”
In a calm voice, the general answered.
“Yes. The road is badly frozen, so it seems the journey to Reims will be significantly delayed.”
“Hah. It’s frozen that much? Fine. Understood.”
“Then please rest comfortably, Your Majesty.”
General Dumouriez bowed his head and closed the carriage door again.
Once he was alone, Orléans dropped the stern posture, propped his arm under his chin again, and started muttering.
“Everything’s basically done. Just one more step, and I’m there—yet I’m held up by a mere icy road. What a fucking mood.”
Irritation surged up from deep inside.
At the same time, in the gardens of the Palace of Versailles.
Before the Assembly convened today, Louis XVI and I had everyone withdraw, and we were walking side by side in the garden.
“So, Finance Minister. Is the board set well enough?”
“Everything’s prepared. What’s left depends on what you and I do, Your Majesty.”
At my words, Louis XVI grinned.
“Good, Finance Minister! Let’s go stir up a little trouble. I think this is the first time I’ve left the palace with such a happy heart after climbing onto this throne.”
“You’re that happy?”
“It’s the first time since becoming king that I’m doing something with a purpose—for my subjects. I guess I’m excited. Hahaha!”
“Then why did you send the army to Paris?”
“…That was before I gained a Richelieu like you.”
Huh?
When my face soured, Louis XVI cleared his throat and spoke again.
“I committed a sin worthy of death. I became obsessed with the throne, and that’s what happened. I sincerely apologize.”
“…Say that to the deputies in the Assembly, not to me.”
“Of course. As you say. I’ve thrown away king and all—so I have no authority left to hesitate over.”
“Someone would think you’ve achieved enlightenment.”
“Enlightenment, huh… in a way, it might be enlightenment. This empty title gnawed at my mind so much… In fact, as you said, when I return to being a ‘citizen,’ I might even write a book.”
I stopped and looked at Louis.
“A book?”
“Hm. Interested, Finance Minister? I’m thinking the title could be Non-Possession.”
“…Even if you become a citizen, wouldn’t you still have enough that ten people under you could do nothing and live off it?”
That doesn’t sound very ‘non-possession’ to me. More like ‘full possession.’
Louis brought his hand to his mouth again, let out an “ahem,” then looked me in the eyes and continued.
“H-hey, Finance Minister. Aren’t you being a bit too cold? Think of it as a book that highlights the emotional side.”
“Yes, yes. Understood.”
Behind us, the bell from the chapel in Versailles rang out with a ding—ding—on the hour.
Louis XVI and I turned our heads at the same time toward where the sound spread from.
“…Are you ready, Your Majesty?”
“Hm. And you, Finance Minister?”
“I’ve set fires more than once. No point getting shy now…”
We faced each other and exchanged a grin.
“Next, Finance Minister Guillaume de Toulon will speak.”
When I stepped up onto the podium, a few deputies flinched.
What do they think I am? Some kind of reaper? Am I Charon, the ferryman? They’re really too much.
Ah—no. That’s better.
Mr. Robespierre. Please stop staring at me with those sparkling eyes. Anyone else, fine—but when you do it, it’s… scary.
Shaking my head inwardly, I quietly read down the bill in my hand.
“…What I will speak on today is a recovery measure regarding the property held by the Church.”
Mm. Why is everyone so stiff?
Ah—so it’s not that, is it?
“…Finance Minister, are you insane?”
“Don’t talk nonsense! What are you saying right now!”
“If we seize Church property, how are the clergy supposed to live!?”
Wow, they’re fired up.
After a brief silence, clergymen in priestly robes here and there stood up and started pointing at me.
Mm. I expected this. You know the vibe.
Help me, Talleyrand-mon!
“I, Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand, Bishop of Autun, am in favor of the Finance Minister’s opinion.”
Now everyone’s gaze turned to the priest, who sat utterly composed, raised one hand, and gave a small nod.
“Y-you—what did you say?”
“I am in favor of the Finance Minister’s bill.”
“Are you kidding!? Are you trying to starve the clergy to death, or what!?”
“Hm. Well. You draw salaries of one hundred fifty thousand livres a year and you’re screaming about starving to death?”
“T-that’s for maintaining dignity and various miscellaneous duties…”
“Stop talking nonsense. I, Talleyrand, am also clergy. I can’t tolerate ridiculous lies.”
With his brows furrowed on that blunt face, Talleyrand stood and spoke.
“You all know how much property the Church has. Three billion livres. Three billion! With annual profit alone reaching two hundred million livres, you’ve been swallowing it down—yet you’re making a fuss about starving to death? Senior clergy, junior clergy! Is that what you were taught to do in seminary!? Did Yahweh tell you in the Bible to act like this!? Be ashamed!”
“Th…”
“…”
“Ahem… ahem…”
At Talleyrand’s angry words, the clergymen who had stood and jabbed fingers at me began sitting down one by one.
Damn, Talleyrand-mon. That performance is insane. I believed in you!
So, Mr. Robespierre—could you take the murderous intent out of your eyes?
Even as the atmosphere settled somewhat under Talleyrand’s mouth, Robespierre’s eyes—fixed on the clergymen who had stood to protest me—burned with flames.
Still, a few clergymen remained, glaring at me without a word.
Please stop. You want to die? You want the guillotine master to kill you all?
I slowly opened my mouth again.
“Of course, I know there are deputies who oppose this. But please think of it as something for France’s future…”
But my words were cut off by the clergyman deputy who had first pointed at me.
“Finance Minister, I will say one thing. The Papacy will certainly argue over this—have you prepared a countermeasure for that?”
Mm. Look at that smug face. He thinks he landed a hit.
But that smugness shattered the moment someone opened the Assembly doors and walked in.
“I, Louis XVI, also agree with the Finance Minister.”
After saying that, Louis XVI looked at me and lifted the corners of his mouth in a grin.