Chapter 64: A Strange World (3)
Chapter 64: A Strange World (3)
‘What is this man saying right now?’
The Holy Roman Empire’s ambassador to France, Florimond Claude, doubted his own ears.
“Whew. Please excuse me for a moment. My head isn’t working properly.”
In the end, Ambassador Claude spread both palms wide toward the middle-aged man before him—about the same age as himself—and asked for understanding.
The middle-aged man in a splendid military uniform nodded readily and replied.
“I understand, Ambassador. Take your time and think it through.”
“Thank you for your consideration, General.”
Ambassador Claude briefly rubbed his chin, carefully chewing over what the general before him had said, then spoke again.
“So, General—what you are saying is that your country, France, would like the Holy Roman Empire to invite your Finance Minister as a state guest. Is that correct?”
“Precisely, Ambassador Claude.”
The general nodded again without hesitation.
France’s current Finance Minister, Guillaume de Toulon.
A young economic talent who, at only twenty, was leading the present government alongside Commander Lafayette of the National Guard and the Count of Mirabeau of the National Assembly, rapidly restoring France’s economy that had been on the brink of collapse.
Even in the diplomatic world where Claude moved, people were not stingy with saying he was the reincarnation of Cardinal Richelieu, the great minister of a century past.
Strictly speaking, though, rather than being delicate and crafty like Cardinal Richelieu, he gave off a more reckless image—but considering he was only twenty, with time he would add Richelieu-like cunning, not lose what he had.
And yet they were going to send someone that important abroad at a time this chaotic?
“…If it’s Finance Minister Guillaume, isn’t he indispensable to France right now? I don’t quite understand.”
“…As you say, Ambassador, of course the Finance Minister is capable. I am not denying that he is needed in France.”
At Claude’s words, the bald middle-aged general answered with an ambiguous expression that was neither one thing nor the other.
And at that answer, Claude’s mind—hardened by decades as a diplomat—began to spin.
It was not that Finance Minister Guillaume lacked ability.
Nor was it wrong that he was needed in France.
If such an important talent was being pushed outside, there was only one case.
‘…So the rumors of discord between Orléans—no, Louis XVII—and the Finance Minister were true.’
Assassinating him in secret was already impossible—every Frenchman knew the name Guillaume, and the backlash afterward would be unmanageable. Checking him with royal authority was also difficult, with the Assembly and the citizens standing in the way… so in the end—
“So you intend to use us, the Holy Roman Empire, as your tool?”
“Haha, ‘use’ you? Not at all. I mean we should move in a direction that benefits both sides, Ambassador.”
“…Mm.”
Ambassador Claude leaned fully back into his chair and let out a short groan from deep within.
The general leaned toward Claude and spoke in a low voice.
“Ambassador Claude.”
“Yes, General Dumouriez.”
“Think of your Kaiser, His Majesty Joseph II.”
“…It is not very pleasant to hear His Majesty’s name spoken by a foreigner.”
“My apologies. Please forgive the discourtesy. But think for a moment, Ambassador. Who is Finance Minister Guillaume?”
“…A capable economic man.”
“And also the face of the Revolution.”
“…Hm.”
“When your Kaiser has tried to carry out reforms, who were the ones that opposed him the most?”
Claude straightened up again and met General Dumouriez’s eyes at the same level.
“…You mean we should use Guillaume to check the German princes and the clergy.”
“I believe you already know the answer without me having to say it.”
“…”
Claude rubbed his chin in silence.
The Kaiser to whom Claude swore loyalty—Joseph II.
A man who, beneath the vast shadow of his mother, the regent Maria Theresa, became a bird in a cage, never able to spread his will freely, and in the end withered away.
He had dreamed of Frederick of Prussia and carried out reforms, but when everything turned to dust under obstruction from the princes, clergy, and other vested interests, he became a pitiable man now wasting away in Vienna.
The brief quiet ended as Dumouriez spoke again.
“Guillaume de Toulon—right now, isn’t he the greatest threat to blue blood in all of Europe? If Finance Minister Guillaume relocates to the Holy Roman Empire for a time, those so-called clergy and princes will shrink back on their own.”
“…So in our Empire we use Guillaume to restrain the blue bloods, and while Guillaume is away, the person you serve… ‘that person’ will solidify the system. Is that what you mean?”
Dumouriez grinned and replied.
“It’s good to speak with someone who understands. Then I’ll take it that we have an agreement, and I will stand to leave.”
“…Safe travels, General.”
“And I wish you a comfortable night as well, Ambassador Claude.”
With that, Dumouriez rose, put his tricorne on, opened the embassy door, and left.
In the corridor, the sound of boots striking wood gradually faded.
Left alone in the room, Ambassador Claude listened to that creaking sound and murmured low.
“…The chessboard of diplomacy stays disgusting, no matter how many decades you roll around on it.”
“You call that talking, Ambassador?!”
Bang!
The Count of Mirabeau slammed his office desk with all his strength, rose, and shouted.
“In what world do you order a foreign minister-level official—our Finance Minister—to come and go at your whim?!”
Mirabeau pressed on, even pointing a finger at the Holy Roman Empire’s ambassador before him.
Even so, Ambassador Claude did not blink and continued speaking calmly.
“No matter how furious you become, our decision cannot be withdrawn, Count. And I did not wish to say this, but—”
Claude stared Mirabeau straight in the eyes.
“You know how much in loans our Habsburgs have provided your country.”
A grinding sound—gnk—came from between Mirabeau’s teeth.
“…Are you threatening us?”
“A threat? Not at all. We merely wish to seek the esteemed opinion of your talented Finance Minister, who stabilized the economy of our ally France in an instant. Our Empire’s economy is always troublesome as well.”
Claude added,
“Even Diderot and d’Alembert were French, yet they stayed in our Empire for a time, did they not?”
“And if our Assembly refuses?”
“I do not believe anything pleasant will happen, Count.”
“…Give us some time.”
“Of course. We will wait until the handover is complete.”
With those final words, Claude left the Count of Mirabeau’s office.
Mirabeau chewed his lip for a moment, then looked to his side and spoke.
“…Deputy Sieyès. What do you think?”
Sieyès let out a short sigh and answered.
“Hoo. This is… a dead end.”
“Yes, a dead end. I didn’t think Orléans’s insides were this black!”
“Orléans has always hidden his nature well.”
That Louis XVII—no, Orléans—had barged into the Finance Minister’s office and grabbed him by the collar had already become an open secret known to all deputies of the National Assembly.
And thanks to that, the Assembly had split 2-to-1 and was once again waging a war without gunfire.
“Damn it. If I’d known it would be like this, I should’ve set the constitutional seats at sixty percent, not seventy.”
As Mirabeau ground his teeth and spoke, Sieyès looked at him as if surprised and asked,
“…Do you truly think this situation will be resolved peacefully, with a constitution and all that?”
Mirabeau flinched at those words, then let out a long sigh.
“…Honestly, I think it’ll be difficult. But if even I shout in rage, won’t Frenchmen truly start killing each other with steel and gun? …Even if dirt gets in my eyes, I can’t allow that to happen.”
“Who knows.”
Sieyès replied coldly even to that.
“Frankly, the Bastille wasn’t resolved all that rationally either.”
“…You mean Versailles could become the Bastille?”
“I already believed there was some possibility. But now that the Holy Roman Empire’s ambassador came and went today, I think it is certain, Count.”
“…”
Leaving Mirabeau in silence, Sieyès stood up.
“I will speak to Finance Minister Guillaume first. You should steady your body and mind as well, Count. Ah, and—”
Before leaving the room, Sieyès looked back at Mirabeau and spoke slowly.
“No matter what chaos comes, remember this: you have to survive to make plans for later.”
Wow. They even wrapped the shit up this carefully and handed it to me—honestly, I don’t know where to put myself.
“Orléans, that fucking bastard is asking to die. Seriously.”
“Hey! There’s a priest in front of you…”
“Well, he is a fucking bastard, Captain Mathieu. Hahaha!”
“No, if even you say that, Father, then Guillaume—th… no, this kid’s habits will get even worse.”
“Now, now. I told you not to slander me.”
Look at him glaring again just because I said one line.
“…More importantly, Guillaume—do you also think there truly is no way?”
Father Sieyès, who had briefly held a smile at the sight of me and Mathieu, put on a serious expression again.
“Mm… let me think for a moment.”
Of the debt we currently carry, the portion owed to the Holy Roman Empire is about 1 billion livres.
Excluding the low-interest loans, about 700 million livres is high-interest debt—in other words, money we absolutely must repay.
Ah, I really want to grab a pike. Even if you shoved the finances onto random housewives who keep household ledgers, they wouldn’t run it in a way that makes you curse this much.
On top of that, we still haven’t fully identified the church assets we seized, and seizures and audits are still ongoing in the provinces.
If we could do all that in just four months, this would be 21st-century Korea, not 18th-century France.
So if the Holy Roman Empire declares we must repay the debt all at once, France will have no choice but to file for national bankruptcy immediately.
Sob—this is how miserable a debtor is.
I looked at Father Sieyès and spoke.
“…If we’d had about a year, it might be different. But right now, we have no choice but to be dragged along.”
“…You truly can’t see a move?”
“Just the money going out right now is enormous—grain purchases for poor relief, water and sewage improvements, wages for civil servants. If they demand cash immediately, we’ll have no choice but to raise the tax rate we finally lowered again, and that…”
“…Would be an immediate revolt. I understand, Guillaume.”
At my words, Father Sieyès nodded.
A revolutionary government built on citizens’ support raises taxes? From the citizens’ side, you’d want a pike.
“The only thing I can do is appoint someone as Finance Minister who will push through the policies I’ve set up with stubborn resolve while I’m away.”
“Mm. Do you have someone in mind?”
“Well… I think the Marquis de Condorcet would be fine. He’s the Director of Taxation, so he has some grasp of economics, and he’s also Marquis de Lafayette’s close friend.”
“Indeed. He’s trustworthy.”
“Ah, and about the people who’ll handle escort duty on the road to Austria—please let me arrange them, including Mathieu. I can’t trust Orléans.”
“What? Hey—am I your lackey, Guillaume? No way. I’m staying in France!”
“Mm. I will speak to Commander Lafayette properly about what you said, Guillaume.”
“There’s only one thing I can say, Father. This is a fight against time. Since I’m being invited as a guest, I’m not a prisoner—they won’t be able to hold me in Austria forever. Three or four months is probably the limit.”
“I understand. Do be careful.”
“Of course, Father.”
It was January 19, 1790.