I Hate Revolutions
April 17, 1786, Versailles Palace. Council Chamber.
After the Austrian Revolution, Emperor Joseph II had reportedly been confined to a tower in Vienna.
"And?"
"Nothing more. That's all."
But was that something France needed to concern itself with? No, it wasn't.
"What was bound to happen has happened."
"Indeed, Your Majesty."
Honestly, the future was plain as day. They'd form a revolutionary government, try to maintain Habsburg territory with a constitutional monarchy, then execute Joseph II as a political scapegoat. It would become a paradoxical republic that preached republicanism but tolerated none. Or something a little different, perhaps? Austria was a patchwork of ethnicities, after all. A republic there would surely splinter along national lines...
"My lords. How far do you think this revolution will spread?"
"It won't go beyond the Habsburgs, will it?"
Hm. So that's what they all thought.
"Austria is a multi-ethnic state, after all. No matter what, preserving the current form of the nation requires at least a constitutional monarchy. The revolutionaries talk of republics and such, but in the end, they'll fight among themselves and crawl back to Austria."
That could happen. Either way, it wouldn't produce potential on the level of original-history France. France was a heavyweight nation, and it had Napoleon, after all. Austria might produce great generals if class structures collapsed during the revolution... but that only worked if the nation's scale supported it. Whether it became Austria proper or Bohemia or whatever, no single faction could exceed unified Habsburg power. Original-history France had ethnic and linguistic unity; Austria did not. Even if a Napoleon-level genius emerged by some fluke, European unification was impossible—they'd exhaust themselves just reunifying the old Habsburg lands first. And above all, France had the real Napoleon.
"Interior Minister, what's the domestic opinion?"
"There's no real public opinion to speak of. We've absorbed most intellectuals into the Education Ministry, so things are calm in France."
Of course—the radical Illuminati types had been dealt with long ago. No one in France would respond to strange notions like republicanism now.
"The main issue in France right now is roasted locusts. To the common folk, the Austrian Revolution ranks below roasted locusts."
Ah, right. We'd rationed those too. It was like a lottery dud, and I'd forgotten to cut it.
"How many received the roasted locust rations?"
"Quite a few. The middle and upper classes avoided them entirely, but the upper and uppermost elites—with no ration limits—took mostly locusts."
"Unexpected."
I'd thought no one would touch them. Were the rich treating it as a delicacy?
"According to common notes in the ration remarks, the upper and uppermost classes used the roasted locusts for their business employees' lunches."
Whoa. Had I underestimated 18th-century bourgeois toughness? Ruthless.
"Remove roasted locusts from rations now. Sulfuric alkali has boosted food production anyway."
What could I expect from people who saw child labor as cost-effective? Adam Smith... you were wrong.
That night, in Louis XVI's private study. The king's study adjoining the Versailles Palace office was a highly secretive place, forbidden to anyone but royalty.
Louis XVI was preparing yet another reform there.
"Sire. Do you have a moment?"
And in walked his wife, Marie Antoinette.
"Of course. What is it?"
"Just curious what my friend Mon Ami is up to."
Louis XVI immediately saw she was testing the waters.
"Just passing the time."
But he didn't press her.
"Mon Cœur. How are state affairs lately?"
"So-so. The kingdom's so old, there's rot everywhere. Fix it all, and it'll be Theseus's ship—no original planks left."
He simply waited for Marie Antoinette to speak.
"Darling. They say there's a revolution in Austria."
"Yes. And?"
Louis XVI didn't offer his hand.
"I worry it might harm France's interests."
"Hm. Could be. But no need to fret over it."
He merely waited for her hand.
"Poor explanation. Revolution or not, famine won't be solved. Kings aren't gods. The revolutionary government will either fight itself or turn to repression. Common story. Uneducated, unenlightened folk grab power, and that's what happens. They think if the king or leader directs farming, wheat sprouts miraculously, or inspects factories and wheat turns to steel."
"Really?"
"Yes. That's how it is. Was in the past, will be in the future. That's why I'm pushing education. At least for French citoyens, I want them not to see simple things as complex or complex as simple."
Marie Antoinette took his waiting as dismissal.
"Citoyen... Another new word you've coined."
"Yes. Citoyen. Different from peuple. A citoyen becomes freer than anyone else every few years, at least."
"Free?"
"Yes. Free. The freedom to signal my presence here. That's why this is basic citoyen education. Not universal enlightenment—basic education for citoyens. It means educating all citizens, but first, the fundamentals of being one."
"Dreaming of a republic?"
"Republic? Maybe in 200 years. If everyone's rich and smart enough to pass suffrage exams, it'd be a republic in all but name."
"Then you'll help the revolutionaries? If it serves the national interest?"
"Dunno if it does. I want colonies, but Europe's kids won't let go. Maybe make an example."
"Then you'll help the royals?"
"Would you like that?"
Louis XVI took her hesitating hand.
"Yes."
"Just say it. I'd have listened."
He gripped her hand tighter.
"I figured. You're the King of France, right? I thought you'd ignore anything not serving France."
"Basically. But not even from you, Mon Cœur."
Marie Antoinette was flustered by his attitude.
"Then what do you want?"
As far as she knew, he was a cold-blooded cutter of all things not serving France.
"Just one thing."
"Bed?"
So she was sure he wanted something.
"No. Nothing."
"What?"
Yet Louis XVI demanded no price from Marie Antoinette.
"I want nothing. I want the wanting of nothing. Satisfied?"
"Why?"
"Can't put it into words."
Marie Antoinette couldn't understand Louis XVI.
"Fine. No need to explain. I think I get it."
But as he said, she too could feel this inexpressible something.
"I love you, Mon Cœur."
"I love you too, Mon Cœur."
"This world's vocabulary is too poor. Can't say 'I love you' without lopping off so much that 'I love you' falls short."
The King and Queen of France held hands in the study, savoring that feeling beyond words—closer than words, but not quite. Knowing words would fail them anyway, they exchanged emotions through silent gazes.
April 18, 1786. Versailles. Council Chamber.
"We'll change our policy on Austria."
Our Marie wants it, so we do it.
"Yes. How so?"
"We must stop the revolution. We've purged the Illuminati radicals, but if it spreads elsewhere, free trade collapses."
Still need a pretext. Can't just flex as hegemon—bad rep aside, the nation couldn't sustain it. French influence was waning; even printing money drew eyes. A massive expedition now risked bankruptcy despite surpluses. So, station necessary forces at strategic points.
"Dispatch to Venice: one regiment. 3,000 men—50% artillery, 20% infantry, 10% cavalry, 20% engineers. Garrison in Udine to block spread to Italy. Engineers at 20% to fortify Udine; post-fortification, deploy to strategic civil support for local sentiment."
Napoleon was 16 now, right? Time to work.
"Regiment and other commanders from existing ranks. The 1,500 artillery as augmentation battalion. I seek recommendations for its commander. Who'd you put there?"
"Your Majesty. Foreign Affairs Director: I recommend Captain Charles, company commander in the Hundred Days War."
"Rejected. Not full war now; save veterans."
"Your Majesty. From the Army Ministry..."
"Rejected. Too old."
No Napoleon mention. Who's not bringing up Napoleon?
"Your Majesty. Comptroller General speaking. I recommend Napoleon Bonaparte, 16th platoon leader of the Paris garrison artillery battalion."
Why Terray suddenly? No military ties, I thought.
"Indeed. Young, talented, light on combat experience. Worth seasoning in local ops. Loss hurts but not critically. Hm, did I ever mention Napoleon to you?"
"Yes. Twelve years ago, I overheard your talk with the Corsican governor. I've watched that boy ever since."
Oh, right. That happened.
"Full circle back to me."