Heresy Beam!
August 21, 1776, France, Versailles Palace.
America had declared independence. And all of France was in an uproar.
Not because of America's independence, but because of me.
"Your Majesty! Desecrating corpses is an utterly irreverent act. It's tantamount to blasphemy!"
"Nonsense! Even our forebears have ordered dissections before. If you're just opposing for the sake of opposition, then shut your mouth entirely!"
The Estates-General was now convening smoothly and routinely. Last time, it had drawn the eyes of all France as the first in centuries, but now it was practically a quarterly event. The Third Estate had abandoned all their political rhetoric entirely. Even the First and Second Estates were accepting it as natural.
"Now that the island pirates' momentum has been broken, we must catch up to Britain with advances in military technology and medicine. Isn't France the classic European land power?"
"What does dissection have to do with military technology and medical progress? You Enlightenment enthusiasts, didn't even your beloved Kant say to respect life? Then surely human corpses deserve even greater respect?"
Already locked in a frame war between anti-authoritarianism and authoritarianism. But didn't these clerics know the importance of anatomy?
"Your Majesty, lest there be a misunderstanding—they do know the importance of anatomy. A few centuries ago, maybe not, but these days everyone understands. Thanks to Ottoman texts and advances in comparative anatomy."
"Then why are they acting like that?"
"Probably because you cut off their funding. After Your Majesty's ascension last year, didn't you slash the royal budget drastically?"
Aha. So the First Estate was basically a citizens' advocacy group. Viewing them that way only made me want to spare them even less.
"The Church has always shown utmost respect to the crown. Because of the massive patronage and political backing. But upon Your ascension, you drove them to the brink both politically and financially."
I'd thought the First and Second Estates were the vested interests, but it turned out the crown was the real big boss. No wonder revolution brewed.
"That's why their rhetoric has turned so radical. The crown no longer has the reins—financial or political—to control them."
"Can't be helped. Those reins were decked out in gold and jewels."
"Either way, they're accustomed to gilded reins. To leash them again, you'll need something even more splendid."
A conservative like the historical Louis XVI might do that. But not me.
"Terray, there's a proverb from the Eastern Roman Empire."
Actually an Arab one, but whatever.
"On the Silk Road through the Persian desert, a merchant pitched his tent to sleep. But as he lay down, his camel complained the desert night was too cold and begged to put just its nose inside."
"I know that one. In the end, the whole camel gets in, and the merchant ends up sleeping outside, right?"
He knew it well. And that was the key point of the proverb. Continuous favors become taken for granted as rights.
"We need to drill some manners into the First and Second Estates."
The guillotine was a bit too cruel. Hanging would do instead.
"Pass the word to the National Intelligence Agency. Tell them to shake down the First and Second Estates until not a speck of dust remains."
France couldn't avoid revolution entirely, could it?
August 23, 1776, France, Notre-Dame.
Numerous priests pored over religious texts in Notre-Dame. Their goal was singular: halt the king's reforms and restore the Church as a royal patron.
The priests extracted every passage on life from the scriptures, using them to craft rebuttals condemning the king's actions.
"Archbishop Beaumont, the 110-point rebuttal is complete. Shall I read it?"
"Hand it over."
Originally, Paris Archbishop Christophe de Beaumont du Roc hadn't favored such methods. He had been willing to support the crown fully. Before, as the king appointed the bishop, relations between Church and crown had been mutually beneficial.
But the crown had betrayed and antagonized the Church.
"If he wants to be king of the poor, then that's what we'll make him."
From the day in the Estates-General when he'd been branded an 'Arianist,' Beaumont had shed all respect for the crown.
'Heresy—no modern one like Jansenism, but Arianism from over a thousand years ago!'
What irked Beaumont most was his inability to counter the king's logic.
'All is under God's order. Then is order itself part of that order?'
If the devil spoke, it would be thus. That phrase 'order itself part of order' haunted his mind.
Dismissing it as devilish was hard when the most sacred secular authority, the king, had uttered it—not lightly, surely.
As Beaumont sharpened his blade of vengeance against Louis XVI, he could only stare dumbly at the dagger the king had casually flung.
"Order itself part of order..."
Beaumont felt his worldview, built over seventy-three years, crumbling.
Meanwhile, in central Paris, at the Duke of Orléans's villa.
Duke of Orléans Louis Philippe I had been deep in thought lately. Ever since his cousin Louis XVI ascended and launched radical reforms.
Disbanding noble officers under the guise of demobilization, promoting crown loyalist Lafayette five ranks in a single day—officially one by one, but anyone could see it was a signal to make him a trusted subordinate.
Those around whispered the king had changed overnight. But Louis Philippe saw differently.
He'd been biding his time until coronation. Having grown up hearing of great-grandfather Louis XIV's glories and witnessing puppet Louis XV, Louis XVI surely harbored ambitions for absolute monarchy.
Louis Philippe tallied in his mind. With America's independence, he planned to ride the wave as a full liberal.
The current dynasty's authority was doomed anyway. Alienating their core base, the Church, had evaporated the king's momentum.
Nobles flipped with self-interest, fine—but betraying the Church rendered reforms meaningless.
No matter the lit de justice, without every village church's cooperation, edicts were worthless.
Unless a meteor wiped out the Church, every reform would clash with them.
Thus, he schemed to legally dethrone Louis XVI and claim the throne himself. Legitimacy shaky, but same name at least.
Yet the reforms yielded results amid conflict, obscuring the 'clear trend' Louis Philippe sought.
How had he succeeded in tax reform while antagonizing Church and nobles alike?
By his estimates, France should have bankrupted this year. They lacked funds for reparations.
But Louis XVI hadn't declared bankruptcy. Connections said coffers dwindled, but not as fast as expected.
If France won America's war before bankruptcy, Louis Philippe's 'liberal pivot' would fail spectacularly. All freedom's supporters would become ironclad royalists.
He pondered and pondered: how to seize the throne with minimal backlash, how to seize it at all.
August 24, 1776, France, Versailles Palace.
"...therefore, we denounce the 'dissection of enemy corpses and compilation of anatomical texts' as a heretical act."
The Church had come sharpened. Calling the king a heretic no less.
Considering Christianity's authority in this era's Europe, it was tantamount to an ultimatum.
Had I misjudged the tempo? Purging clerical and noble deadwood needed Lafayette, but...
Conquering traditionalist Vendée and Brittany required cannon fire, and my radical loyalist generals were green, lacking experience.
Time to revise plans?
As I stared silently, the Second Estate reacted.
Backing each other like a pack.
"I am Baron Bacalan of Girondist Provence, Charles by name. Before Your Majesty's response, as a member of the Second Estate, I wish to question the First Estate's 110-point rebuttal."
The true-ignorance-(actually-knowledge) ploy. Petty bastards. Bordeaux was coastal; blast it all with naval guns.
"First, let me ask this: Kingship is granted by God. Do you agree?"
"Yes. Divine right of kings has been a deep-rooted belief since Louis XIV."
Ancestry card? Fine. My mentality, tempered by servants' gossip, could endure.
"Then doubting the king is doubting God, is it not?"
The moment Baron Charles spoke, the Estates-General froze silent.
First Estate, expecting support, and Third, waiting for my opening—all stared at him in shock.
The Second sat mute behind him. The frontmost Duke of Orléans's blank face confirmed he'd planted Charles as proxy.
The sudden First-Second infighting was unexpected, but don't gobble free rice cakes blindly.
Louis Philippe. Likely the name of Philippe I, who sat the throne after Napoleon—his son, probably.
What scheme made him brand clerics heretics?
Why help me?
Why? Why? Why?