Charles of the Shining Age of Reason
Charles, one of the representatives of the Second Estate and a noble from Bordeaux in the Gironde region, Baron of Bacalan. A provincial noble who couldn't care less whether France rose or fell. And one of the dyed-in-the-wool conservatives, those vested interests who hated change more than anyone.
Why were they supporting "Louis XVI"? The king's authority wasn't even that strong, and he was openly clashing with the Church, leaving his cause on shaky ground. Why were these guys, united in their scheme to force me to withdraw my decrees and weaken the crown, suddenly on my side? Now? At this late hour?
Of course, support from the Second Estate was welcome. But they never stuck their necks out for anything that didn't benefit them directly. This time would be no different. Nobles had always treated religion as a mere pretext, mad for the personal gains it brought. These were the extravagant, pleasure-seeking lot who could sell off a castle for a taste of luxury— the very privileged class we had today. That's why this declaration of support for the crown also signaled that backing the king served noble interests.
But on the surface, I was a king who had completely lost his political momentum. It didn't seem like they'd sniffed out the MEPO bills scheme and sworn loyalty because of that. If they were nobles, they'd be spreading it to the other nobles far and wide. They'd be plotting to seize shattered estates from debt-ridden peers, not cooperating among themselves. No, they'd never band together like that.
Taking their support at face value would just mean getting used by the nobles. So, time to flip the board.
"...As of this moment, I hereby dissolve the Estates-General."
Owl Night Alliance might profit from this, but I couldn't stomach watching the Second Estate come out ahead.
"And... hear what I have to say next. Those who support me, stay here. Those who don't, leave. No arguments."
The Church had thrown down the gauntlet; I had to pick it up.
"Free Democracy!"
The atmosphere in the Estates-General hall turned ice-cold in an instant. Like the temperature had plummeted below freezing— so silent that even a cough would blend into the natural background noise.
The representatives' seats buzzed with murmurs. Yet not a soul dared break my silence with a word.
The Second Estate left first, then the First, and finally some from the Third Estate on the right. First Estate: 23. Second: 8. Third: 509. Exactly 540, right on the nose.
"I understand your intentions well. Before you go, let me hear your names one more time."
As soon as I finished, a cleric from the First Estate stepped to the center of the hall and stated his name.
"Joseph Ignace Guillotin."
I gestured, and Guillotin turned and exited the hall.
Terray caught on to my intent and began jotting their names on paper.
"Emmanuel Joseph Sieyès."
"Honoré Gabriel Riqueti."
There were more First Estate holdouts than expected, and fewer Second than I'd thought. Probably because most liberal nobles had gone to America. They wouldn't need a loyalty oath to side with us anyway. It was ironic that swearing loyalty led to a palace coup... but in an irrational age, irrational methods were necessary. Rational approaches only worked in rational times.
*
August 25, 1776, Tuileries Palace, the king's office.
"Terray. Deliver these letters to everyone whose names you noted. Contents differ for each, so don't mix them up."
Normally, delivering the king's letters was a valet's job. But with all of France as my enemy right now... The Comptroller-General's post wasn't idle, but what could I do? I lacked reliable aides.
"542 letters, sire. Two left over."
"One's for you, Terray. The other's for Lafayette. I tailored them perfectly. Read in secret and burn them."
"Understood."
Terray stuffed the hundreds of letters into a sack. I'd tossed in some coins for a jingle, so even if seen, it'd pass for a money bag. Rare for a Comptroller-General, but not unheard of.
I wondered what my key loyalists would think upon receiving my letters. Until then, I'd play the puppet king. That way, as they rallied to me, I could absorb the collapsing old guard amid the depression.
First and Second Estate loyalists would stay true without bribes, but Third Estate reps might waver without incentives. I had to outmaneuver other factions and swallow them whole first— without handing over all the spoils, of course.
Bordeaux's wine lands, the northern Paris granaries, Brittany's pastures, Aquitaine's basin. All mine.
"Persona. Order cakes from Mont Blanc. Charge them to Bordeaux, Paris, Brittany, and Aquitaine."
"Understood."
One of the guards in the corner of the office heard me and slipped out.
"Your senior's off to work— you not going?"
"I'm on guard duty..."
"Then order extra cake. Bill it from Étretat to the Belt. Oh, and stock up on 'strategic reserve rations' too."
"Yes, sir."
Whew. Finally alone. Now I could relax. No alone time lately, what with guards everywhere.
Ah. I want to go home.
*
March 4, 1777, Tuileries Palace. The king's office.
Marquis Lafayette had returned from the American War of Independence with resounding successes. Officially on extended leave, but what army lets a soldier vacation for over a year? I'd promoted them all a rank.
Pretext? Well...
"How go the military doctrine studies?"
"Yes, that'll do."
No point explaining; I was meeting Lafayette alone.
"But, Your Majesty... are you truly going to...?"
"Kings do not lie. Are preparations complete?"
"Still underway."
My secret letter to Lafayette had surely outlined flipping France by rallying loyal nobles to seize fallen peers' lands and assets. It was a tightrope walk. If his vetted loyalists betrayed us, the MEPO scheme would blow wide open, sparking civil war plus a pretext for pan-European conflict.
And that was just Lafayette's group. Leaks from other First/Second or Third Estate loyalists would doom us too. But I trusted France's corruption. The Third Estate's hatred for the elite, and the selfish "save myself" ethos even if secrets spilled.
"Then, Lieutenant General Lafayette, I entrust it all to you."
I handed him his commission. While at it, I'd revamped ranks blending Roman and Mongol styles. Not a huge overhaul— basic enlisted, NCO, officer structures were solid. Only generals changed: from old division/field commands to modern brigadier through field marshal granularity.
Unit structures went squad-platoon-company... but pure Korean linear tactics wouldn't work, so I mixed in Mongol flexibility. Could've told Napoleon to handle it, but he might pull a "stroke of national salvation." Better preempt military influence. Napoleon was just a history book figure; who knew his true character? Insurance was key.
"Immediately after launch, strike Vendée and Brittany to liberate the oppressed masses. Arrest or execute only the lords and nobles. Bribe noble retainers and knights with cash woes to centralize under royal army. Thoughts?"
"Classic and effective. Field medics call it 'surgical treatment.'"
Treatment, huh. Amusing.
"Then perform France's surgery well."
"Just what I desire."
Come to think of it, I hadn't asked about the war.
"Shifting topics: the War of Independence. How are the recruits— er, French volunteers?"
"They've just arrived. Veterans— about ten percent— will show them the ropes."
America's worries eased, then.
"And the field medics?"
"Returned to France. Some are writing books, others tutoring medicine. Is it... illegal?"
Medicine advancing nicely. In this era where even swordmasters bowed to medieval surgeons' blades, modern medicine would create tech and population gaps.
"No. Even if illicit, no reason to stop them. Let it be. They're like early Christians spreading the faith to Rome."
"Understood. I'll rehire veterans to guard them."
Veterans... good idea I missed.
"All young men? Not all retired willingly."
Volunteers were youths. Physical or mental scars guaranteed.
"Yes. Most lost legs or were crippled by shrapnel. Some lacked mental fortitude and requested discharge. We'll use those mainly."
"No. Rehiring the physically impaired for domestic policing instead. Civilian bureaucracy's tough, but fund a royal police force from palace budget."
Treat veterans right, or active soldiers lose morale. Honor ruled now, but honor didn't feed you. Whoever fed them held power once honor faded.
"For volunteers: supply horses to the legless for mounted police, clubs or daggers to the armless for patrols. Bedridden ones handle admin indoors."
Assigning cops to disabled vets sounded harsh, but merciful for the times. MacArthur crushed them with tanks 150 years later.
"Request funds from Terray as needed. I can't bear their suffering. I'll order full support; stand up the force in three months."
"Grateful for Your Majesty's mercy. I obey."
"No big deal. An enlightened monarch acts accordingly, no?"