Buying at the Bottom – August 21, 1774
"Robespierre. Your favorite king has shown up. Wanna watch together?"
"Sure."
Robespierre, a young law student at Louis le Grand Academy, was reading the newspaper with his friend. He embodied poverty itself—his shoes were worn out, the soles flapping loosely, and patches covered the tears in his clothes everywhere. He must have scrimped even on black thread, as most of the stitches were white.
"Our Majesty seems to have taken a lot of flak this time with the lit de justice."
"Can't be helped. He's going after those reactionary forces in the First and Second Estates. How do you dismantle over three hundred years of power in one go? This time, he really seems trustworthy."
"You think there are people who don't see it that way? Have you seen Paris's public sentiment? Thanks to His Highness's grace, the price of bread has halved. The conservatives call it ruining the country, but..."
Robespierre grabbed his friend's shoulder.
"Antoine. Don't hang out with conservatives. Defenders of exploitation are just mouthpieces for the exploiters."
"Robespierre. Conservatives are Frenchmen too. That constitutional monarchy you talk about might fly here at the academy, but step outside and you'll be branded a social subversive and arrested."
"Rousseau's ideals are just ideals. Separately from that, taking gradual steps is important. Just like our Majesty!"
Antoine pulled back Robespierre, who was staring holes through the newspaper.
"You could get hauled off for lèse-majesté. Do that in your room, not here. And isn't that newspaper mine? Hand it over already."
"Just a bit more..."
"Sigh... I almost wish the police would drag you off for lèse-majesté."
As they bickered over the paper, an administrative clerk from Louis le Grand Academy approached.
"Robespierre. His Highness is inspecting the academy. You'll give a speech as student representative. Prepare your remarks."
"Yes! I'll fill it with Latin to uphold the academy's honor!"
The clerk relayed the message and returned to the academy. Robespierre headed back to the dorm to write his speech.
"Robespierre! I said that's my newspaper!"
"I'll give it back after a bit more!"
August 21, 1774. Paris, Louis le Grand Academy, inner courtyard.
Right before my eyes stood a figure from French history, yammering away.
"^$#%$#%@^"
In Latin.
"$%%@#@#%$"
I hadn't a clue what he was saying. But the young man fervently reciting that Latin speech was none other than Robespierre, indispensable to French history.
"%#$@%^. That is all. Thank you."
I had no idea what Robespierre said, but it must have been one hell of a speech. Whatever it was, time to clap.
As I applauded, Robespierre trembled and shed tears.
What the...? Was it murderous hatred surging toward a man of power? Come to think of it... his clothes and shoes screamed poverty, the kind where you truly knew what it meant to be dirt-poor. No wonder he despised the bourgeoisie so much.
Hmm. Besides Napoleon, I should invest a bit in the revolutionary forces too. Diversification is investing 101. Use them moderately, then discard like mud on boots.
"Hearing student Maximilien de Robespierre's speech, I see Louis le Grand's students are of very high caliber. Students are France's future. Robespierre's address was truly an exemplary oration. Thus, I shall grant scholarships of 500 livres to each Louis le Grand student. And to Robespierre, the top academic performer, an additional 2,000 livres."
His words ended, and cheers erupted from the once-silent audience. The students' joy felt like an earthquake.
Since I'd already tipped off the attendants, when I extended my hand, one handed Robespierre a chest of 2,500 livres in gold and silver coins.
"Robespierre. Become a capable lawyer."
"Sob...! This is true noblesse oblige...! I shall repay Your Highness's grace!"
Robespierre wiped his tears and accepted the 2,500 livres.
Hmm. But how much was 2,500 livres worth that he was so thrilled? It looked like a hefty sum in the chest...
August 21, 1774. France, Tuileries Palace.
After that tearjerker melodrama wrapped up, I sat in my office, deep in thought. Robespierre was moved because he was poor, fine. But why were the regular students cheering over a mere 500 livres?
Better ask an expert on this.
"Terray. So, what's 500 livres worth?"
"Pardon?"
Acting all surprised. As if nobles not knowing prices was anything new.
Well, Terray came up from low-level finance clerk, so maybe he wouldn't know. The problem with tight-lipped, quick-witted guys like him.
Not asking a doctor and forcing a petty bureaucrat into Controller-General of Finances was an error from the start.
"Your Highness. 500 livres is 10,000 sous, or 120,000 deniers."
Whoa, base-20 and base-12? News to me.
"I know that much. What real value does it have? Prices, I mean prices."
No baguettes yet, so staples were those truck-tire-sized loaves from Les Misérables that Jean Valjean stole. Their name was... campagne, right?
"An ordinary loaf costs 1 sou. Lately, with the bad harvest excuse, nobles and bourgeoisie have been hoarding and jacking it up to 4 sous for three loaves. Remnants of mercantilism—it'll normalize soon."
In normal times, twenty campagne loaves per livre, 480 per gold coin? Not sure if gold's cheap or bread's pricey, but 500 livres was seriously big money. You could build a house out of bread.
"I assumed Your Highness knew. A middle-class family of four's annual living expenses are about 500 livres, so I thought it was deliberate."
"Coincidence. Wait—then Robespierre got five years' living expenses for a family of four?"
"Yes. As a top dorm scholar, it's effectively ten years' worth."
I'd meant to buy Robespierre low modestly, but ended up buying him out entirely. He wouldn't expect me to lead the revolution later, right?
Wait. He said he wouldn't forget the grace. Robespierre's idea of repaying grace? Only purging the First and Second Estates to clear my path came to mind. Like executing all nobles who don't practice noblesse oblige to build his ideal world...
"Your Highness. I have an opinion to seek."
"Yes. Something happen?"
"Shouldn't we run this MEPO bills operation on other European nations too?"
"Terray, you..."
A schemer.
"Here's the plan. Would you review it?"
"Terray, you're a genius?"
Terray's scheme was a pseudo-Ponzi. I'd planned to topple Britain, but folding it into this bill scam wasn't bad.
"The true genius is Your Highness, inventor of MEPO bills."
Uh, I didn't invent them.
"But... shipping all goods to France might raise suspicions. Ship at ultra-low margins of 3% profit or less to avoid it, and launder by selling at full price to Prussia, Italian states, etc., expanding cover regions."
"Then no one traces it back to us."
"Exactly?"
Terray and I spent the day hashing out a pan-European bill operation. The finalized plan went like this.
First, infiltrate stock-trading coffeehouses and cafés with agents.
Next, acquire local trading firms cheaply, install vagrants of dubious background as CEOs. Issue three-year promissory notes at 20% annual interest, claiming 'Qing trade rights.'
Other agents sell the notes as bonds, cash them out fully, then massively acquire the firms.
Then ship goods to France at under 3% profit—boosting French industry and stockpiles.
Once on track, export to Holy Roman Empire principalities, Italian microstates, Russia, etc., to camouflage as normal business. Since we're absconding in three years, defer taxes indefinitely for evasion.
One year before maturity, gradually repatriate profits, goods, and equipment from firms and industries to France over months.
At maturity, pass bond sale proceeds in cash to other agents for investment in promising or key industries there. Buy national bonds low during the economic crash to gain influence.
Absorb some mass unemployed into our firms for local goodwill.
"This part impresses most. Stealing profits, goods, equipment—all to France."
"Ahem, not stealing—relocating. Once in France, it's normal economic activity."
In modern terms, gilbae.
"Feels great for revenge on conscienceless reparation-demanders and traitor Russia."
"This op must never leak. Got it?"
"No worries. French intelligence has always run on cafés and coffeehouses. Worth stripping the cardinal's control last reign. No one knows this plan."
"Terray. Don't get cocky. I know, you know, heaven knows, earth knows—four already before kickoff. Double down on precautions."
Of course, like prior ops, any leak meant doom.
"Heaven and earth can't talk, and Your Highness and I have no reason to—foolproof."
"Terray, you..."
Truly. A loyal retainer.