I Hate Pain, So I'll Get the Shot in Advance
August 16, 1779, Versailles Palace.
I'd returned to Versailles Palace after a full year away. It was my first visit since martial law, which had taken about a year and two months to lift. The decree itself had been rescinded in just an hour, but the equivalent regime had persisted ever since.
Traditionally, the king conducted business from Versailles Palace, the symbol of absolute monarchy built by Louis XIV. If we were talking Joseon, it was like the Gyeongbokgung Palace. The difference was that France's Versailles hadn't burned down, so there was no need to work from the Tuileries Palace, which played the role of Changdeokgung. Strictly speaking, handling affairs from the Tuileries might even violate royal tradition and etiquette. Well, these days I was the tradition and etiquette, so no one dared object... Still, I couldn't keep ignoring the Versailles merchants forever. Versailles was like a successful Sejong City, a planned capital relocated before the move. Like it or not, this was the 18th century—the king's name was flashier advertising than any commercial signboard. The Seine Valley markets were already bursting at the seams with overdevelopment; no need to promote them further. The police had done a stellar job so far, preventing any unrest... but that didn't mean I could just let it slide. Above all, I didn't want to turn it into a demon's den like Seoul.
In the 18th century, that was London, right?
"Then let's hear about the navy first."
No sooner had I returned to Versailles Palace than I restored the old council-style administration, abandoning the solitary dictatorship where I'd pondered and decided everything alone. Such precedents had to be nipped in the bud to keep lazy heirs from getting bad habits. Besides, if not now, we could never revert to the old political structure. I was too incompetent for absolute monarchy or dictatorship, too competent for constitutional monarchy. Enlightened absolutism was just right.
"Yes. The French Navy's mainstay remains ships of the line. We've reverse-engineered the British ships of the line captured by Admiral Pierre and upgraded our existing vessels accordingly."
"Good."
"The American Revolutionary War is going very much in our favor. The combined secret privateer fleet led by Admiral Pierre and the American privateers routed the fleet under Admiral Graves. Graves lost, but he hasn't been sacked. Britain's personnel losses were so catastrophic that they can't afford to dismiss even an incompetent survivor."
Incompetent generals are best relieved quickly. Our side had no casualties, but watching made me uneasy. If they pulled some kamikaze stunt, Britain might refuse to accept defeat...
"And the army?"
"Army report. The army's vigorous young commanders keep pushing for expansion. They're talking revenge for the Seven Years' War—a showdown with Prussia."
"Let General Lafayette handle soothing them."
The current French military was merit-based in name only; in truth, it was a mess. Pierre and Lafayette were prime examples. Power was concentrated in the young radicals, whether army or navy. Most majors and colonels were in their early to mid-twenties. Their superiors—brigadiers and major generals—were about the same age. They'd made up for lack of experience with battlefield grit from the independence war, but the internal discontent could erupt anytime. Even in Korea, the X Generation was dismissed as weak in the '90s, and the MZ crowd stirred talk just twenty years ago. The 18th century wasn't much different. The old noble officers in the army—venerable military families who mostly stayed out of politics—were tricky to purge. They'd become historic officer lineages rather than nobles now. In other words, plenty of young commoner lieutenant colonels distrusted their elderly ex-noble captains and majors. There were many Seven Years' War veterans too, so experience couldn't be dismissed. The old captains and majors complained of poor treatment; the young lieutenant colonels just wanted to prove themselves in battle and win... Wait, isn't that the Kwantung Army mindset?
"The military seems fine overall. Treasury—how's the reaction to the tax reform draft?"
"No major complaints. Though the commoners seem to have plenty to say."
"Come now, that means no policy could ever pass. Tax laws are what the commons carry for life, more than anything. Once the council ends, Treasury—go door-to-door to every house in Paris and the suburbs, every homeless person, and ask their opinions on tax reform directly."
"But Your Majesty, Paris alone has nearly a million souls, and including the outskirts and much of the countryside, at least ten million. It's physically impossible, and devoting that much administration just to poll approval on a tax policy would be wildly inefficient."
They don't know the precedent of the great King Sejong. Well, in this country, only National Intelligence Agency staff know Joseon.
"A valuable counterargument. But I'm not asking just for yes-or-no opinions. While polling, conduct a census, and along the way, survey the land to uncover hidden acres. I hear my Aquitaine Basin holdings show twenty percent fallow or uncultivated on paper, but more land's actually in use."
Reactionaries had so much dirt that rough purges always uncovered something, but the commons needed delicate handling—unlike reactionaries. Many didn't even know what they'd done wrong; in the old days, hiding land or evading taxes was how they avoided starvation.
"As I always say, tax justice is social justice. Right now, the middle class is accumulating wealth, so corruption's not glaring. But in three years, self-farming hidden acres will become a social crisis. Better uproot it now—nonviolently, honorably if possible."
"We shall follow Your Majesty's wisdom."
This kind of corruption was typical of pre-modern states lacking administrative muscle. Goryeo flung sub-counties at local strongmen until they ballooned into corrupt empires; Joseon slashed county numbers to eliminate them. I recalled my Gyujanggak professor saying Joseon looked big-government but was too small to reform—aiming grand but delivering squat...
"Tax evasion breeds tax hikes, which breed harsh taxes. Dispatch two army regiments to the Treasury's National Tax Service. One platoon per region to assist with collections and surveys."
But France would be different. As long as my charisma and popular support held, no one in France could raise tails of rebellion or corruption. I'd show posterity exactly why I'd called it "martial law," not "purge."
"A short break, then. Jester—perform."
I jotted the meeting notes in Hangul and tossed the paper to the jester. The jester—I-Myeonghun—strained over it until his senior court jester mentor scolded him.
"Makes sense—if he could decipher it instantly, all France's secrets would be England's by now."
The council bureaucrats chuckled lightly at the senior jester's quip. It took I-Myeonghun nearly twenty minutes to grasp what we'd discussed. He mangled his assessment in broken French laced with Korean.
"This is like the policies of our country's great king."
Hmm, well, sure. Straight Talk on Farming is famous. Same intent, same verdict—natural.
"Intriguing. Your great monarch devised similar policies. But rookie jesters don't know palace rules well."
The guards stiffened at that. I waved them down.
"No 'your country.' Say 'our country.' Or does Joseon have grammar that belittles the homeland?"
"I'll remember."
"Then, resume council. What's the public mood lately?"
*
After the council, I reviewed reports in my Versailles Palace office. Unlike Tuileries, at least one policy advisor was always hovering—annoying. I preferred solitude.
"Treasurer, you're dismissed. Time for a private word with National Intelligence Agency."
"Yes, sire."
Without shooing them out daily, I'd never be alone. Gazing at distant hills through the window, an National Intelligence Agency agent entered.
"How's the court jester faring?"
"He's studying French diligently. Mutters odd phrases sometimes; proposed countless schemes to our agents, all debunked."
Handling it perfectly without orders.
"Pity him all you want—he can do anything required. Don't squeeze too hard. Actually, using him as a rabble-rouser isn't bad."
"Isn't that risky?"
"Better than one big sweep later. Steady drainage is safer."
Like any dictator, the more you suppress, the more resentment builds—inevitably. Better deflate the balloon slowly than let it burst.
"Once the court jester learns French, cap him as a fool and send him into Paris streets. He'll draw something out."
Like disguised loyalists from the old First and Second Estates unscathed by me. Families of the executed. Hotheaded lieutenant colonels with Kwantung Army vibes. Innocent speculators stripped of fortunes. Scrape them together; let them raise banners against me.
"Know what I fear most?"
"I'm listening."
"Not curses or posterity's historians. Silence. What happens in that silence, unknown to me—that terrifies. That's why I created National Intelligence Agency."
I fear the unknown.
"So, toss a bucket into that silence. The well's already overflowing with priming water."
That's why I want to know.