Chapter 37: Great Cold Wave (5) Early April, 1788.
Around the time Guillaume, Napoleon, and Dupont arrived in Corsica, the atmosphere in Grenoble, a small city in south-central France, had turned historically bad.
Because of that, Thomas, the forty-five-year-old coachman who had taken Guillaume's party from Paris to Toulon, couldn't adapt to the mood that had flipped 180 degrees from when he'd passed through Grenoble only a few days ago.
"Damn it, what kind of atmosphere is this? It feels worse than when we were at war with the Germans—if anything, it's worse…"
Everywhere, soldiers with gleaming bayonets mounted on their muskets patrolled in two files, eight to a line.
Most shops had their doors locked tight, and everyone passing through the streets avoided making eye contact and hurried to finish their business and return home.
With the recession already dragging on, the sight of him happily pocketing two gold coins after taking a customer for the first time in a while had vanished without a trace in the face of this scene.
Even he—who had driven a carriage for nearly twenty years and passed along this road countless times—was seeing something like this for the first time, and sweat seeped from the hand holding the reins.
What the hell happened in just a few days? Did some insane noble stage a coup with private troops or something?
Unable to stand it, Thomas grabbed a passerby nearby and spoke carefully.
"Hey, sir. I'm not from around here, so I don't know—did something happen?"
"L-let go! I'm in a hurry, I can't tell you, go ask someone else."
"Ah, hey, what's wrong with you? Would it kill you to tell me—"
But the passerby shook off Thomas's hand and hurried away down the street.
"Were people here always this cold? This is too much."
In the end, Thomas, having heard nothing useful, had no choice but to drive the horse and keep moving.
But his curiosity was answered automatically before long.
"N-no, what the hell is that?"
Without realizing it, Thomas's eyes went wide and he could only stare blankly at what was in front of him.
People were gathered, shouting in rage. That part wasn't strange.
Hadn't Thomas seen plenty of people in Paris and other cities venting their complaints at unscrupulous merchants who jacked up prices?
What left Thomas speechless was that the place the crowd was raging at wasn't a marketplace full of crooked merchants, but the front of Grenoble's high court.
"Down with the king and the Controller-General!"
"Bring Necker back!"
"Long live the righteous blue-blooded Duke of Orléans!"
A huge number of citizens were shouting blatantly anti-government slogans in front of the high court.
Thomas got down from the carriage, grabbed one of them, and asked.
"W-what in the world is going on? Why are people doing this!? The police—where are the police? What if you get arrested by the prosecutors!?"
After saying that, Thomas's mind went hazy at the other man's answer.
"Hahaha! Don't worry! The police and the magistrates are on our side too!"
"Wahahahaha! Those stupid commoners are useful at times like this too!"
"Hey now. Don't say stupid—say simple and honest. We nobles should take responsibility and lead those ignorant, pure commoners. How can you speak so harshly? Hahaha."
"Oh my, yes. My mistake!"
"Well, what the Chief Prosecutor said isn't exactly wrong either, so let's call it the pot calling the kettle black. Hahaha!"
"For you to overlook my slip like this—Your Honor truly has a great breadth of spirit!"
The Chief Prosecutor and a judge of Grenoble's high court spoke while clinking wine glasses.
The Grenoble police chief sitting beside them also joined in.
"But… if we do this, will the king really back down? I still don't know if this is right. If the king mobilizes the army in earnest…"
"Mm! Well said, Chief."
After swallowing the rest of his wine, the judge continued.
"People dislike change. Even lowly plants—if you pull up their roots and move them somewhere different from where they lived, countless ones die. Giving people a major change in their environment—by that alone—you make them uncomfortable."
"…."
"To put it simply, what the king tried to do this time—cripple the influence of us nobles—wasn't welcome news not only for us nobles, but for commoners as well.
If frogs in a well feel the well shaking, of course they'll be afraid. Even if it doesn't harm them, the fact that their tiny well is shaking is a terrifying thing to frogs."
The judge finished, then cleared his throat. The moment he stopped, the Chief Prosecutor spoke as if he'd been waiting.
"Your Honor is right. From the king listening only to the Controller-General and driving his cousin, His Highness the Duke of Orléans, out of Paris, to trying to abolish our high court and stirring up a fuss about some 'royal-only tribunal'—to those ignorant masses, it's all the same as shattering their peaceful daily lives."
Only then did the police chief look at the two magistrates with an Ah! expression. Enjoying that gaze, the Chief Prosecutor, flushed with excitement, kept talking.
"Anyway, since the idiots soaked in feudalism will believe whatever we nobles tell them, stirring them up is easy, and as for those nouveau riche types—so what if they have money?
If we hold out like this until the king convenes the Estates-General, we just pretend to listen to the commoners a little, then vote however we want, and it's over."
No matter how many Third Estate commoners there were, each estate had one vote, so if the First Estate and Second Estate votes were added together, that made two votes.
Outside the high court building, the commoners' shouting was like a sweet serenade to them.
"…Even after mobilizing the army, they say the defiance against me has only grown stronger?"
"T-that is correct, Your Majesty."
At Louis XVI's words, Controller-General Brienne could only respond while sweating profusely.
Louis XVI sighed.
"Should I not have driven that Orléans fellow out?"
"No! Your Majesty's decision was right a hundred times over!"
Brienne answered firmly. It wasn't only firm on the surface—inside, Brienne felt exactly the same.
A royal, creating this chaos out of greed! So he truly has clouded France's future!
Brienne squeezed his eyes shut as he thought.
France's finances were already on the brink of chronic collapse. Soon, the annual interest due would exceed the annual revenue—meaning the state would lose its ability to pay.
A bankruptcy crisis was coming that would make Korea during the IMF era look like child's play.
So Brienne persuaded the king, and begged and begged the nobles of the high court, trying to borrow as much as 420 million livres for economic stimulation and interest payments. At minimum, they had to stop the interest from bursting and prop up the economy—wouldn't revenue increase later?
After that, if they taxed nobles and clergy even a little, France might survive with an oxygen tube attached.
But then—
I, the Duke of Orléans, in the name of royal blood, declare that the current Controller-General's loan of 420 million livres is illegal!
And then the nobles of the high court, whom Brienne had finally persuaded by kneeling and begging, began to change their minds.
Huh? If we use the Duke of Orléans's name as a shield, we can withdraw our promise, can't we?
And then later the chance of us paying taxes drops to zero, doesn't it?
It's the moment. The moment! If we overturn it now, we can protect our vested interests!
Our high court rejects the king and Controller-General Brienne's request for loans!
When those greedy faces—cheerfully pounding the gavel—rose in his mind, Brienne's insides twisted.
In the end, even the good-natured Louis XVI flew into such rage that the blood vessels in his eyes burst, exiling the Duke of Orléans from Paris and throwing some of his followers into prison.
But the nobles, once accelerated into a runaway, were demanding Orléans's reinstatement, inciting unrest in local courts across the country, and stirring up the masses to encourage anti-government demonstrations.
Some regions even went on strike and formed their own separate Estates-General, resisting at a level bordering on treason.
Does the Lord truly wish to see France fall!?
Bitterness rose in Brienne's mouth.
Brienne looked at Louis XVI, hoping he would issue some marvelous command to resolve this crisis—but Louis XVI only stared vacantly out the window.
After hearing Alain say Grenoble had become dangerous due to unrest, we lay low in Gehenne for a while and were doing fine.
Because of his return-to-unit date, Napoleon had no choice but to leave the day after coming to Gehenne, but Dupont and I were stuck at our house in Gehenne for about three or four days until the situation calmed down.
—How is it, Alain? Is Grenoble still noisy?
—Yes, sir. I believe Young Master Guillaume and your friend should take the Avignon route rather than Grenoble, even if it takes about a day longer.
—It can't be helped. If we don't leave now, we won't make it back to school…
Even so, Dupont and I also had to set out despite the risk because of our studies, so we decided to detour through Avignon–Lyon, even if it took longer.
"Wow, how long has it been since we went back to Paris?"
"Hah. You only think about going back to Paris, and you don't even show your face at home—do you not think about how your father feels?"
"Ah, no, it's not that…"
My father, Charles, had somehow come up behind me as I was about to depart in the carriage and spoke.
What could I say. This was undeniably my fault, so there was nothing I could do.
"I'm sorry…"
At my appearance, Father gave a small snort of laughter.
"That's enough. It's not like I'm bowing down just to get you to bow back. I only wanted to see that you grew up well."
N-no, if you say it like that, I really become a bastard…
Father gave my shoulder a final pat, told me to arrive safely, then turned and went back into the residence.
When I got into the carriage, Dupont—already seated—snickered and said to me,
"Wow, Guillaume, you're really a bad guy, huh?"
"Shut up."
"What's wrong? Don't tell me you're sulking over this like a man?"
Dupont, you bastard… just you wait until we get back to Paris. I'll grind you down and make a "forced-labor bell" that surpasses the Émile Bell.
When the carriage carrying his son Guillaume became a dot and could no longer be seen, Charles finally took his eyes off the window and looked at the butler Alain.
"…So. The harbor master in Toulon is causing trouble?"
"Yes. He's gotten to the point of gouging even the navy."
"Hah, that bastard Didier. Looks like money fever has really taken him. Everything is going smoothly."
Charles spoke with a satisfied expression. Seeing that face, Alain spoke cautiously.
"However, sir. That Didier is also from the House of Toulon. The more brutally he acts, might that not also harm you as a fellow member of the House of Toulon?"
"Hm? Ah. That doesn't matter. I was driven out of Toulon—and out of the House of Toulon—a long time ago. The citizens of Toulon Harbor all know that. Rather, the more trouble Didier causes, the more I'll be able to claim when I return to Toulon later."
"And did you see the friends Guillaume brought this time?" Charles added.
"Yes. They all seemed exceptional."
"Haha! Right. An officer and a scholar. It won't be long now. Not long until the day I return as Toulon Harbor Master!"
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