Chapter 42: The First Act of the Stage (5) The first day of the Estates-General, ruined into total chaos by that shitty opening ceremony and the fire I never meant to start, ended like that—an absolute mess.
Finance Minister Necker, standing on the central podium with a resigned face, took the full brunt of countless representatives pointing fingers and hurling insults, rushed through a brief closing, then left as if fleeing.
All the Third Estate representatives rose to their feet and threw anything they could get their hands on—pens, ink, shoes—toward the seats where the First and Second Estates, the privileged estates, were sitting.
"You crazy bastard! How the hell are you going to clean up this mess!?"
Brother Mathieu grabbed my collar and shook me while shouting, completely stunned by the Finance Minister's shocking statement.
Sir, I think your voice is too loud.
Ah, but even if Brother Mathieu yelled like the world was ending, everyone around us was already screaming themselves hoarse, so it didn't really matter anymore.
"…It's not like I said it knowing it'd turn out like this…"
"Oh, fucking Lord…"
Brother Mathieu now wore a tearful expression and was rolling around on the floor.
No, wait. Why is this my fault? Aren't they the ones who failed to manage their money properly?
No, that's not it. It's not that they didn't manage it properly—they managed it like complete shit.
"…But the reason it came to this is because those people wrecked the finances. It's not like I did something wrong…"
At my words, Brother Mathieu sprang up, clutching his face, wailing.
"I came to see the palace once thanks to a close younger brother, and now thanks to that same younger brother, I'm about to die!"
"Come on, you're not going to die over this. Don't be so stingy."
"This insane bastard set the place on fire and he's still talking like this! The Finance Minister! Finance Minister! The rank right after His Majesty the King! If that man so much as twitches a finger, the Royal Guard could grab you and beat you half to death!"
"Haha. Well. What you say is partly true, my friend, but the people here won't just let that happen."
Behind Brother Mathieu as he sobbed, someone pushed through the crowd and approached with a grin.
Wearing an ordinary black suit symbolizing the Third Estate, with brown-tinted hair and a height just under 170 centimeters, the man held out his hand and spoke.
"It's been a while, Guillaume. Almost five years, hasn't it?"
Taking his hand, I said,
"…Father Sieyès?"
"That's right! To meet again like this, here of all places. So—have you been well?"
After saying that, Father Sieyès made an "Ah!" expression, looked at Brother Mathieu, and offered his hand.
"Ah, my friend, I was rude. I'm sorry for interrupting while you two were talking."
Brother Mathieu took the priest's hand and replied,
"Not at all. François Mathieu, Second Lieutenant of the French Army Infantry."
"Then I've met another hero! I am Emmanuel Sieyès, former Archbishop of Chartres."
After finishing the handshake with Brother Mathieu, Sieyès spoke with an affable smile.
But why is Father here? He shouldn't be on the commoner side—shouldn't he be over there with the clergy?
"Former Archbishop? Father—did you resign?"
"Well, if you want to call it a resignation, you could. Guillaume. The truth is, I quit. After seeing so many filthy sights, I wanted to stop. And besides, isn't this where I belong—rather than that glittering seat among the privileged? In any case, it's noisy here. How about we move somewhere else?"
At that moment, another pair of shoes flew over my head and dropped toward the privileged side across from us.
"…Let's go."
Brother Mathieu, Sieyès, and I hurried out of the hall and headed for our lodging.
"I thought Guillaume wasn't an ordinary man, but even so—stabbing the Finance Minister with a blunt statement right to his face—truly impressive! Hahahaha!"
"Ugh! Ack! After not seeing me for years, the first thing you do is commit violence—don't you think that's a bit much?"
"Hah. A fellow much bigger than me now shouldn't whine over something like that."
Reunited after a long time, Sieyès laughed loudly as he thumped my back.
Sure, I got taller, but it's not like my skin got thicker. Aren't you handling other people's bodies a little too roughly?
Then Brother Mathieu asked, wearing a puzzled expression.
"…Father. Earlier you said 'the people here' wouldn't let that happen—what did you mean?"
At Brother Mathieu's question, Sieyès looked at me with a puzzled face.
"You didn't tell your friend?"
"Tell him what?"
"About a rebellion, a popular uprising—what you told me back then."
"…Is it really… necessary… to tell him?"
What's the point of knowing that kind of thing in advance? It just stresses you out until your hair falls out. Aren't people supposed to live happily by not knowing what they don't need to know?
…Or not?
When I finished speaking, Brother Mathieu was glaring at me with a terrifying look.
At the same time, his usually gentle face twitched and contorted, turning scarier than those paintings of the Four Heavenly Kings in a temple.
"You… you fuuucking insane bastard!"
"Kgh, kgh! Don't choke me! I'm dying! I'm telling you, I'm dying!"
"I thought you were just a lunatic, but you were a traitor! Why!? Did Hades tell you to send me to the guillotine too!?"
"What do you mean, guillotine!? I've been working my ass off to keep you from ending up at the guillotine!"
"Shut up!"
At the same time, the privileged estates' lodging in Versailles Palace was shrouded in silence.
The commoner representatives they had always looked down on pinned the heavy blunder of national financial collapse onto the nobles.
In truth, it wasn't even "pinning" it on them. It was correct. Every failure born of the nobles' and kings' incompetence—and every failure they committed again and again—had led here. It was the result of driving commoners out of political power more than anyone else and suppressing them.
In just a few hours, those once most noble blue-bloods had fallen into wretches worse than beggars in the marketplace, forced to swallow the commoners' abuse.
So no one present dared to move their lips and break the heavy stillness by speaking about what had happened today.
In the end, the one who broke the lock of silence was the archbishop with the highest rank in the room.
His cloak, embroidered with dazzling golden thread—so far removed from the Third Estate representatives in their plain black clothes—fluttered as he spoke.
"How do you believe we should resolve this situation?"
"…"
The archbishop, frustrated, knit his brows and brought his staff down on the floor with loud thuds.
"Is there truly not a single one among all these blue-bloods who has even one brilliant idea!?"
But as soon as the lingering echo of the final thud faded, the room fell back into silence.
Now fully leaning his neck against the chair, the archbishop sighed and said,
"…Someone—say something. Anything."
At last, the youngest priest among the nobles present barely managed to speak.
"…With things having come to this, is there any other way but to follow the Duke of Orléans's words?"
The archbishop closed his eyes once and kept them shut for a long time, then forced open a mouth that would not open and said,
"So… we kneel to those ignorant louts with no manners… is that it?"
"N-no! It's not submission to commoners—it's obeying the Duke's command."
Only then did the archbishop open his eyes and nod.
"Yes. We are obeying the Duke's command. Does anyone object?"
At his words, all the blue-bloods in the room shouted as one.
"No, Your Excellency the Archbishop!"
"Good. Then for now, we will listen to the commoners. You may disperse."
The archbishop formed a greasy smile.
Some time later, the Estates meeting hall convened again.
A man in purple silk frowned at the words of a man in golden silk.
"…What do you mean by that, Your Excellency the Archbishop?"
"Exactly what I said, Count. I, along with over a hundred blue-bloods and priests, have decided to support the commoners' will."
The archbishop spoke indifferently, idly rubbing a mustache that barely existed due to being freshly shaved.
"Th-this…! Your Excellency! Do you not know who I am!? I am [name censored]…!"
"The Assembly of Notables. I know it very well, Count. Too well—that's the problem. I dislike having idiots clinging to me who can't even follow the flow of the times. If you're finished, I'll be going now."
With that as his final word, the archbishop turned from the count and stepped away.
"Archbishop! Stop at once! Are you not afraid of His Majesty's wrath!?"
"Hah. How ridiculous. The Assembly of Notables, who more than anyone undermined His Majesty's authority, now uses 'His Majesty' as a shield."
"Y-you…!"
Leaving behind the count, grinding his teeth and twitching with rage, the archbishop led his group out of the privileged seats and walked toward the commoners.
"Today is truly a meaningful day. Just now, the priests of the First Estate conveyed their intent to stand with us commoners. At last, we have taken one more step toward truly deserving the name 'National Assembly.'"
On the podium, a Third Estate representative continued in a dignified voice.
He was fat, short, and above all, so ugly you'd suspect he'd once collided head-on with a bull as a child—but no one listened to his words without feeling stirred.
"Mirabeau! Mirabeau! Mirabeau!"
Because of that, the man on the podium—Count Mirabeau—continued speaking.
"Therefore, I solemnly swear that our National Assembly is the representative body of the entire people of France, and I proclaim that our National Assembly shall not yield to any external pressure and shall never be dissolved!"
"Long live the National Assembly! Long live the National Assembly! Long live the National Assembly!"
Now Count Mirabeau spread his arms wide and swung them forcefully as he added,
"And even so—if we are forcibly dissolved! At that very moment, the entire people of France will refuse to pay taxes and refuse their obligations. And the king as well, without our approval, must not steer the affairs of state by his personal will alone!"
"Waaaaah!!!"
June 19. In the Estates hall, cheers of "Long live!" continued all day.
"Finance Minister Necker! Are you playing games with me right now?! I finally managed to hold the nobles in place, and now what? The commoners are running wild!"
Louis XVI vented his rage, even pointing a finger at the Finance Minister before him.
"Was stalling for time really that unbearable?! Or are you also in on it with that Orléans bastard!?"
"…"
Seeing Necker remain silent despite the scolding, the king felt his patience reaching its limit.
He snorted and glared at Necker with eyes full of fury, then shouted,
"Captain of the Royal Guard! Are you there!"
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
At the king's call, the Royal Guard outside the door answered.
"Good. You are on my side, yes? Go to the hall at once, lock the doors, and disperse all those rebels—whatever they're calling themselves, deputies or something!"
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
After giving a solemn salute, the captain of the Royal Guard closed the door and left.
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