Chapter 123: A Businessman in War (2) "How much should the 3rd platoon take?"
"There are forty-two men in total, so one crate should be enough, Major Mathieu."
"Very well. Take one crate from that wagon."
"Yes, sir!"
While Major François Mathieu, the Fourth Army's staff officer, busily wrote various notes into the supply inventory ledger, the non-commissioned officers and soldiers hurriedly hoisted the wooden crates that had arrived from Paris, their grins stretching from ear to ear.
[Ears of the Nation Military Supply Cigarettes / 1000 pieces]
"Sergeant!! Hurry, hurry! Open it already!"
"Aaaagh! Give us the cigarettes right now!"
The soldiers who could read had completely lost their composure. Their hands trembled from nicotine withdrawal as they grabbed the sergeant's arm.
"I said wait a moment! Heave—!"
Clack.
The wooden crate opened, and when the beautiful, alluring white sticks inside were revealed, everyone let out low cries.
They were not the mild pipe tobacco ordinary people smoked, but rather coarse cigarettes—the kind sailors who ate rotten cheese and salted meat might smoke.
But for sturdy men driven half-mad after weeks of forced abstinence, such trivial distinctions no longer mattered.
"Ooooh…!"
"S-Sergeant! There might be poison in them! I'll smoke one first to test it!"
"What nonsense! As your superior I cannot send my men into danger. I'll smoke it first."
"Damn it…"
Scratch!
The warm yellow flame from the match transferred itself to the end of the long white stick.
A deep exhale. A deep inhale.
The bodies that had been crying out moments earlier slowly relaxed.
"Sergeant, how is it?"
"Why ask? Just look at his face. He's already gone."
The sergeant dropped the cigarette butt onto the ground and crushed it beneath his boot.
"Well I'll be damned. For once, a piece of military equipment that's actually worth its price."
"I-is it smokeable?"
"Smokeable? Try it yourselves."
The moment the sergeant finished speaking, the soldiers pulled cigarettes from the crate, put them between their lips, and lit them.
It was a sweetness unlike anything else in the world.
Kingdom of France, Paris.Saint-Antoine District.
Spreading paper by hand.Pouring finely ground tobacco leaves by hand.Rolling them into a cylinder by hand.
An ordinary production process with nothing remarkable about it.
But remove the words "by hand," and suddenly it became something extraordinary.
Hiss—! Hiss—!
Steam burst into the air again. As if it had been waiting for the moment, the steam engine began turning the gears inside it, pouring neatly dried tobacco leaves into the paper.
With his hands clasped behind his back, Lavoisier watched the scene with a satisfied expression, like someone watching a newborn baby take its first steps.
"Ah… how beautiful a machine that operates without even the slightest error!"
The second-floor laboratory, once piled high with mountains of experimental instruments, had long since been filled with tobacco production equipment.
But Lavoisier did not mind.
After becoming completely captivated by steam engines, it had been Lavoisier himself who voluntarily cleared away the instruments and replaced them with various steam engine models.
Steam engines.
Just thinking about those words now made his heart pound.
Didn't God help those who helped themselves?
The saying seemed perfectly true.
At first, Lavoisier thought that Guillaume had placed a leash around his neck. But in reality it was not a leash at all—it was an opportunity to satisfy his intellectual curiosity and soar to greater heights.
It was all thanks to those benefactors from Britain.
Richard Trevithick and Murdoch.
— The rotary press matter is finished. Why haven't you gentlemen returned home?
— Ah, it seems Mr. Guillaume didn't mention it. Through cooperation between Mr. Watt's company and Ears of the Nation, we're building a "steam-powered means of transportation."
— A steam-powered… means of transportation?
— Precisely. More accurately, a "steam-powered vehicle capable of carrying hundreds of people." The boss calls it a steam locomotive.
A vehicle powered by steam… capable of carrying hundreds of people.
What a romantic idea.
A vehicle faster than horses—one that could even chase the speed of clouds.
On the night he first heard those words, Lavoisier stayed awake the entire night.
After that, as if trying to make up for all the years he had not studied steam engines, he began moving back and forth between the patent office and the laboratory all day long, gathering everything he could about steam engines.
Then Guillaume added another instruction: find a way to mass-produce cigarettes.
For Lavoisier, it was like a fish finally thrown into water.
From Newcomen's steam engine to the spinning machines the British had recently begun using, Lavoisier poured every bit of research funding and salary he received from Ears of the Nation into building steam engines.
The result of that effort was this cigarette production machine.
Yet even after completing the machine, Lavoisier could not shake the strange emptiness in his heart.
Perhaps it was because the revolution had prevented him from achieving any true discoveries for nearly two years.
Like a thirsty man whose thirst grows worse after tasting a single drop of water, Lavoisier's desire only grew stronger.
Was it pure intellectual curiosity?
Or the ambition to leave the name Lavoisier in the coming age of steam?
Either way, he felt unbearably hungry.
"Um… Professor Lavoisier? The person you arranged to meet has arrived."
"Oh! DuPont! Thank you for the good news! I must go down at once!"
"Yes, professor."
With a broad smile, Lavoisier hurried down the stairs at his student's call.
When he reached the entrance, a middle-aged man standing there extended his hand.
"Are you Professor Lavoisier?"
"Pleasure to meet you, sir! I am Lavoisier! Thank you very much for coming."
Lavoisier grasped the man's hand and shook it vigorously.
"I should be the one thanking you. To think the Director of Artillery would come to see someone as insignificant as me."
"Nonsense! How could the inventor of the steam carriage, Nicolas Cugnot, be insignificant? Please, come inside. We have much to discuss! Ha ha!"
With a warm smile, Lavoisier led the man called Cugnot toward the reception room.
If the British intended to leave their mark on history by building a steam locomotive, then the French would leave their mark with a steam carriage.
Holy Roman Empire.Electorate of Cologne, Bonn.
"Lafayette's Third Army is advancing toward Bonn."
"Reconnaissance reports say Dumouriez's Second Army is flanking toward Cologne. Moreover, the Second Army is advancing more aggressively than the others, Your Grace."
Only unfortunate news filled the air.
"…Hmm. And Rüchel?"
"Reports say Napoleon Bonaparte's Fourth Army defeated the mercenary regiment commanded by General Ernst von Rüchel and occupied Nürburg."
"…This is troublesome."
The Duke of Brunswick stroked his chin.
"May I have some time alone?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
At the commander-in-chief's order, the Prussian headquarters quickly emptied.
Alone in the silent command room, the Duke of Brunswick carefully reviewed the increasingly chaotic retreat of his forces.
The decoy force left at Nürburg had been destroyed by Bonaparte's Fourth Army.
General Möllendorf, deployed near Cologne, was also on the defensive.
The French army was rushing relentlessly toward Bonn.
And yet Brunswick remained calm.
First, the fighting had not yet reached Prussian territory, so further retreat was acceptable.
Second, although Brunswick himself was losing ground, Prussia was not yet in a national emergency. If all standing forces were gathered together, they could still block a French invasion.
It would simply mean mutual destruction with France—and France surely did not want that.
Brunswick shifted his gaze from Bonn to Prussian territory: Kleve.
Two weeks' distance.
If they conducted delaying actions, perhaps two and a half.
How should those two and a half weeks be used?
After all, hadn't he fulfilled Prussia's promise to Russia? Prussia had deployed troops and inflicted damage on the French army.
The more he thought about it, the more his mind leaned toward negotiating peace.
If Kleve were ceded, perhaps France would be satisfied.
Give up the small city of Kleve… and in exchange take a portion of western Poland.
Surely France possessed enough sense not to desire further bloodshed.
After pondering for a long time, the Duke of Brunswick finally called out toward the door.
"Send a courier to His Majesty. Tell him to prepare for peace negotiations."
Holy Roman Empire.Landgraviate of Hesse, Frankfurt.
"The French army will soon pass near our landgraviate. Could problems arise?"
Landgrave William I of Hesse spoke in a solemn tone to the officials gathered in the palace.
"The French are pursuing the Prussians. They do not appear to threaten the Holy Roman Empire itself. Most likely nothing will happen, Your Highness."
A civil official stepped forward to answer, but William frowned.
The French advance chasing the Prussians was simply too fierce.
If one were an emperor, perhaps enduring misfortune was a virtue. But for a prince, one of the greatest virtues was minimizing the chances of misfortune occurring at all.
"Hm. Even so, would it not be wiser to obtain a clear answer from the French army? If by some chance the people of our landgraviate were harmed by unknown ruffians, we should eliminate that possibility entirely."
"In that case, the best course would be to send an envoy to Guillaume de Toulon, the Controller-General of Finance of the Kingdom of France, who is currently in Trier, and request a guarantee."
William I struck the armrest of his chair.
"An excellent suggestion. Then the question becomes who to send as envoy…"
To deal with that man Guillaume—called the second Richelieu—they would need someone trustworthy and bold.
William I frowned in thought.
At that moment a man stepped forward and spoke.
"Your Highness, I will go."
"Oh! Mayer Amschel!"
A forty-seven-year-old financier and long-time vassal of Hesse.
Only then did William I smile with satisfaction and nod.
"If it is you, I can entrust this matter with confidence. I will give you a gift to present. Go to Guillaume de Toulon and bring back his assurance of our safety."
"Yes! I, Mayer Amschel Rothschild, will fulfill Your Highness's will."
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