Chapter 134: The City of Light, Paris (4) "Greetings, sir. I am Editor Saint-Just from Forbes, published by Isaac's People."
"Oh my! Welcome, Editor! For someone from such a prestigious publication like Forbes to visit a humble place like this—I hardly know what to say!"
The manager of the Théâtre des Publiques, dressed in a freshly pressed suit and white wig as if preparing to welcome an honored guest, bowed deeply to Saint-Just.
"It's cold outside, so please don't stand there—come inside! I already told the attendants downstairs to warm the room."
"Ah… yes, thank you."
Saint-Just followed the manager inside as the man greeted him with cheerful laughter.
The theater was not nearly as grand as the royal theaters or those near the wealthy district of Palais-Royal, but as a mid-sized theater it still had its dignity. The manager's office was decorated in a manner befitting its title.
After the attendants brought tea and coffee and the two men had taken a moment to warm their throats, the manager spoke first.
"I must say, I was quite surprised that Forbes requested an interview with a small theater like ours!"
"Haha, is that so?"
"Absolutely! Lately our audience has been flocking to other theaters, and I've been terribly worried. But if our theater's name appears in a famous publication like Forbes, surely more people will come, don't you think?"
The manager rubbed his hands eagerly and smiled.
"So then, what topic would you like to cover regarding our theater?"
"Do you happen to know a man named Jacques René Hébert?"
"H-Hébert?"
The manager's face instantly stiffened, his bright smile disappearing as if he had bitten into something foul.
"Why would you mention that lunatic? Our theater has absolutely nothing to do with him!"
"P-please calm down first…"
"Calm down? Calm down? Editor! Do you have any idea how much damage that madman Hébert caused to this theater—and to my life? If you knew, you wouldn't even say his name! Because of him, we nearly shut the theater down!"
Now the manager could barely control his anger. His lips trembled as he waved his arms wildly.
Is he exaggerating because he's a theater manager… or does he truly have reason to be this furious?
Saint-Just leaned away slightly to avoid the manager's flailing hands while thinking to himself.
"Then… what exactly did Hébert do to cause such outrage?"
"That bastard was rotten from the start! I felt sorry for him when he was starving outside the theater, so I hired him as an attendant. And how did he repay that kindness?"
Saint-Just quietly took out his notebook and pen and began carefully recording every word the furious manager spoke.
May 3, 1792
After the cold winter had passed and fresh sprouts had begun to appear, early May arrived as the city prepared for summer.
Paris was burning with excitement.
[Investigation by The Friend of the People: Patriot François Mathieu, National Guard major who fought the royalists and the Prussian army, critically wounded in a terrorist attack!]
[The shooting in the 13th arrondissement—was it actually an assassination attempt against a National Assembly deputy?! Investigation by Patriot France]
[Minister of Police announces successful arrest of terrorist Jacques René Hébert]
The opening salvo had not come from Forbes. Other newspapers and magazines fired first.
And the headlines—well, they were quite flavorful.
Our competitors really knew how to write.
"Citizens! A soldier who fought on the front lines to defend France and its people is called an 'enemy of the people'? Does that make any sense? While that man fought at the front, what exactly was the accuser doing while sitting comfortably in Paris?"
"That's right! If the army fighting our enemies is the enemy of the people, then am I—who supplies weapons to the army—an enemy of the people too?!"
"Damn it all! Why is Paris never peaceful even for a single day?"
"Assassinations, terrorism—they really have nerve! Power-crazed lunatics."
The war was not even over.
Rumors were spreading that Russian armies, fresh from defeating the Ottomans, were marching west toward France.
And yet, in the middle of Paris itself, a terrorist plot had unfolded.
An attack on a serving army major who had defended Paris.
How could anyone accept that?
Ever since the storming of the Bastille, Parisians had endured nearly three years of bloody news.
Hearing yet another story soaked in violence made them shudder.
The reports from our rival newspapers enraged the public, shocked them, and made them click their tongues in disbelief.
Still, I had to admire those rival reporters.
Forbes had overwhelming information advantages because I personally fed them excellent sources.
Other journalists had far less access.
And yet somehow, within only a few days after the embargo lifted, they had uncovered everything—from Brother Mathieu lying in Les Invalides Military Hospital to the truth behind the assassination attempt.
Frankly, I had to respect them.
But since the competitors had already fired the opening shot and captured public attention—
now it was Forbes's turn.
Although Hébert had already been branded the mastermind of terrorism and every media outlet was beating him with labels like "bastard of the century," "extremist reactionary," and "radical lunatic," some militant workers still supported him.
"Long live the Republic! Long live Hébert!"
"Down with the bourgeoisie! Long live the Republic!"
"Boo! The corrupt press must stop slandering Comrade Hébert!"
I understood them.
From the perspective of workers, the slogan "Smash everything and tear open the bellies of the bourgeoisie to feast!" must sound incredibly tempting.
But if we indulged that thinking, it wouldn't be reality anymore—it would be Mad Max-style anarchy.
"Editor Saint-Just. Publish the interview you gathered a few days ago as a front-page exclusive."
"Yes, boss."
Inside the Isaac's People publishing office, the rotary presses roared to life.
[Champion of the workers! Jacques René Hébert! Yet he has never held a shovel in his life? Exclusive investigation by Forbes Editor Saint-Just!]
[Manager of Théâtre des Publiques: "Jacques René Hébert was the theater's worst nuisance. He stole the wallets of our patrons and brought ridiculous manuscripts demanding we perform them as plays. He was practically a complete—(censored)!"]
[Pickpocket by night, terrorist agitator by day! When did Hébert begin living this double life?]
[Mosquito Hébert! First he sucked the blood of his barber lover, then that of theater patrons, and finally the blood of workers!]
"T-That can't be true about Hébert!"
"You idiot! The police say it, The Friend of the People says it, and now Forbes says it too—and you still believe that thief? Spit! A man who's never even shoveled dirt talking about workers!"
"That bastard!"
"We should kill that mosquito before it sticks its proboscis into our bellies!"
The man who had loudly claimed to represent workers turned out to be a parasite living off others.
At first, the workers shouted that the press was lying and spreading propaganda.
But as one piece of evidence after another came out, their confidence faded.
Of course it did.
The answer had already been decided.
So what do you think, citizens?
That man standing beside you, urging you on—he's actually a criminal who has never broken a sweat in his life.
If you defend him, then all of you who have worked honestly in factories will simply look like fools.
But we couldn't simply whip exhausted people with harsh words alone.
So the Ministry of Finance and I began aggressively promoting a series of pro-labor policies known as the Labor Law.
[Exclusive interview with Finance Minister Guillaume de Toulon by The Friend of the People!]
What—surprised it wasn't Forbes?
Even I have limits to how much I can favor them.
That would be monopoly!
At times like this, it's better to appear in several different media outlets.
That way I avoid dangerous words like "collusion" or "dictatorship."
"Greetings, Your Excellency. I am Jean-Paul Marat, editor of The Friend of the People. Thank you for meeting me during such troubled times."
"Yes, the times are indeed unsettling. But having been entrusted with the position of Finance Minister by both the people and the Assembly, how could I infringe upon the people's right to know simply because conditions outside are somewhat dangerous?"
"Your Excellency, truly admirable!"
"More importantly, I believe you came to ask about the new law?"
"Of course."
I took a sip of coffee before speaking.
"Hébert is certainly a vile terrorist and a mosquito sucking the blood of innocent people. But… a sage from the distant East once said something interesting."
"What was it?"
"Whenever three people walk together, one of them will certainly have something worth learning."
"Ah…"
"Hébert is a wicked man who will rot in prison for the rest of his life. Yet he has reminded us of one thing: the issue of the treatment of workers who live beside us."
As my mouth moved, Jean-Paul Marat wrote rapidly in his notebook.
"In truth, the Ministry of Finance had already recognized the workers' issue as something that must eventually be addressed."
"Is that so?"
"Of course. Editor, do you know how much one pound of bread costs?"
"Approximately… eight to ten sous?"
"That's correct. An ordinary worker can buy one pound of bread with a day's wages—and have almost nothing left. They live day to day."
"You're absolutely right."
What was it called again?
The Big Mac Index?
In the twenty-first century, people even measured how many hours someone had to work to buy a Big Mac.
"The Ministry of Finance knows this very well. But right now we are clearly in wartime. The Russian army may invade at any moment, and as this recent terrorist incident shows, public safety is still under threat."
I paused for a moment.
"Therefore, for the sake of social stability, the Ministry of Finance and I decided to postpone this policy until after the war. As you know, once a policy is announced, society inevitably splits into supporters and opponents, and fierce debates begin."
"That is true."
"And if we were to introduce such a controversial policy in times as dangerous as these…"
"That would be dangerous indeed. Your Excellency is absolutely right!"
"Exactly. That is why I had no choice but to swallow my tears. As you know, employees of Isaac's People, regardless of rank, receive more than twice the wages of ordinary workers."
"That is correct."
"So tell me—do you truly think I have ignored the plight of workers?"
"Absolutely not."
"I feel truly heartbroken, Editor."
"I understand, Your Excellency. It is deeply regrettable."
"So let me promise this now: once the war ends and society regains stability, we will create a world where no worker will ever need to shed tears."
Jean-Paul Marat simply wrote down my words while silently wiping tears from his eyes.
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