Chapter 135: The City of Light, Paris (5) Inside the silent monastery, despite three men being present, the only sound that could be heard was the ticking of the clock's gears.
Tick, tick, tick.
Each time the second hand on the wall clock moved to the left, the shadows on the faces of the men seated in the monastery chairs seemed to grow deeper.
"…What time did Jean-Paul Marat leave?"
"It was one in the afternoon, so it has been about five or six hours now."
"Five or six hours?! Comrade Danton, at this rate all the blood in my body will dry up!"
"Even so, there is nothing we can do but wait."
Georges Danton, the deputy leader of the Mountain faction of the Jacobins, shook his head at Camille Desmoulins.
That lunatic Jacques René Hébert had not committed some ordinary crime.
Even if it was not broad daylight, attempting an assassination in the middle of a crowded intersection was no small matter.
…No.
With the gas lamps illuminating the streets as brightly as day, it might as well have been broad daylight.
And the victim?
Emmanuel-Joseph Sieyès, leader of the Plain faction, and an active National Guard major.
On top of that, the officer just happened to be a close friend of Finance Minister Guillaume de Toulon.
If he wanted to die, why not die alone?
Why drag the Mountain faction into hell with him?
The Jacobins had worked so hard to build a party supported by the citizens.
Danton felt curses pressing against his throat, a surge of self-destructive impulse rising to his head as blood rushed to his face.
If the Parisians began to remember the Mountain faction as a "terrorist party," then it would be the end of them.
The Mountain faction only held seats on the left side of the Assembly because they had public support.
What would happen to a party without supporters?
Would its members even dare show their faces in the Assembly?
And would the Plain faction miss the opportunity to declare that they must "punish the Mountain faction for threatening public safety"?
Yet the thought that weighed even more heavily on Danton's chest was how Guillaume de Toulon would view the Mountain faction after this.
Think about the young genius's actions so far.
Land surveys. Land redistribution.
Confiscation of aristocratic property.
Relief for the poor.
Policies so radical they were practically crimson.
And yet someone had struck the back of that man's head.
Among all the revolutionary figures, Guillaume was the one with the greatest prestige among the citizens.
If he changed his mind, what would happen then?
Danton could only clutch his throbbing head.
"Robespierre, what do you think?"
"It is our fault. What more is there to argue about? We can only pray that God shows mercy."
"…Sigh."
Danton silently hoped that Jean-Paul Marat, who had gone to meet the Finance Minister, would return with good news.
But Marat only appeared after Danton, Maximilien Robespierre, and Camille Desmoulins had spent a long time anxiously waiting.
"Comrade Marat! What did Minister Guillaume say?!"
The most emotional of the three, Desmoulins, jumped up first.
"Haha, please sit down first. There is a great deal to discuss!"
Unlike Desmoulins, whose nerves were frayed with worry, Marat spoke with a calm, almost enlightened expression.
"Now that we are seated, tell us. What did the Finance Minister say?"
"That man… truly possesses a great spirit! Despite such a shocking event, he still thinks only of the people!"
"…What? Comrade Marat, explain further."
"Even though his close friend was injured, the minister did not express anger toward the people. Instead, he promised that after the war he would improve the conditions of the working people! Could such a decision come from anything other than love for the people?"
Tears began to drip from Marat's eyes, staining the wooden floor of the monastery.
"I-Is that really true, comrade? But wasn't the minister's friend critically injured?"
"That is correct! How could I, Jean-Paul Marat, lie to my comrades? Even after such a tragedy, Minister Guillaume made a decision for the greater good. I feel nothing but reverence for him!"
"…He truly is a man of far greater character than I."
Danton lowered his head in shame.
Just moments ago he had been thinking only of political maneuvering.
What kind of person could make such a decision when one of his closest friends had been harmed?
"Jesus said to forgive seven times, and seventy times more beyond that. I never thought I would see such forgiveness in reality."
"I feel the same, Comrade Danton."
"Oh, and there is one more message from the minister. Three days from now, he would like to meet with Comrades Robespierre and Danton together."
"Guillaume."
"Hm? What is it?"
I had been reading the interesting parts of today's Forbes, and now he was interrupting me.
"…I appreciate you coming to visit me in the hospital."
"And?"
"But why did you bring fruit when visiting a patient?"
"What do you mean why? Obviously so you can eat it and recover."
Why would he even ask that?
Vitamin supplements didn't exist in this era, but visiting someone with a box of drinks and a fruit basket was practically standard etiquette.
"I'd actually be more grateful if you just got me out of this hospital room. Look—my wound is almost healed already."
"No. Absolutely not. You're staying here for at least three weeks. Where do you think you're going?"
Hey, Mathieu.
Do you even understand the situation?
Right now you are the living symbol of unity and forgiveness, a tragic young officer in his twenties who nearly died just before his wedding.
What would happen if you wandered outside and reporters surrounded you?
—"Wait, aren't you Major Mathieu? Weren't you critically injured?"
—"Huh? I'm perfectly fine."
[Shock! Finance Minister Guillaume de Toulon's lie—Major Mathieu's injury was only a minor scratch…]
The moment an article like that appeared, the fragile peace we had carefully built would shatter instantly.
Instead, you get paid leave and rest comfortably in bed.
Everyone wins.
"Damn it. Why don't you try staying here yourself? There's nothing to do."
"Then peel some fruit as a hobby."
"Hey! An officer's sword is meant only for the enemies of the nation!"
"Of course. Naturally."
"Gaaah! I'm leaving! I'm leaving!"
"Brother Grouchy, give me a hand. The patient is causing trouble again."
"Of course, Guillaume."
"Ahhh! You bastards! Let me go! Let go! Miss Théroigne! Bonaparte! Help me!"
Even though Mathieu was nearly 180 centimeters tall, when two healthy young men grabbed him he was quickly pinned back onto the bed.
Eventually, after pounding his chest in frustration, he compromised.
He took a small knife and began peeling fruit to pass the time.
If he had done that from the beginning, we could have saved a lot of trouble.
Still…
He was surprisingly good at peeling apples.
"Hey, what is this?"
While slicing fruit, Mathieu held one up.
"Oh, that? Pineap— I mean, ananas."
"What? Guillaume, isn't that extremely expensive?"
"Ahem. Imported all the way from the Netherlands."
Do you know how much a pineapple costs?
It's almost more than a person's monthly salary.
Amazing pineapple.
If Bitcoin existed in this era, a coin named Pineapple would probably be the most successful.
"Ananas! Such sincerity, Guillaume!"
"Wait, Brother Grouchy—you've eaten that before?"
"I once tasted it when I visited Versailles Palace with my father as a child! It is truly heavenly!"
"Heavenly might be a bit exaggerated…"
Ananas.
Or pineapple.
Damn it, the name keeps confusing me.
It was sweet, sure—but heavenly?
But unlike my reaction, Grouchy's eyes lit up.
He thrust the fruit toward Mathieu.
"What are you waiting for, Mathieu? Peel it!"
"Can't you just eat it like this?"
"No! You must remove the thick outer skin! Hurry!"
What a complete mess.
Still, the fact that we could behave like this meant everyone was healthy.
Yes.
This was exactly the kind of life I was working so hard to protect.
"Greetings, gentlemen. Thank you for accepting my invitation."
"Well, if you called us, who would refuse?"
"That's correct, Your Excellency."
Good.
Robespierre. Sieyès. Danton.
Everyone was here.
"I believe you all know why I invited you today. After this assassination attempt, I want no more revenge or political terrorism."
I paced slowly in front of them.
"You people can't stand losing to each other, can you? But I think wounds heal with time. The problem is that scars remain. Some people see a scar and feel irritation, but others see it and vow never to make the same mistake again."
I continued.
"I hope this assassination attempt becomes such a scar—one that reminds everyone never to repeat such a mistake."
"On the Plain faction's side, of course there are people dissatisfied with the new Labor Law. After all, wages may double overnight, so capitalists would naturally dislike it. But if workers become angry—as we saw this time—the consequences will be disastrous."
"I understand. I will make that clear to the members of the Plain faction."
Good.
Sieyès was someone I could trust.
"As for the Mountain faction—I know conditions are harsh. But even mountains and rivers take ten years to change. The world cannot change overnight. Representative Robespierre, you remember what we studied together in Versailles, don't you?"
"Of course. The problem is the economy."
Excellent.
Professor Guillaume de Toulon was very satisfied with Student Robespierre.
Maybe he should apply for graduate school.
"And now, Mr. Danton?"
"I am listening, Your Excellency."
"My demand is simple. If you want to fight, fight inside the Assembly with words. Not with terrorism outside. Do you understand? Please control your people."
"…My apologies, Your Excellency."
Well… I hadn't intended to make him look like a drenched puppy.
"Anyway, starting today, let's settle political disputes in the Assembly—even if it means throwing shoes at each other. Understood?"
The three men nodded silently.
Then I added one more sentence.
Their faces immediately turned pale.
"If this continues, I will form a third party and run in the elections."
So stop making politics such a damned mess.
The Assembly is already crowded enough.
Do you really want me to make it even more crowded?
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