Chapter 107: Declaration of War (1) February 5, 1791.Kingdom of France, Paris.
It had been nearly two weeks now since the body of the late Mister Louis-Philippe d'Orléans II—the main culprit behind our rising blood pressure—had finished its funeral and been dragged back to the Temple Tower.
Oh, and Father Sieyès, who insisted on officiating the funeral mass himself, told me that during the mass, the corpse talked and caused a disturbance. Well.
—Now we bid our final farewell to Archduke Louis-Philippe d'Orléans. As is our custom, we shall bury this flesh in the earth. The bereaved family, please convey what you wish to say to the deceased through this man, Emmanuel Sieyès, Archbishop of Chartres.
—Aaaaah!! You bastards! Let go! Can't you hear me?!
—Our Father in heaven…
Hmm. How could a corpse move? It wasn't a zombie. Probably just a baseless rumor, or someone saw a phantom.
"Mm-hm-hm. Ahem."
Ah, more importantly, the winter sky over Paris was truly high and blue. So beautiful that a little hum came out on its own.
"…Sometimes you're genuinely scary."
"Huh? Why?"
"Why? A guy who just dunked someone whole, humming, would scare anybody. I still freak out when I picture Orléans' eyes as he got dragged back to the Temple Tower."
"Ha. Coming from someone who's been guzzling the wine he secretly stashed away, that doesn't feel sincere at all."
Between the Bordeaux Napoleon had taken and the wine in our house, there were already too many bottles to count on fingers. Look at him—he was still guzzling right now.
"They say the ghost of what you ate and killed looks pretty too. I'm just staying faithful to that saying."
"Ha. If you couldn't talk, you'd be less annoying. A colonel's pay can't be small—why not just buy your own?"
"I tried buying it myself, but it tastes best when I drink it here."
"And what the…"
Was this one of those things where someone else's ramen tastes better than the ramen you cook yourself, so stealing it tastes best?
"And even if a colonel's pay is big, it's still less than a Finance Minister's pay. A guy like you, who makes so much money—if you share a little, will you die? With that attitude, how're you going to lead twenty-seven million French people?"
"No. What does that have to do with you stealing my wine?"
"Tsk. Just like someone who didn't get an autograph from Monsieur Goethe—you're narrow as hell."
"Hey… I said I just didn't think of it in time. You're a regimental commander—why are you being so petty?"
"Tch. Fine."
"Oh come on, sir. Don't be like that. Are you looking for something?"
Damn, me—of all people—bowing and scraping just to coax Napoleon out of a sulk.
"…Ahem. Then. That… what was it, that Chambertin wine I had last time. Give me… two bottles."
"Here's the key. Go to the cellar and take it yourself. I have to go out again."
"As expected, our Guillaume! France's greatest saintly gentleman! The face of the Revolution! Ah, lofty indeed—Guillaume de Toulo—"
This bastard, seriously.
"Shut up and just go get it. I'm leaving now."
"Where to?"
"Versailles."
"Good lord…"
"Some ambassador or whatever—some diplomat the English king sent—is coming."
"I see… go and come back safe."
"Take only a reasonable amount, drink a reasonable amount, and don't just drink on an empty stomach. Eat something with it. You'll wreck your gut."
"Yes, yes. I will obey, Your Excellency."
Napoleon grinned at me as I went out the door and snapped a playful salute.
"Oh. Have you been well, Your Excellency."
When I climbed into the carriage, Foreign Minister Lebrun—who seemed to have been waiting inside—held out his hand to me and spoke.
"Foreign Minister Lebrun? Why did you come all the way to Paris yourself?"
At this hour, shouldn't you be in Versailles already, talking back and forth with the ambassador or envoy from England?
"Haha. I came to Paris because I have something urgent to discuss with Your Excellency."
"Something urgent with me? I'm an outsider to diplomacy."
All I knew about diplomacy was that England was a vicious asshole country, Spain had an economy wrecked to the level of an 18th-century Greece-and-Venezuela combo, and Germany was split into several pieces.
"It doesn't matter if you're an outsider, Your Excellency. On the way to Versailles from here, I'll explain everything step by step myself."
"Haa. My head already hurts."
When I pressed a hand to my head, Minister Lebrun replied with a smile.
"Ah, and that person you mentioned. I heard he came along with this delegation. You'll be able to meet him today at Versailles."
"Suuup. Now I have a reason to study hard."
London, England.10 Downing Street, the Prime Minister's residence.
"The tea's aroma is excellent, Deputy Burke."
"…I don't think we met to exchange leisurely remarks, Prime Minister William Pitt."
The Prime Minister of the British Empire, William Pitt, set his cup down gently like a proper English gentleman and spoke in response to the words of the political enemy seated across from him, Edmund Burke.
"Tea is a precious import from China, and you won't even let me savor it. Aren't you living too pressed by work, Deputy Burke?"
"It seems sitting in the Prime Minister's chair makes people lazy, Prime Minister Pitt."
"…Really, you are something."
Like enemies who had spent more than a decade grinding against each other in that vicious Westminster, they gladly traded needle-like political attacks rather than pleasantries.
"Why are you so aggressive about France, Deputy Burke? Everything turned out fine, didn't it? There was no bloodshed, and depending on how you look at it, they could be seen as the second nation—after England—to achieve a Glorious Revolution."
"Glorious Revolution… well. I don't think so."
"Why?"
As the fresh-faced thirty-one-year-old Prime Minister asked, Edmund Burke—an aging politician well past sixty—began to speak.
"The French committed a grave mistake, Prime Minister Pitt. They allowed the ignorant masses to participate in politics. How much influence from the masses went into the 'death' of Archduke Orléans? It would likely be difficult to put into words. Swept up by the voices of thousands—tens of thousands—the French killed their own monarch with their own hands."
"…As far as I know, Archduke Orléans is still alive."
"Hmph. Prime Minister—do you call that alive? Exiled to the Temple Tower and severed from society—how is that living?"
"At least there was no blood spilled, Deputy Burke."
At the end of the Prime Minister's words, a chilly current hung between them for a moment.
"If you are so worried about the French Revolution, and it troubles you so deeply, I wonder why you delivered a supportive speech when the thirteen colonies in the New World struggled to declare independence."
"That happened because Britain failed to guarantee proper rights to the people of the New World—naturally, wasn't it? Surely you understand even that."
"Of course I understand, Deputy. But I doubt the common people will understand that intent."
"Do you truly lack even the imagination to see how courting the masses will block this nation's future? Because of you, the day may come when a miner's son becomes Prime Minister, and a farmer's son becomes a deputy."
At that, Prime Minister William Pitt's eyes tightened briefly, then returned to his usual calm expression.
"…At present, France is being governed by rational and mature men who are fully capable of dialogue with us, Deputy Burke. Our Tory Party will not hurl reckless criticism and abuse at such a France the way your Whig Party does."
"Hah. France is Britain's foremost enemy, Prime Minister."
"I never said we wouldn't check them, Deputy."
The elderly deputy rose from his seat and spoke.
"Ha! Don't dress it up in fine words! You're going to recover your popularity, which fell because of defeat in the American War of Independence, by selling out France!"
"If you were going to harp on 'defeat, defeat,' then you never should've supported American independence in the first place! Are you joking?! You—who crushed the morale of the redcoats heading to the front more than George Washington ever did—have the nerve to say that?! Why? If you'd cooperated with a grander view from the start, there'd have been no reason for the American colonies to break away! If we go to war with France now, it's only you in the opposition who benefit! If we lose, it's all the Tory Party's fault! If we win, it'll be 'thanks to the Whigs for cooperating with the Tories'!"
'Tories, damn them…'
'Whigs, damn them…'
The two Englishmen glared at each other in silence for a long time.
Kingdom of France.Palace of Versailles.
A young Englishman in his early thirties offered me his hand and spoke.
"Ah, it's a pleasure to meet you, Your Excellency Guillaume de Toulon, Finance Minister. I am the Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary Ambassador to France under His Majesty George III, King of Great Britain and King of Ireland—George Leveson, Duke of Sutherland."
"You've come a long way. It is an honor to meet you, Duke of Sutherland."
"Britain's Foreign Office, Prime Minister William Pitt, and the Tory Party can offer nothing but unstinting praise for the honorable posture and conduct your France displayed during the trial of Archduke Orléans."
"Haha, hearing you say that leaves me at a loss for words."
"And now, regarding the matter of Britain and France's—"
Diplomats, seriously. They talk so much. If you let go of my hand and talk, will you catch a disease?
"Diplomacy is not under His Excellency the Finance Minister's purview. Speak with me, Lebrun, instead, Duke of Sutherland."
"Haha, understood, Minister. Then I beg your leave, Your Excellency."
"Yes. Please enjoy your time."
Minister Lebrun—was he a god?
I slipped out of the reception and headed toward a reception room I had reserved in advance.
"Ah, Your Excellency. We've already seated your guest inside. You may enter."
"Yes, thank you."
The Foreign Ministry staff member dipped his head slightly to me and opened the reception-room door.
Inside, a middle-aged man around fifty in English-style formalwear waited for me.
"Pleasure to meet you, sir. I am Guillaume de Toulon, Finance Minister of the Kingdom of France."
"Sir? Not at all! Rather, it is an honor to meet you, Your Excellency! I am John Walter, proprietor and editor of the English newspaper The Times."
"Haha, Mister Walter. Going forward, I'd like Forbes and The Times to become permanent business partners. What do you think?"
"Of course, Your Excellency! It would be an endless honor!"
This is why being Finance Minister is worth it.
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