Chapter 75: The Rulers (5) "This is a myth passed down in our Germany, but—have you heard of Odin?"
"…Odin? Thor's father?"
That one-eyed old man who was the father of the muscular blond guy with the lightning-shooting hammer from the movies?
"Oh, you know him? I didn't expect a Frenchman to know."
"I just… know a few scattered bits I picked up here and there."
"Haha, I see. In any case, in Odin's legend, there is a god called Hela. Originally a normal god, she was crippled by the king of the gods—Odin."
"…Is that so?"
The Duke of Brunswick nodded at my words.
"Sadly, yes. Not only that—after Odin crippled her, Hela suffered for a long time in the land of the dead."
"I see."
"However, Odin's word was absolute, and the power he held was mighty—so Hela had no choice but to hold her breath and live on."
"…"
Even as I stared at the duke's eyes in silence, he continued.
"But even Odin's mighty power weakened when the fate called Ragnarök drew near. Seizing that moment, Hela finally left the land of the dead, judged Odin, and achieved her revenge."
"…Interesting."
"Haha. Is it?"
"Yes."
"Finance Minister."
"What is it, Duke?"
The square-jawed duke wiped the smile off his face in an instant.
"Our Holy Roman Empire has endured a long, difficult time. Now we too wish to live in easier times again. What do you think of this, Your Excellency?"
"…"
"In the Holy Roman Empire, I hope you have a pleasant journey, Your Excellency."
With that as his last word, the duke gave me a faint smile and left.
"Maestro. Please come this way for a moment."
Backstage, where they were preparing for the next performance, the court orchestra's conductor turned at the voice calling him.
A messenger in a suit was looking at him and beckoning.
"We have to prepare the next piece—why? Did something happen?"
"The Duke of Brunswick says he needs one musician."
"Why would the duke need a musician?"
"It seems he wants to introduce our music to the Frenchman who came as an envoy."
Still not quite understanding, the conductor made an ah sound and nodded at the messenger's last words.
"Ah, I see."
"Please choose someone sharp and good with words and send him."
"Understood. Wait a moment."
The conductor turned back, then clapped his hands loudly a couple of times toward the musicians who had just finished their set and were switching with the next group.
"All right, attention."
As the eyes of some thirty musicians shifted toward him, the conductor swept his gaze across them and spoke.
"The Duke of Brunswick says he needs someone to explain German music to the Frenchman who came this time. Anyone want to go?"
"Maestro, could you tell us who the Frenchman is?"
One musician raised his hand and asked.
"That… the Frenchman's name is probably… Guillaume."
At the conductor's words, the musicians began murmuring.
"Guillaume…?"
"Maestro, do you mean Finance Minister Guillaume de Toulon?"
"Ah, right. Anyone want to go?"
"Me! I'll go! Me!"
Before the conductor had even finished speaking, a musician holding a viola shot his hand up and shouted.
"…Ludwig?"
"Yes, Maestro!"
At the sight of sparks seeming to fly from Ludwig's eyes, the conductor slowly shook his head side to side, as if he could not win.
"…Tsk. Fine. You go."
Hah. He didn't say it outright, but that duke is clearly looking at me like a thorn in his eye.
Ah. I wish this next so-called emperor would hurry back and kick me out already. I hate having to read the room more than anything.
"Ah, hello! I am Ludwig, a Habsburg imperial court musician—!"
"Ah, yes. Hello. I am Finance Minister Guillaume de Toulon of the Kingdom of France."
I extended my hand to the musician who bowed to me.
"It's—an honor! Your Excellency!"
After we shook hands, the musician—smiling brightly as if he couldn't be happier—asked me,
"Th-then, which part are you curious about…?"
"Hm? Ah, it's just that I'm not deeply versed in music. Could you explain it broadly?"
"Yes! Understood. This piece was composed a few years ago by Master Mozart—"
But no matter how passionately he explained, my head—filled with thoughts of the duke—refused to listen to anything through my ears.
Ah.
Except for one single thing.
"…If you have any further questions, please feel free to ask me, Ludwig van Beethoven, anything you like, Your Excellency!"
"…Ludwig what?"
I stared at the musician with my eyes wide.
"Pardon? Ah. I meant you may feel free to ask me, Ludwig van Beethoven, anything you wish!"
"…Beethoven? Your name is Beethoven?"
"Huh? Y-yes, it is… but?"
What a windfall.
"What did the duke say?"
On the way back to our lodgings after the banquet ended, Mathieu-hyung asked me.
"…Do you want it as he said it—indirectly—or do you want it completely blunt?"
"Blunt."
"He said if I make trouble here, it won't be very fun."
"…Tsk."
"…So what are you thinking of doing, Guillaume?"
This time Grussy-hyung spoke.
"Me? I never had any intention of getting involved in the first place. Whether they come at me hard or not, what does it matter?"
"Hm. True enough."
Why would a Frenchman care about Austrian affairs in the first place? It's not like I'm some revolutionary zealot—there's no reason to meddle in another country's business.
"So we came all the way to Austria for nothing? Ugh. Just thinking about being trapped in a carriage for another month makes me feel suffocated."
Mathieu-hyung tilted his head and sighed.
"Well, I don't think it was completely for nothing."
"…Why? The Kaiser died, so we're totally left hanging."
"I dug up a truly remarkable talent."
"…"
At my words, Mathieu-hyung narrowed one eye as if he didn't understand at all.
"Ah, there's someone like that. All right—since we've arrived, everyone get down."
"…Grussy-hyung."
"What is it, Mathieu."
As Guillaume alone bounced into the lodging with a light shake of his body, Mathieu and Grussy—still on horseback—looked at each other and spoke.
"Sometimes, I really don't know what he's thinking."
"Haha. It's just that we can't keep up with Guillaume's thoughts. Is Guillaume an ordinary man?"
"He's definitely not ordinary. If anything, he's insane."
"Hahaha! That might be true."
"Your Excellency."
A non-commissioned officer who had been standing guard at our lodging approached me.
"Ah, yes—what is it?"
"Someone has come to see Your Excellency."
Ugh. Who now.
"…Can you tell him to come tomorrow?"
Stop it. My fatigue is already at maximum. Unless you're bringing Bacchus.
"It's that… a gentleman who insisted he must see Your Excellency today, and he has been waiting for half the day…"
"Half… a day? You've got to be kidding me."
He waited half a day just to see me?
Why am I so popular—especially only with men?
"…Shall I send him away?"
Seeing me shake my head, the non-commissioned officer slowly opened his mouth.
"…No. I will meet him and exchange a few words."
"Understood, Your Excellency."
Following the non-commissioned officer's lead, I opened the door to a reception room set aside in one corner of the lodging and went in.
In a chair sat a neatly dressed gentleman who looked to be around fifty.
"I apologize for making you wait so long. I am Finance Minister Guillaume de Toulon of the Kingdom of France."
"Oh! Not at all. Merely seeing Your Excellency in person is a tremendous honor for me."
"Hearing you praise me so, I hardly know where to put myself. Sir—your name?"
Taking my handshake, the gentleman answered with a satisfied smile.
"My name is Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Your Excellency."
"…Goethe? The one who wrote The Sorrows of Young Werther?"
What is this—today's Special of Great Men of the World?
At my words, Goethe waved his hand as if embarrassed.
"Heh heh. Compared to Your Excellency, it is a paltry talent. To think Your Excellency knows this scribbler's name—brings tears to my eyes."
"Then why have you come to see me, Author Goethe…?"
I sat in the reception room chair and spoke to him.
But even at my words, Goethe kept his mouth firmly shut for a long while.
"Th-then, what is it that…?"
That was when Goethe suddenly seized my hand.
"Your Excellency. Please, in our Holy Roman Empire as well—pull the spark of revolution! I beg you thus, representing the subjects of the empire!"
"No."
Fuck.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I flicked the armrest with my fingers for a while, then opened my mouth toward Goethe.
"…Do you smoke?"
"I prefer chocolate over tobacco…"
"Then excuse me for a moment."
I left the reception room and went to the non-commissioned officer from earlier.
"Ah, Your Excellency. What is it? Have you finished speaking with the guest?"
"Sergeant, do you smoke?"
"Ah, yes. I do."
"Lend me one."
"…One?"
The non-commissioned officer tilted his head as if he didn't understand.
"Ah—I mean, lend me a pipe."
Right. Cigarettes don't exist yet.
…Should I make cigarettes and sell them?
The non-commissioned officer took a bundle of tobacco leaves from his kit, packed them firmly into the pipe, then struck flint to spark and light it.
"Here you are, Your Excellency."
"Thank you."
Sssup.
"…Cough, cough!"
Ah. Right. I've never smoked in this body.
As the harsh smoke rushed into my lungs, I started coughing nonstop like someone who had choked.
"A-are you all right?"
"Yes, yes. I'm fine."
I waved my hand at the worried non-commissioned officer.
"…Whew. Thank you. I used it well."
"It's nothing, Your Excellency."
After finishing the pipe, I returned it to the non-commissioned officer and went back into the reception room.
"Are you finished?"
As soon as I entered, Goethe looked at me and spoke.
"Yes. Thank you for waiting. Th-then—was that proposal yours alone, Author Goethe, or is someone behind you making it?"
"As expected—sharp indeed."
Goethe continued, sounding satisfied.
"It is a proposal from the Elector of Cologne."
"…Cologne?"
"The late Kaiser's brother, and a patron of we Enlightenment artists. The Elector believes that the era we live in is precisely a turning point of transformation—just as the world changed from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance, he says this is a turning point toward a new age."
"And?"
"The Elector says France has begun that transformation. I also agree. France's common people are opening a new age with their own hands. They are toppling an inefficient and gloomy feudal system and, upon it, opening a new millennial empire—no. A citizens' empire."
"…"
Goethe continued.
"Your Excellency. Our empire may appear to be one, but in truth it is nothing more than a patchwork empire, split into hundreds of pieces."
"…So you want to start a rebellion?"
"A rebellion, Your Excellency? No. We wish to depart into a new age, like France."
I closed my eyes briefly, then looked Goethe straight in the face and spoke.
"I'll speak frankly, Author. I know nothing about the empire, and I don't know how much power you and this Elector possess. Yet you are asking me to take the lead. My profession is, by nature, a businessman. As a businessman, do you know what the one thing is that you must never do?"
"…What is it?"
"Do not step forward in a field you do not know. That is the principle of management."
"…Hm."
"Then I will stand. I've been roaming Vienna all day since morning, and I'm exhausted."
I stood, took hold of the reception room doorknob, and twisted my hand.
At that moment, Goethe's voice came from behind me.
"The Elector has offered full forgiveness of the national debt France owes the Holy Roman Empire as your compensation."
I let go of the doorknob and turned around.
Goethe was looking at me with a serious expression.
"…Do you know how much that is?"
"High-interest debt: seven hundred million. Low-interest debt: three hundred million. Total: one billion livres. Is that not so?"
"…"
"Your Excellency. I am a writer, yes—but I was also the chancellor of the Duchy of Weimar. If there were no compensation to offer, I would not have come."
Shall we speak again?
At Goethe's added words, I had no choice but to sit back down in my chair.
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