Chapter 79: Cordeliers Club (1) "When you left, it was to the cold wind, but you've come back when the spring breeze is lifting! It really has been a long time, Your Excellency the Finance Minister!"
"Haha. That's what I want to say, Doctor Guillotin."
I smiled back at Doctor Guillotin, who greeted me with a broad grin.
After nearly a month on the road from Vienna, the first place I headed upon arriving in Paris was where the rotary press was being built.
Like checking whether a scheduled Windows update had finally finished.
"I received the letter you sent on the way here. It really was impressive."
Honestly, it was the kind of explanation only engineers would understand, so from the middle on I couldn't even read it.
It had things written like yards and pounds—no idea what kind of people those were, but there it was, all that weird stuff.
"You flatter me. Without Master Lavoisier, the Montgolfier brothers, and the help of the English, I could never have made it on my own."
Doctor Guillotin waved his hand and gave an embarrassed smile.
"Now then, come in and see it with your own eyes, Your Excellency."
I followed Doctor Guillotin's lead and opened the annex door.
A massive machine several meters across both width and length sat there, dominating the center of the room—packed with cylinders at its core, with a complicated-looking engine mounted on it.
"Wow. So this is the rotary press? It's way bigger than I expected."
"I tried to reduce the size, but it's hard to make it any smaller than this."
Doctor Guillotin spoke regretfully as I tapped the machine's outer casing with my hand.
"It's not really a problem. I want to see it run—can you turn it on right now?"
"Of course! Watch for yourself how incredible it is!"
Doctor Guillotin smiled brightly like a child, climbed the temporary steps set beside the machine, and started adjusting it here and there.
"Now, you place the printing plate over here, then feed the paper into the input slot."
He pulled a lever, and the machine lurched into loud motion, sucking in the sheets one by one from the slot.
A moment later, I picked up one sheet from the dozens that had come out below—printed with the exact same content as the plate—and looked at Doctor Guillotin.
"…Whoa, it prints both sides?"
"That's right! And it prints twenty sheets per minute! If we install five or six of these, we could print enough magazines every day to cover all of Paris and still have plenty left over!"
"What's the unit cost per machine?"
"Let's see… it looks like about seven thousand livres."
"Seven thousand livres per unit—not bad. You really worked hard. Thank you."
"Haha, it's all thanks to Your Excellency the Finance Minister's support. Oh, that reminds me—the Montgolfier brothers asked me to pass this along."
Doctor Guillotin took a small note from his pocket and handed it to me.
"Let's see… 'If you purchase paper for the magazine in the future, we would appreciate it if you used our Montgolfier papermaking-leather company.'"
So even businessmen stay businessmen, huh. Well, it would be good for us too to have a partner company we can rely on for stable paper supply.
"Please tell them I said I understand, and thank you."
I said that to Doctor Guillotin.
"Yes, Your Excellency. Oh—and what about the English? If there's nothing else you need them for, shall we send them back to England now?"
Ah. The English.
No wonder the letter had nonsense like yards and pounds written in it.
Why the hell don't those bastards use the metric system?
"…Doctor. Those men—you said they're specialists in steam engines, right?"
"That's correct."
Doctor Guillotin nodded in answer to my question.
Hmm. Steam engines.
Come to think of it, we still hadn't seen any of the things you associate with "Western modernity"—steam locomotives, steamships, that kind of thing.
"Then I'll have to find work for them, even if I have to make it up."
"…Pardon?"
"Pardon? Did I say something? I didn't say anything."
I shrugged at the doctor staring at me with a puzzled look, then pulled out a calling card from my wallet and handed it to him.
"This is a card with the address of the house I'm staying at. Please send the Englishmen there."
I'll make them build steam locomotives and whatever else.
"…I trusted you. How could you do this to me?"
"Isn't that because, Marquis—you know, I trust you that much? If not you, then who am I supposed to leave as Acting Finance Minister?"
"Hmph. Sure you do."
After checking on the rotary press, I went to Versailles. The Marquis de Condorcet narrowed his eyes, pushed out his lips, and unloaded complaint after complaint.
"No, but more importantly—how did you handle all of this alone? I'm starting to doubt you're even human."
"If you'd done it like Excel—h… no. If you'd done it like the forms I prepared, it would've been a bit easier. Didn't you do that?"
"My good man—when you aren't here to explain it, and you leave behind only a single sheet of paper, how am I supposed to understand it?"
The Marquis de Condorcet waved the note I'd left, fluttering it.
"Is… that so?"
"It is, indeed!"
"…Ahem."
"Everything else about you is fine, but why do you assume others can do things the way you can?"
"Uh… that's…"
Watching him shake his head, I could only trail off.
If I said, "Because in the 21st century everyone organized it in Excel," he'd obviously look at me like I was insane.
Clack—
"Finance Minister! Is it true you're back—! Ah, the Marquis de Condorcet is here as well. My apologies."
Someone opened the door and stepped in.
After getting cooked alive for so long, I never thought the sound of someone barging in would feel this sweet.
"Not at all, Commander Lafayette! Not even slightly!"
"…Pardon? Ah, yes. Finance Minister—"
At my bright face as I grabbed his hand and shook it, the commander spoke with a bewildered expression.
"But Commander, why are you looking for me?"
"There's something I need to say to you in private."
"I've only been grumbling a little. If there's business, then of course business comes first."
At Lafayette's words, the Marquis de Condorcet smacked his lips in disappointment.
"Thank you, Marquis de Condorcet. Finance Minister Guillaume—please follow me for a moment."
"Ah, yes."
Leaving the office and walking after Lafayette, I asked him,
"Commander Lafayette, what is it?"
"…You'll understand when you see it."
I followed Lafayette into the room he gestured me into after opening the door. Inside, more than a dozen officers were busily writing something down, shredding it, and studying maps.
"Ah, Commander, you've arrived."
The oldest among them stood and approached us.
"Finance Minister Guillaume, this is Major General Kellermann. He is my mentor and the central pillar of our revolutionary army."
"Hello, General. I am Guillaume de Toulon."
"Ho ho. I am Kellermann. It is an honor to meet the Finance Minister."
"But what brings me here…?"
"Major General Kellermann, please explain."
At Lafayette's words, General Kellermann nodded and spoke in a low voice.
"A few days ago, an armed unit believed to be from the Duchy of Modena crossed the border and illegally occupied one of our villages."
"…Pardon?"
Why would they do that all of a sudden?
"Of course, the citizens took up firearms and drove them back, but this is no different from a serious armed provocation, Finance Minister."
Lafayette spoke with a hardened face.
"…Leaving aside that citizens drove off a regular force—why are Italians crossing into our territory?"
General Kellermann answered in his place.
"The current queen is from the Italian Duchy of Modena."
"Ah."
"For now, we have completely sealed off the area with the Defense Force, so no one besides our Defense Force command knows that Italians entered France. However, sooner or later, the people of Paris will hear of it."
"If the Parisians learn the details, they'll say we sold the country to foreign powers and demand we drag the king down immediately. Of course, I don't care if we drag down Orléans, but there's no suitable person to set up as the next king. And restoring the deposed king would be absurd."
General Kellermann continued after Lafayette.
"The remaining royals are the Count of Provence and the Count of Artois, and they are both counterrevolutionaries. Not only can we not set them up as king, but by the intelligence our Defense Force has gathered, the one moving the deserters is said to be the Count of Artois."
"…One mountain after another."
At my words, Commander Lafayette nodded.
"And while you were away, a strange group called 'Friends of the Constitution' formed in Paris. It's believed to be an extremely violent and radical organization. Some Defense Force members say the core leadership are the ones who led the earlier attack on the Bastille."
Lafayette brought over a stack of documents from the corner and handed it to me.
The papers were packed with profiles.
"…They call themselves the Cordeliers Club or something, and if those people learn France was attacked this time, they truly might go after the king's head."
"Then are you telling me to calm them down? What power do I even have?"
But as I flipped through the profiles, my hand froze.
"Ah."
Are you people seriously doing this to me?
"One of the leaders of the Cordeliers Club is Deputy Robespierre, who was close with you, Finance Minister Guillaume."
Lafayette looked at me with my mouth hanging open and spoke slowly.
On one of the pages I was holding, the name Maximilien Robespierre was written.
"When my son-in-law is in danger, leaving aside that we only sent five hundred—how does a regular army lose to civilians and retreat?"
"…That is…"
Seeing Orléans clutch his head and sigh, Dumouriez had no choice but to bite down hard on his lips.
"It isn't General Dumouriez's fault. I simply can't understand it. Are Italians not flesh and blood, but made of pasta instead…?"
"My apologies, Your Majesty."
"…What is the situation of our soldiers in Nancy and Jarez?"
"We have gathered twenty thousand troops, but under the revolutionary army's surveillance, it does not seem we can conceal them for long."
Orléans lifted his head and stared into empty space with unfocused eyes, then slammed the chair with all his strength and shouted.
"Damn it! How does it make sense that Joseph suddenly dies?! If we'd only gotten rid of that extremist lunatic Guillaume, France would practically have been ours! But now he's come back, and it's become difficult to carry out the affair."
After raging for a while, as if he'd finally vented his anger, Orléans spoke slowly to Dumouriez.
"…Send word to Artois. The affair is postponed."
"I receive your command."
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