Chapter 80: Cordeliers Club (2) Early May, 1790.
Paris, France — Tuileries Palace.
Citizen Louis Auguste, who had been clasping my hands and laughing just moments ago, now looked at me like I was insane and spoke.
Honestly, I thought I probably did look insane myself.
"···What exactly are you saying to me right now—no, to me, Finance Minister?"
"So, you see… Grand Duke Louis Auguste, do you perhaps—just perhaps—have any thoughts about restoration…?"
"···After everyone hounded me nonstop, now you're asking whether I want to sit on the throne again?"
"Orléans turned out to be way more unhinged than I expected. Ha… haha…"
At least Louis Auguste had only moved units belonging to the French army. Orléans actually brought in a genuine foreign army.
Honestly, how was I supposed to know there was someone else in the world besides Gojong who would invite not mercenaries, but a foreign regular army to attack his own country?
Louis Auguste spoke to me—who was smiling awkwardly—with a sullen expression.
"If you hate Orléans so much, why not drive him out as well and then declare a republic among yourselves, like America across the sea?"
A republic, you say. Sure, I personally find republicanism and democracy far more familiar and preferable than monarchy or feudalism, but do you really think the neighboring countries would see it that way?
They'd probably march their armies right in and slaughter every revolutionary taller than a cartwheel.
"···You seem a bit different now that you've stepped down from the throne."
"Oh? In what way?"
"You seem more irritable."
Louis stroked his chin and replied,
"Hah. How unpleasant. Do you not think you, Finance Minister, are the one who made me irritable?"
"···I won't deny it."
I spread both hands wide and showed him my palms.
"Still, even after traveling to that stuffy, two-faced Austrian backwater, you're the only one who speaks so bluntly," Louis said, shaking his head while letting out a small chuckle.
"Didn't you say last time that you liked my bluntness?"
"Of course! If I disliked it, I wouldn't have even let you into the Tuileries. Haha!"
Louis nodded and smiled kindly.
"So, you truly have no intention of restoration?"
"Hm."
At my question, Louis wiped the smile from his face and let out a short hum.
"This is just something that trickled out from the revolutionary army—it's not a serious interrogation, so feel free to answer comfortably."
Louis spread his hands and lightly tapped his fingertips together for a moment, then looked me in the eye and spoke.
"To be honest, I can't say I wasn't tempted, even if only briefly, by the idea of restoration."
"···I see."
"But, Finance Minister,"
Louis continued, wearing a relaxed smile.
"I'm quite fond of my current life. Just reading peacefully with my family, taking walks. No need to follow foolish court etiquette or maintain royal dignity—so I can even play tennis."
Come to think of it, haven't I put on a bit of muscle lately? I've been riding and playing tennis diligently these days, Louis added.
I slowly shook my head.
"Ahem. That aside, I've also been paying much more attention to my son lately. The child is very frail."
Louis fell silent for a moment, then took a deep breath and spoke again.
"So, Finance Minister, I must politely decline your proposal. If I get entangled in complicated matters like restoration again, it will only become troublesome—and naturally, I'd have even less time for my family. Unless Orléans suddenly drops dead or something."
"···Understood. I fully understand, Grand Duke Louis Auguste."
You can't exactly kidnap someone who just wants to focus on their family. It couldn't be helped.
I nodded in response to Louis's words.
"Haha, I appreciate how readily you understand. Oh—if you have time, would you care to stay for tea? We recently received some excellent tea leaves from the Netherlands."
"Well, that doesn't sound bad."
"Good, good! Excellent choice!"
Louis rang the bell on the table to summon an attendant, then continued speaking while looking at me.
"Oh, by the way. Finance Minister, I hear you're preparing to start a magazine company?"
Hey, that's confidential business.
"···How did Grand Duke Louis Auguste find out about that?"
Louis took the tea the attendant brought, lifted it toward his lips, then laughed incredulously at my words and set the cup back down.
"Hah. When strange people come and go every day in the middle of Paris, clanking away at a gigantic machine, how could rumors not spread? And I hear you hired that madman, the Marquis Donatien de Sade."
"Ah, Donatien Sade. You know him?"
"Of course I do! I was the one who threw him into the Bastille for blasphemy."
"···What?"
I had the distinct feeling I'd just heard something I wasn't supposed to.
"In any case, you are preparing to launch a magazine, correct?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Then may I ask whether you could assign a writer to me?"
"···A writer?"
That came out of nowhere.
Louis nodded as if he understood my confusion and continued.
"I don't know if you remember, but there was a book I mentioned before."
"Oh, you mean that thing about non-possession or something?"
"Yes. Originally, I planned to write it myself, but with my child ill, I simply don't have the time. I thought it might be better to hire a ghostwriter instead."
A ghostwriter.
"···I do have two writers, but perhaps S—"
"Please exclude Sade, Finance Minister."
Tsk. What a shame—caught.
"Then I'll assign someone named Saint-Just."
"Saint-Just! A splendid name. Could you tell me what he did previously?"
"He studied law and worked as a prosecutor's clerk."
"An excellent man. I'll be sure to reward you properly later, Minister!"
Louis Auguste said with a broad smile.
Office of Ears of the Nation Magazine.
"Sir Donatien, does this make any sense at all?!"
Saint-Just, editor-in-chief of Ears of the Nation Magazine, spoke indignantly as he lifted a pre-cut chunk of cheese from a table set with wine and glasses.
Sade, seated across from him, drained the last of his wine down his throat and replied gloomily.
"What can we do… It's the proprietor's decision. We must follow it."
"Ahhh! How can he oppress us like this!"
Like Macbeth from Shakespeare's great tragedies, Saint-Just twisted his entire body and wailed dramatically.
"···Raw violence and humanity's innate sadistic nature are true literature… it's nothing but tragic."
Not to be outdone, Sade replied with a face as despondent as if he had lost his country.
"You're absolutely right! 'Let's look at the Top 5 Trending Items in Paris!'—how are we supposed to write that?! For a writer who pursues literature, this is unbearably painful!"
"At least Editor Saint-Just has it better. Do you know what topic the proprietor gave me?"
"···What on earth could it be?"
"'10 Simple Tips Useful in Daily Life'! What a calamity!"
"M-my heavens!"
At Sade's words, Saint-Just's mouth fell wide open and showed no sign of closing.
'Top 5 Trending Items in Paris'
'10 Simple Tips Useful in Daily Life'
'Three Other Uses for the Motion-Sickness Medicine Made by Ears of the Nation?!'
'Know This and Increase Your Harvest by 10%! Forget All Previous Farming! France's Director of the Gunpowder Bureau, Lavoisier, Teaches a New Scientific Farming Method vol.1 for Free!'
'Ah! What a dreadful world this is!'
Saint-Just screamed internally.
Proprietor Guillaume de Toulon—what on earth did he think magazines, literature, and writers were? He kept throwing out bizarre topics and trampling on the creative freedom of Saint-Just and Sade.
After a long silence, Sade spoke first.
"···Still, at least we saved Maxime. Let's take comfort in that."
"Sir Donatien!"
At Sade's words, tears streamed down Saint-Just's face.
Yes. Proprietor Guillaume de Toulon had not broken every pen.
On the day the proprietor left for Austria, Sade and Saint-Just had clung to his trouser legs and barely managed to secure Maxime.
It still remained.
Of course, because the proprietor banned depictions of murder, plunder, and arson, some expression had to be softened—but Maxime still allowed them to fully pour out their vigorous creative urges.
It still remained.
Ah! What a blessing!
Saint-Just nodded vigorously, tears dripping onto the table.
"Sir Donatien, let me pour you a drink!"
"Thank you, Sir Saint-Just! To find a like-minded friend at fifty—nothing less than divine providence!"
After receiving the wine Saint-Just poured, Sade and Saint-Just clasped hands and shook them vigorously.
At that moment, a strange sound echoed from Saint-Just's throat.
"Gk—gk!"
"Haha, I too am at a loss for words, just like Sir Saint-Just!"
"Gk—gk!"
"···Sir Saint-Just, what on earth is wrong…?"
Following Saint-Just's violently shaking gaze, Sade slowly turned around.
"I don't recall ever saying it was acceptable to hold a drinking party in the office in broad daylight—do either of you?"
Seeing the proprietor standing there with arms crossed, glaring murderously at them, Sade lost consciousness.
"We drank, yes—but we never insulted you even once, sir! Please believe me!"
"Mr. Saint-Just, that's not the issue right now."
"Then why are you sending me to that Louis Auguste fellow?! Are you trying to have me killed by proxy?!"
Saint-Just clutched my trouser leg and wailed through tears.
"···You were simply selected as a ghostwriter."
"You know I have a criminal record for slandering the royal family! He'll split me in half and stuff me!"
"This isn't some hellscape. People don't do that. And how many insults does a king hear in a single day? How would he even recognize you? Have you developed some sort of celebrity complex?"
"A celebrity complex?"
"The feeling that if you go outside, everyone will recognize you."
"···."
Judging by that expression, he'd felt it before.
Well, in a world without television, the closest thing to a celebrity would indeed be a writer.
"Don't worry. Just go and come back. I guarantee it with my own name. And Sir Sade."
"Y-yes! Proprietor!"
Sade flinched and looked at me.
"Forget your so-called artistic soul and hurry up and write the articles. Understood?"
"O-of course!"
The moment I finished speaking, Sade sat at his desk and began moving his quill at high speed.
Another ordinary day at Ears of the Nation passed by.
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