Chapter 45: Bastille Fortress (1) [Guillaume, something urgent came up, so I'm going to Paris for a bit. Watch yourself, and if anything happens, just get on a horse and run.][- François Mathieu -]
"Why didn't he just tell me? Leaving only a scrap of paper with a few sentences and taking off."
"Mm. If Second Lieutenant Mathieu did that, wouldn't it be because he had a good reason?"
Yeah. Someone like Brother Mathieu would have had a valid reason. It's not like he's some weird guy like Grouchy.
"More importantly, Guillaume—are you ready for today?"
Father Sieyès said to me with bright, eager eyes.
"Ready for what? Today I'm just going to listen."
"Hah. Coming from the ringleader who burned the Estates-General hall to the ground—what a surprise."
Exactly because I burned it down. I hate sticking my neck out.
"Besides, isn't the king coming out today? I don't think there'll be any opening for me to step in."
"That's true, but it's a shame. Personally, I wanted to see your hot-blooded fire-starting again."
Father Sieyès said that and cackled.
Seriously, you really like messing with people.
"You know if I start a fire when the king's there, I'll actually die, right?"
"It's a joke, a joke. Hahaha!"
Our priest looked really happy.
"Did something good happen? You can't stop smiling."
At my words, Father Sieyès lifted his brows and chuckled, then said,
"Of course! The king is coming out—how could that be bad? He has finally recognized the strength and will of our National Assembly."
Uh… I don't know about that.
If he were that enlightened to begin with, I doubt his head would have ended up flying off at the guillotine.
"…Why that expression? Do you think differently?"
"Well, I'm not exactly expecting much."
"Come now—don't see everything so negatively."
At Father Sieyès's words, all I could do was make a puzzled face.
"…Therefore, I shall preserve the three-estate system as it is, and taxation shall apply equally to all estates, but commoners' feudal obligations—such as rents paid to lords—must be borne as they were in the past."
"He's insane."
"Has he lost his mind?"
"That's… the king…?"
"Property shall likewise remain as it is. The nobles' privileges concerning land, privileges of honor, and private fiefs held by individuals will be the same."
"…Hah?"
"This is absurd."
"So everything about listening to us was a lie?"
"If the deputies do not accept my words, I shall regard myself alone as the representative of the people, and remember this: without my special approval, none of your resolutions shall have any effect. With that, today's session is hereby dissolved."
"…"
"…"
"…"
King Louis XVI left only those words behind, then swept out of the hall, his cloak—embroidered in gold thread with the symbol of the House of Bourbon—fluttering behind him.
He calls everyone here, then throws a tantrum this openly because people won't do what he wants. Wow. Our king is really something.
It feels like dealing with one of those crazy, unreasonable customers back when I worked at a convenience store.
When I read it in books, I thought taking the king's head was a bit cruel. But now that I've experienced it firsthand, yeah—his head is absolutely worth taking.
Even I, with zero respect for kings because I came from the 21st century, find this unbelievable. I can't even imagine how furious everyone else must be.
"…Father. Is he basically holding a ritual to tell us to rise up?"
"Uuugh…"
At my words, Father Sieyès only let out a quiet groan.
And it wasn't just him. Countless deputies still seated couldn't open their mouths either. Instead of voices, only intermittent groans—packed with rage, regret, and disappointment—filled the silent hall.
When we deputies still didn't stand up even after the king declared the session closed, a few officials in ornate court dress entered and spoke.
There were only three or four of them, but their voices alone were enough to fill the hushed hall.
"By His Majesty's order. All of you, rise now and leave."
But until their voices ricocheted off the corners of the hall and vanished into the air, not a single person even twitched.
"…By His Majesty's order. All of you, please leave your seats…"
In the end, one official who could no longer endure the silence spoke again.
At that moment, someone short stood up.
"Go and tell the one who sent you here: We came here by the will of the entire nation, and we will not retreat—unless driven out by bayonets."
"Your Majesty! If you give this subordinate the order even now, I will cut down that band of rebels in a single stroke!"
Even as the Captain of the Royal Guard, face flushed red, poured out his fervent plea, King Louis XVI said nothing. He only sat and stared at the setting sun.
In his head, everything that had happened over the past few days tangled together, pressing down on him like a massive tumor.
• A report: the citizens of Paris are being swayed by the National Assembly's decisions, Your Majesty.• What? Who unleashed such impure elements in Paris to throw public sentiment into chaos? Surely the good citizens of Paris said those rebels should be arrested, yes?• F-forgive me, Your Majesty, but the citizens of Paris fully support the National Assembly…
Thinking back, Louis XVI felt a stabbing ache near his left eyebrow.
• A report: the Duke of Orléans is providing his residence to the rebels, Your Majesty.• …So that bastard truly intends to set foot in Versailles Palace.
This time, a stabbing ache rose near his right eyebrow, and Louis XVI closed both eyes and took a deep breath.
The more time passes, the more rebels there will be. Now, only blood will end this chaos. I swore I would never see blood, yet here I am—on the throne of a king who must harm the safety of his own subjects.
With a bitter smile in his heart, Louis rose from his chair, looked at the Captain of the Royal Guard, and spoke.
"Give secret orders to the Swiss mercenary regiment and the German mercenary regiment. The moment my order is delivered, they are to march on Paris."
Now that Paris has taken the rebels' side, it's hard to trust units made up only of Frenchmen. Even if the army occupies Paris, a few vile words from those rebels could make them switch whose sword they hold. Then there's no choice but to bring in mercenary regiments. Hah. Ridiculous—suppressing my own people by borrowing the power of foreigners.
"This subordinate will never betray Your Majesty's expectations!"
Unlike the Captain of the Royal Guard, who saluted with an exhilarated face after receiving the order, Louis knit his brows, his insides bitter.
"Your Grace, Duke Eugen. What did His Majesty send?"
"Mm…"
Karl Eugen, Duke Eugen—the commander of the German Mercenary Royal Cavalry Regiment—couldn't readily answer his adjutant's question about the contents of the dispatch rider's orders.
"…Your Grace?"
Seeing that, the adjutant tilted his head and asked again.
At the adjutant's question, Duke Eugen finally forced his mouth open.
"To Paris… to march on Paris… by His Majesty's order."
"…Pardon? I must have misheard."
"Yes. I can't quite make sense of it myself. They say Paris—filled with the most loyal subjects in the world—has been occupied by rebels…"
"By 'rebels,' do you mean the Duke of Orléans?"
At the adjutant's words, Duke Eugen waved his hand.
"No. If it were Orléans, I wouldn't be dragging my feet like this. When you say 'rebel,' isn't it obvious who that is?"
"If it isn't the Duke of Orléans… then I don't understand who is supposed to have occupied Paris."
Duke Eugen let out a long sigh.
"According to the order, it says the citizens of Paris have occupied Paris."
At that, the adjutant stared at Duke Eugen with a blank look.
"…Pardon?"
"Yes. That's exactly how I feel. So don't look at me like I'm insane."
"…In any case, it is His Majesty's order. Shouldn't we obey?"
"…We must. Adjutant—have the entire regiment fully equip at once and assume combat readiness. Marching speed: rapid march. Paris is far."
"Yes! I'll prepare at once!"
At the commander's words, the adjutant saluted and replied.
Of course, it wasn't as though the soldiers beneath him followed without a word.
"Fuck, what do you mean sudden combat readiness!"
"I heard it's not just readiness—we're going to actual combat?"
"What? What are you talking about?"
"They say rebels showed up in Paris."
"Then just deploy the Royal Guard! Why us, all the way out here!?"
"Yeah, seriously?"
"You two! No chatting while packing your kit—understood?"
"Yes, understood!"
No matter how much they slacked off, as a mercenary unit boasting France's top combat power, the cavalry regiment began marching within a few hours.
But their horses' hooves were stopped on the outskirts of Paris.
"Hey! Our cavalry regiment is going to Paris by His Majesty's order! Clear the road at once!"
Even as an officer of the German Mercenary Royal Cavalry Regiment shouted urgently, the French soldiers blocking the road only snorted and ignored him.
"What on earth is going on? Why is the march being delayed like this?"
"Ah—C-Commander! These men just won't listen, so…"
Commander Duke Eugen, tired of waiting in the center column, rode up to the front ranks and asked what was happening.
"Is that so? Listen—I'm Duke Eugen, the regiment commander. I need to meet your commanding officer."
At his words, the guards who had been snorting a moment ago startled and began whispering among themselves.
"R-regiment commander? A duke? Damn, what do we do?"
"He said bring the commander—should we just fetch the lieutenant?"
"Y-yeah, that's best. If it's the regiment commander, we can't stop him even if we want to."
A moment later, a young-faced lieutenant came out from the guard post and stood before the regiment commander. Seeing the lieutenant's uniform, the commander said,
"…That helmet with black trim—are you a dragoon regiment?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Mm. I don't know why a dragoon regiment is guarding a post here, but our regiment is on the way to Paris under royal orders. Will you tell your men to clear the road?"
But Duke Eugen's gentle tone and smiling face collapsed instantly at the lieutenant's reply.
"No."
"…What?"
"I have received no orders. And I certainly have received no order that any unit is to pass through here."
"…Didn't I just say I received orders! Lieutenant, pull your soldiers back at once! Now!"
"No. Without orders from higher command, it is not permitted."
"Y-you lunatic!"
One vein after another rose on Duke Eugen's face.
"Open! The gate! Now!"
"No! You! May! Not!"
"Ugh—ngh! M-my neck…!"
"On the honor of this body—Lieutenant Emmanuel de Grouchy! Without a lawful written order from higher command, you will ab-so-lute-ly not be allowed to pass through here!"
In Grouchy's pocket, neatly folded, was the letter his friend Mathieu had written.
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