Chapter 128: A New Era Begins (3) December 20, 1791. On a winter day when the sunlight was strangely bright enough to tickle the skin.
At the garrison of the 4th Volunteer Regiment, located on the outskirts of Paris, the morning began in unusual bustle.
"Alright, you all know how this works, right? I'm the kind of officer who doesn't say anything as long as you do your own job properly. So let's keep things easy and avoid any unnecessary friction. Got it?"
"Yes, Sergeant!"
"Good, good. I'm glad you understand my intentions! Then let's begin work!"
"Safety first! Good! Good! Good!"
Clap! Clap! Clap!
With a strange chant no one knew who created—or why it was even shouted—the soldiers clapped their hands three times in succession.
After that they checked out pickaxes, shovels, and other tools, and one by one began marching toward the interior of Paris.
"…Damn it."
Within the long column of soldiers from the 4th Volunteer Regiment, Corporal Philippe muttered quietly in frustration.
His discharge was only a week away.
After smashing the heads of the German bastards, he had thought he would be able to return home and immediately begin preparing for next year's work—at least until the Russian "Huns" came invading again the following year.
But reality was far less smooth than Philippe expected.
Philippe had come from Vendée, the poorest region in France.
"Philippe, at least the pay's good."
"Damn bourgeois bastard. You've never farmed before, have you? A few coins like this are nothing. I need to go home and prepare for next year's crops. If you don't prepare the land early, you starve."
The land he received from the revolutionary government still needed irrigation channels dug.
Reservoirs needed maintenance.
Seeds had to be prepared.
There were endless tasks to complete.
Philippe had spent his entire life farming someone else's land. Now that he finally had land of his own, there was no way he intended to let it become barren.
Which made his comrade's casual attitude extremely irritating.
"Then you should've joined the navy instead of sweating it out in the army. I hear they pay better."
"Shut up, you bourgeois reactionary."
Typical of a merchant who had spent his life selling apples in the market.
He had no idea what farmers endured.
Philippe stuck his lips out irritably.
"Company halt! Halt!"
By then the column had entered deep into Paris and nearly reached its destination—the 13th arrondissement.
The non-commissioned officer at the front shouted.
"Salute! The 4th Volunteer Regiment has arrived at the assembly point."
"At ease. Good to meet you. I am Lieutenant Colonel Louis-Alexandre Berthier of the engineering corps, in charge of redevelopment in the 13th arrondissement for this Paris redevelopment project."
The cross-eyed officer, who appeared to be around forty, addressed Philippe and the other soldiers.
"As you know, the success of this redevelopment project depends on time. The longer construction takes, the more astronomical the costs become. Work as quickly as possible—but do not take unnecessary risks. First safety, second speed. Keep that in mind."
"Yes, sir!"
Philippe slung his pickaxe and rope over his shoulder and followed the engineers to his assigned position on the pavement.
Soon the street filled with the sounds of men spitting into their hands before gripping their tools and swinging pickaxes with force.
Someone once called Paris the City of Light.
Honestly, I have no idea who came up with that phrase.
If this place is the City of Light, then what kind of title would Seoul deserve?
"Hmm. Actually, Monsieur Rousseau once said something quite similar to what you're saying, Guillaume."
Abbé Sieyès added,
"I expected to see magnificent streets and palaces of marble and gold when I heard descriptions of the city. Instead, when I entered the Saint-Marceau district, I found only narrow, filthy streets filled with stench and miserable black houses."
"That's quite harsh."
"That's not all. He also mentioned the unhealthy air and the swarms of beggars and street vendors."
Wow.
To describe a city as 'Is this even a place where humans can live?' in such sharp words.
If Rousseau were appointed to something like a housing administration department, housing prices would definitely collapse.
No—prices would crash straight into the ground.
"Voltaire also had something to say. He described the center of Paris as dark, cramped, dreadful, and the most shameful relic of a barbaric age."
"That's why we're tearing everything apart now."
The most underdeveloped district—the 13th arrondissement—had already begun construction, and soldiers were being mobilized there.
In other districts, engineers and architects were examining every street and building.
Since funds for construction were limited, the redevelopment had to be finished as quickly as possible.
Which meant military labor was unavoidable.
When I was a soldier doing civilian support missions, this kind of work was the most miserable thing imaginable.
But now that I'm the one in charge…
Using soldiers is actually the easiest solution.
Somehow… I feel like my personality is slowly deteriorating.
Then again, if we give them wine and meat, maybe they won't mind too much.
"Still, if money is really that tight, perhaps you should reconsider something, Guillaume."
"What do you mean? Ah… surely you don't mean—"
Sieyès nodded.
"The water pipes. Why insist on copper or stone pipes? If we used lead, construction costs would drop dramatically."
"Lead pipes? Absolutely not. Never suggest that again."
"Why not? The Holy Roman Empire uses lead pipes as well. Many in the National Assembly are quite surprised by your position, Guillaume."
Sieyès looked genuinely puzzled.
"Think about it. Copper requires enormous effort to refine. But lead? Even I, Sieyès, could hammer it into shape easily. Economically speaking—"
"Do you have any idea how dangerous lead poisoning is?"
"Well… as long as you don't eat it directly, isn't it fine?"
…What an incredible idea.
'As long as you don't eat it.'
"That's absolutely unacceptable. We can't risk people's health just to save money."
I shook my head firmly.
Anyone in the twenty-first century who wants citizens drinking water through lead pipes is clearly insane.
And besides…
If we use lead, the copper mines I just acquired will become useless.
Everything has already been carefully planned.
Sieyès pouted slightly.
"Sometimes you're even more stubborn than I am."
"More importantly, Father, you didn't come here just to talk about water pipes."
"Ah, that's right. I nearly forgot the main point. Could I trouble you for another cup of coffee? At my age, when my mouth dries out, the words won't come out properly."
I called to Monsieur Pétion, who was organizing documents in the corner of the office.
"Yes, sir?"
"Please bring us coffee, Monsieur Pétion."
"And one for me as well."
"Yes. I'll bring it immediately."
When Pétion left and the office door creaked shut, Sieyès leaned closer.
"The Muscadins have been acting suspiciously lately."
Mus… what?
Musicians?
"…I've never heard of them. Who are they?"
"A group of young hooligans. Very young, very violent."
"If they're criminals, send the police and lock them up. Why are you telling me this?"
Sieyès sighed.
"It's complicated."
"Complicated?"
"You know the Assembly is now divided into two camps. The Plain, which I belong to, and Robespierre's Mountain faction, supported by the sans-culottes."
"Yes, of course."
Property owners and farmers who had received land generally supported the Plain.
Urban workers without property tended to support the Mountain.
"Well, those Muscadins—they're all rich young men. Until recently they were terrified of being labeled royalists. But now they've returned from the war against Prussia, proudly carrying their certificates of loyalty."
Sieyès lit his pipe and inhaled deeply.
"Some of the people in our Plain faction have connections with those Muscadins. And now those hooligans are causing chaos, claiming they risked their lives in the war and deserve greater rewards."
"You should've disciplined them earlier."
"Damn it—! Ahem. Do you think I didn't try? Anyway, they believe the Paris redevelopment project reduced the compensation they were supposed to receive for their service."
"Hm. I'm fairly certain we paid them generously."
"I told you—they're rich young men. Either they're greedy, or they believe their lives are worth more than everyone else's. In any case, they're very dissatisfied with you."
Sieyès paused and drew deeply on his pipe again.
"More importantly, if this continues, they may clash with the radicals of the Mountain faction—especially Hébert and Danton."
"Isn't Deputy Danton relatively moderate?"
"Moderate? Only when he's speaking to you! Do you know what kind of arguments are happening in Versailles while you're relaxing here in Paris?"
"I don't know and I don't want to know. I've decided not to do politics."
Guillaume the house-elf only handles money.
Guillaume listens only to the voice of money.
"The Mountain faction is shouting all day about establishing a Committee of Public Safety, while our Plain faction is suffering internal conflicts because of those Muscadins."
"So what exactly do you want from me?"
"What else? You're the one who should resolve this situation peacefully!"
"Me?"
"Who else can mediate between the Plain and the Mountain? You're bourgeois enough for the Plain, yet your radical land policies appeal to the Mountain. There's no one better suited to mediate."
Damn it.
Father, why are you grabbing my hand again?
Please let go.
Paris, capital of the Revolutionary Kingdom of France.Paris Redevelopment Headquarters.
"Next applicant, please come in."
"Deputy Robespierre, it's already past lunchtime. Wouldn't it be better to take a short break…?"
Robespierre slowly lifted his head and stared directly at the speaker.
"…Ahem."
"Monsieur Lavoisier, please remain quiet and simply examine what the next person has brought."
"Yes… yes!"
Damn it.
Because Guillaume had decided to hold a public competition for ideas related to the Paris redevelopment project, Antoine Lavoisier now found himself sweating nervously beside the stern Robespierre, serving as a judge to guarantee fairness.
"Next applicant, please enter. Wait a moment… Mr. William Murdoch?"
"Ah, Monsieur Lavoisier. Good day."
"Why are you here, Mr. Murdoch…?"
"I've developed a lighting device and thought I might submit it."
Murdoch added,
"It's called a gas lamp."
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