Chapter 231: United We Stand
Chapter 231: United We Stand
An hour later, a pitch-black carriage slipped out from the back gate of Monnot's villa, now burdened with a large stack of fabric on the roof. The carriage roamed the city for a while before finally returning to the Palais-Royal around 10 p.m.
The Duke of Orléans, his entire body concealed under a black hood, unloaded the fabric from the carriage, carefully carrying it into a warehouse, just like any other servant. Only after making sure that no one but his personal guards were around did he cautiously return to his bedroom.
In his study, he reviewed the strategy Monnot had shared with him. He then took out some paper and wrote two secret letters: one to Paris City Commissioner Levebvre and another to Montpellier Province Governor Parmontier. Each letter was sealed with his personal seal and waxed shut.
Next, he pulled out another sheet of paper and began listing names: Duke de Sévère, Count de Serurier, Duke de Durfort, Duke de Mouchy…
Anyone familiar with the aristocratic circles would immediately recognize these names as the heads of the "disgraced" political faction known as the Assembly of Notables.
Though these individuals had lost power during the last royal tax reform bill, they were still top-tier nobles with considerable influence.
Another thing they had in common was being the people most affected by the Miller Rights Act and the drop in land prices caused by the Tunisian migration, just as Monnot had described.
After double-checking the list, the Duke handed the names and secret letters to his butler, Donnadieu, with detailed instructions.
…
Two days later, in the southwest of Paris, at a vast greyhound racetrack on the south bank of the Seine, a race was in full swing. The arena was filled with the noise of barking dogs and flying dust as more than a dozen sleek greyhounds sprinted toward the finish line.
In the stands, all the spectators were high-ranking nobles—an invitation to this event was not something one could obtain easily.
In the center of the VIP room on the second floor of the western stand, more than twenty people were present, all watching the race with little interest.
After a while, a tall, thin man with cold eyes and wearing a sapphire-blue coat opened the door to the VIP room and entered.
As soon as the others saw him, they all stood up and greeted him:
"You've finally arrived, Duke of Orléans."
"Oh, Philippe, my old friend, what was so urgent that you needed to gather us?"
"Your Grace, why didn't you just meet us at the Palais-Royal? This noisy place is giving me a headache…"
The Duke of Orléans handed his hat to a younger noble nearby, smiling and nodding at the group:
"The Palais-Royal is under constant surveillance; it's no longer suitable for gatherings. Here, we can speak freely."
The Duke's paranoia had grown over the past year of political defeats, leading him to have his residence thoroughly checked for any signs of surveillance. To his suspicions, his men discovered that the Palais-Royal was indeed under close watch.
This surveillance was the work of Joseph's intelligence agency, as he could not afford to let the Duke of Orléans scheme unchecked.
But the Duke had his countermeasures. For example, today, nearly a hundred nobles had come to this racetrack, though only a few were actually invited for a private meeting. The police had no way of knowing exactly whom he met.
So to the outside world, it simply appeared as though he had come to gamble on dogs.
The Duke sat down in the central chair but didn't immediately bring up the main topic. Instead, he casually remarked to Count de Serurier:
"Brusard, I heard you recently lost the tax revenue from seven or eight mills. What a pity."
Serurier, though puzzled by the comment, felt a surge of anger:
"It's that damned law! The mill tax is a traditional right that has lasted for over a thousand years. No one has the right to take it away!"
"Oh, but our great King has done just that."
The Duke of Orléans added sarcastically before turning to the elderly Duke de Durfort beside him:
"And Duke de Durfort, I hear the drop in land prices has cost you a pretty penny?"
"About fifty to sixty thousand livres."
With thousands of acres of land under his name, the Duke de Durfort had indeed taken a significant hit from the falling land prices.
These remarks quickly resonated with the others in the VIP room, all of whom began voicing their own grievances.
The Duke of Orléans then raised a hand, signaling for quiet, before adopting a serious tone:
"Gentlemen, haven't you realized? The royal family is abandoning us!
"Do you remember the tax bill from earlier this year? Our control over the High Court was ruthlessly stripped away, and now we have to pay several thousand, even tens of thousands of livres more in land taxes each year.
"To pay the same taxes as the common rabble—it's an insult from the royal family!"
The gathered nobles immediately expressed their agreement, muttering, "This is a betrayal of tradition and honor!"
"Indeed, the royal family has gone too far!"
"Just wait—they'll probably impose even more taxes on us."
Pleased with their reaction, the Duke of Orléans continued:
"You've all seen it—the royal family's new favorites are those upstart industrialists who make textiles and paper! We're going to be tossed aside like old boots.
"Those new factories are drawing peasants into the cities, and one day, all your tenant farmers will flee. No one will be left to work the land, and you won't be able to collect a single sou in rent!"
Finally, the highly respected Duke de Mouchy spoke up:
"Duke of Orléans, you've said a lot—what's your plan?"
Seeing everyone's expectant faces, the Duke of Orléans clenched his fist and declared:
"We must put pressure on the royal family and make our King understand that he must respect the traditional order and the nobility!
"There's an opportunity right now that will allow us to teach the royal family a lesson. I hope all of you will unite and fight for our rights!
"You're aware that there's a severe food shortage across the country. All we have to do is this and this…"
When he finished explaining, the nobles in the room exchanged uncertain glances. One of them hesitated:
"Will this really work? I mean, last time with the tax bill, we…"
"Don't worry," the Duke reassured him. "This time, we'll have other forces cooperating with us. You'll see soon enough. Besides, you don't need to invest much—just go back to your estates. Even if it doesn't work out, you won't lose anything."
The Duke de Durfort was the first to stand and place his hand over his heart:
"I'll firmly stand by your side."
Others quickly followed suit, and finally, the Duke de Mouchy slowly nodded:
"To preserve our traditions and honor, it must be done."
The other nobles responded enthusiastically:
"Yes! For tradition and honor."
"We must make the royal family understand a few things!"
"Duke of Orléans, I'm with you…"
The VIP room was soon filled with a sense of unity and resolve.
…
At the Petit Trianon, Queen Marie Antoinette angrily handed a letter to the First Minister, Archbishop Brienne:
"Take a look at this. The Marquis de Saint-Véran is undermining the very foundations of the country!"
Surprised, Brienne opened the letter, only to find it was an accusation against the Marquis de Saint-Véran, alleging that he was embezzling vast sums by keeping ghost soldiers on his payroll, feeding his troops poor rations, and passing off old weapons as new.
The letter was signed by Garin Guinard de Levebvre, the Paris City Commissioner.
Brienne hesitated:
"Your Majesty, there may be some misunderstanding. Should we send someone to investigate further?"
"I knew it! That's why he was so slow to send troops to North Africa. His army was under-strength and poorly trained!" The Queen was already fuming over Saint-Véran and seized upon this chance to punish him. "How can such an incompetent officer be in command of thousands of soldiers?
"I believe he must be severely punished to remind him of his duties!"
Brienne knew that Saint-Véran came from a powerful military family in the south, and it was unwise to target him carelessly. He quickly tried to calm the Queen:
"Your Majesty, this is only the word of Viscount Levebvre…"
But before he could finish, one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting entered and handed her a sealed letter:
"Your Majesty, this just arrived from Montpellier."
Frowning, the Queen opened the letter, then smiled coldly as she handed it to Brienne:
"Take a look yourself."
Brienne nervously straightened the letter. It was another accusation, this time from the Governor of Montpellier Province, detailing the Marquis de Saint-Véran's various corrupt practices, with even more detailed evidence since Montpellier was the home base of Saint-Véran's troops.
"But… Your Majesty…"
The Queen's face darkened as she interrupted him:
"Archbishop Brienne, draft a reprimand immediately. Condemn the Marquis de Saint-Véran for embezzlement, dereliction of duty, and poor discipline. Order him to reduce his regiment to match its actual numbers, return the stolen funds, and dock six months of his stipend!"
At that time, most of the old French military's funding came from local taxes directly withheld by the commanding officers. The court also provided high-ranking officers with large stipends to help them maintain their troops.
But ghost soldiers were rampant in the French army, with some regiments having over a third of their troops listed falsely. The funds meant for these soldiers—taxes and stipends alike—mostly ended up in the pockets of the military aristocracy. Meanwhile, the soldiers themselves relied on their officers for pay, creating a system of personal dependence.
Now, the Queen's order to reduce the size of Saint-Véran's regiment would dramatically decrease the tax revenue allocated to him, and docking his stipend would be like cutting into his very flesh.
Brienne wanted to plead further, but the Queen was adamant. By early afternoon, the reprimand, signed by King Louis XVI, had already been sent to Montpellier Province.
The Queen, not content to stop there, quickly issued another order, reprimanding War Minister Saint-Priest for his poor judgment in appointing officers. He was ordered to personally oversee the implementation of the punishment against Saint-Véran.
Brienne knew all too well that the military aristocracy was a close-knit group, and embezzlement and ghost soldiers were practically accepted practices. But the Queen's actions were like poking a hornet's nest.
He paced anxiously around his office, unable to come up with a solution. Finally, he ordered his servants to prepare a carriage and headed to the Tuileries Palace to consult with the Prince.
…
In Nice, two officials overseeing the local grain reserves watched as a caravan of carriages disappeared in the distance, grumbling:
"What's going on with those bigwigs at Versailles? They're using so many resources to transport grain to Montpellier, and now we have to get grain from Grenoble to fill our stock."
"Who knows? As long as we get the numbers right, it's not our problem."
The transport team had an order personally signed by the Minister of the Interior, so what could possibly be wrong?
"Grenoble better not be late. We've only got about 30,000 pounds of stock left. If they're even a few days late, there'll be no bread in the city."
Meanwhile, in Grenoble, the grain reserves were also being transported—again to Montpellier. The records showed that Nice would replenish their stock in a few days.
Over the past two weeks, grain reserves across southern France had been heavily mobilized based on orders from the Ministry of the Interior.
No one found it odd. With the ongoing food shortages, emergency grain redistribution had become common. Although this time the scale was larger, everyone assumed that other regions would soon replenish their stocks. There was no cause for alarm.
…
In the central east of France, on the King's Road south of Auvergne, the Marquis de Saint-Véran sat in a speeding carriage, staring in the direction of Paris, hundreds of miles away, with a vicious grin on his face.
"Austrian whore, I'll return your insults a hundredfold! I'll make sure you learn that without the army, the royal family is just a mouse shivering in the cold!"
He glanced for the tenth time at the letter in his hand. It was from his nephew, a major general in the Montcalm Regiment, reporting that the regiment was ready for deployment at any time. He also noted that several places in Montpellier were already experiencing food shortages.
Saint-Véran relished the thought of revenge, recalling the secret meeting held ten days ago at the Duke of Orléans' private hunting grounds.
At that time, his anger and humiliation had severely affected his shooting accuracy.
"It's all that Austrian whore's fault! She's deliberately humiliating me!" he had snarled after missing a stag.
War Minister Saint-Priest, also looking grim, had replied:
"It's not just you; she's trying to humiliate the entire military."
A slightly overweight officer had frowned and asked:
"But why would she do that? Offending the military doesn't benefit the royal family at all."
The Duke of Orléans had spurred his horse forward a few steps, gazing into the distance as he declared:
"Because she simply doesn't care about you."
(End of Chapter)
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