Of course, verbal attacks in the press might not amount to much in themselves. But once André reassud the office of the prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court, Lyon might not be able to withstand the pressure. The city’s officials and rchants only had to recall the bloody scenes he had created in Bordeaux and Reims for their legs to start shaking and a chill to run over their bodies. And this was before even considering that André had since been promoted to Brigadier General of the National Guard, in command of a formidable Champagne Composite Brigade.
“Ahem.” Brissot cleared his throat twice, drawing everyone’s attention back to himself. He stepped forward to smooth things over. “André, you may have misunderstood. Monsieur Roland has co to Paris rely to discuss Lyon’s fiscal situation with the Assembly’s Economic Committee. He is not here to impeach Monsieur Charles Malo François Lath.”
“Oh?” With soone now offering him a way down from the stage, André’s tone beca noticeably less aggressive. He turned his head, smiled broadly and replied, “So it really is all a misunderstanding. That puts my mind at ease. May I then write to Monsieur Lath the younger and inform him that Lyon will be ready within two weeks to remit 2,000,000 livres in national taxes? And that Lyon must also guarantee the lawful comrcial activities of out-of-town rchants? Is that correct, Monsieur Roland?”
Prompted again and again by his wife’s discreet signals, Roland—seething with resentnt—ground his teeth and said, “Yes, 2,000,000 livres. Lyon has always welcod free trade.” Even now, he had no idea why André had insisted on adding that seemingly trivial last sentence.
“Thank you.” Having achieved his purpose, the uninvited nuisance turned on his heel and left. As he passed his old acquaintance Robespierre, he casually asked, “Maximilien, my carriage happens to be headed your way. Shall I give you a lift ho?”
In the carriage, Robespierre kept casting André searching glances, making the latter feel distinctly ill at ease, until he finally spoke. “I know what you want to ask. This is part of a political deal between myself and Barnave. Marquis de Bouillé has already left Paris and returned to tz. At this mont, I need the Constitutionalists’ help in the Assembly to cut the food and pay allocations for the German rcenary regints, and thereby ease the military pressure on the Champagne Composite Brigade.”
As usual, Robespierre reached up to touch the wig on his head and then fell silent again. Only when he was about to get down did he tell André, “The Constitutionalists nobles are not our comrades—neither Barnave nor Lafayette. And rember, all economic activity must be subordinated to lofty political principles, my friend.”
André answered dutifully, while aning none of it. “Of course. Politics above all. But Lyon’s revolt against the Paris prosecutor is a revolt against Paris itself, against progress, against France.” Although his official post lay in the provinces, most Parisians already regarded the political career of the orphan of Reims as belonging to the capital.
Back at the Roland residence, once the guests had departed, the usually mild-mannered Monsieur Roland actually vented his anger on the glassware and porcelain. The marble floor rang with the crash of shattering pieces. Mada Roland instructed the butler to stand guard at the door and sent the servants away. She herself sat down on the sofa and began to think in silence.
The daughter of a disreputable small shopkeeper in Paris, she had suffered scorn from an early age and had always longed to be respected. From childhood she had loved to read, especially biographies of heroic figures from Greek mythology and the great orators of ancient Ro. In her youth, Rousseau’s Social Contract and Julie, or the New Heloise beca her favourite works, and the idea of a republic gradually took shape in her mind. Alongside it, an ambition ill-suited to this “great age” quietly grew within her: an eagerness to remake French society from a Republican standpoint and to stand at the centre of attention.
When the Revolution ca, Mada Roland felt that the long-awaited mont had finally arrived: she would at last have a chance to realise her plans and to attain a position of eminence. She pushed Monsieur Roland by every possible ans to use his post as royal inspector of manufactures to enter the Lyon Commune’s committee and beco a City Hall official. On two subsequent trips back to Paris she worked tirelessly to build a political salon and forge alliances with the ultra-left groups in the capital. She was convinced that she had drawn Condorcet, Buzot, Pétion, Brissot and others into her own little circle. As for Robespierre and Danton, she considered the forr spiteful and vindictive, the latter coarse and ill-bred, lacking all elegance; neither, in her eyes, was worth cultivating. As for André, he seed to her a kind of monomaniac, blindly dismissing the central political importance of Paris and choosing instead to entrench himself in a provincial power base.
When André announced in October of the previous year that he was resigning as prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court and returning to the Marne as deputy prosecutor, the Rolands both assud that his influence on Parisian politics would slowly fade. They had misjudged his real strength. Barely half an hour earlier, a few seemingly off-hand remarks from him had been enough to turn weeks of careful planning in Lyon entirely to dust. On top of that, the Rolands and the Lyon City Hall now had to yield to André’s blackmail: they would pay 2,000,000 livres in tax revenue to allow the disgraced Lath the younger to escape with his political life.
As part of the bargain, however, André had promised that he would not reassu the office of prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court, nor would he go to Lyon to stir up trouble and bring Reims-style terror to the banks of the Rhône.
Even so, what would André be in the future—friend or foe? Intelligent and perceptive as she was, Mada Roland could not yet say. But she had to find out why he had turned on them, and in particular what he had ant by his final remark, which had clearly been aid at sothing specific. She therefore wrote, in her husband’s na, to the Lyon City Hall to ask for details.
On the other side of the affair, André had not originally intended to fall out with the Rolands so early. According to the route he had mapped out, he ant to dance in turn on the prow of three ships: first the Constitutionalists nobles, then the future Girondins, and finally the Jacobins. The great vessel of the Constitutionalists had not yet begun to list and take on water, and yet André had already fired a premature broadside at the future leaders of the Gironde, in clear violation of his initial plan.
In fact, when he agreed to Barnave’s request, he had ant to “win hearts with virtue”: to sit down with the stiff, earnest Monsieur Roland, lay out the facts, discuss terms, and patiently reach a compromise and a fair exchange. But a letter from Châlons-en-Champagne had made him furious. He threw aside his original plan, marched on the Roland residence in high indignation and forced the proud couple to accept a humiliating peace on his terms.
The letter that changed everything had been sent by General Manager Say of the United Investnt Company. He inford André that the Lyon Weavers’ Association, having learned that the company’s textile mills had dramatically increased efficiency, improved quality and lowered costs by adopting the new machinery, had concluded that the Northern United Investnt Company posed a grave threat to the city’s own textile industry.
The association had therefore incited the workshop owners, and—backed by the Lyon City Hall—had sent envoys to the United Investnt Company demanding that the northerners imdiately cease using the new machinery for spinning and weaving. Naturally, Say had refused such an unreasonable request. Two weeks later, however, two consignnts of cotton yarn shipped by the United Investnt Company to southern cities were seized at the wharves in Lyon…
Before the previous year, André might not have cared much about the real value of one or two shiploads of cotton yarn. But after Say sent him projected profit figures for the spinning and weaving mills, his mood changed at once. Even using only the actual production capacity of May 1791 as a baseline, Say’s conservative estimate was that by the end of the 1791 fiscal year the spinning and weaving mills would bring the United Investnt Company between 6,000,000 and 8,000,000 livres in profit. If capacity continued to rise, annual earnings by 1793 would exceed 30,000,000 livres—and might go higher still.
Between 1790 and 1791, André, brandishing the “imperial sword” of the prosecutor of the Special Fiscal Court and the provincial deputy prosecutor, commanding a fully ard force, had systematically stripped the Catholic Church of its wealth. Even counting hard-to-liquidate properties such as plantations, estates, villas and shops, his total haul had amounted to no more than 20–30,000,000 livres—and those were one-off gains, impossible to repeat.
Now, however, with the spinning and weaving mills he had founded almost by accident, total profits alone could easily reach more than 30,000,000 livres—and with far less risk and effort than open robbery in the na of justice. No wonder the British were ready to fight Napoleon’s empire to the bitter end to keep their cotton goods flowing into the European market.
André was convinced that political activity normally existed to serve one’s own economic developnt.
By the sa logic, he was willing to shield the sale of his cotton yarn and cloth across France and the European Continent. For the sake of those 30,000,000 livres in profit, he did not hesitate to fire on the Rolands, or even to “declare war” prematurely on the whole future Girondin faction. Besides, he was never fighting alone. Fully half of those profits belonged to the United Investnt Company’s senior managent and investors, to the officers of the Champagne Composite Brigade, the officials of Reims City Hall, the mbers of the Marne’s departntal council and such allies as Prieur, Thuriot and Danton.
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Robespierre was the one true L’Incorruptible. He politely refused André’s offer and even declined to accept profit shares that required no investnt. But he tacitly upheld their political alliance. In return, André had prepared a small gift for him when his term as deputy expired in September: a judgeship in the still-to-be-created criminal court at Versailles, a sinecure with an annual salary of 6,500 livres and almost nothing to do.
As for Lafayette, Barnave and the other Constitutionalists nobles, most were imnsely wealthy n. With them, political quid pro quo mattered more than money. Their governing ideals were too abstract, too idealistic. They reduced the complexities of human nature to sothing far too simple. This ant that André’s cooperation with them could end at any ti.
Marat and his followers, for their part, were so extre in their actions that in the history of the Revolution they could only serve, ti and again, as pawns and cannon fodder in other people’s conspiracies.
At dawn, as the first warm rays of sunlight fell on the Tuileries, a carriage drew up on the grass in front of the Bourbon palace. Inside, André pulled back the curtain and stared coldly at the scene before him.
The plump, good-natured Louis XVI appeared on the second-floor balcony at his usual hour, waving with both hands as he received the cheers of his loyal subjects and the catcalls of the sans-culottes. Before long, both cheers and jeers were drowned out by the cries of the hawkers passing back and forth before the palace.
Since the king’s return to Paris, a free market had sprung up outside the wrought-iron gates of the Tuileries, a place where Parisians could trade as they pleased. Passing vendors offered visitors all manner of snacks: Italian sandwiches, crêpes, grilled oysters, roasted sweet potatoes and a variety of fruits from the south.
A few days earlier, a travelling circus from the provinces had tried to set up shop here, only to be driven away on Lafayette’s orders on grounds of security. In the panic of their departure, a mischievous little black bear had escaped from its cage and actually attempted to slip into the Tuileries through a small hole, only to be caught by the palace guards. Afterwards, Queen Marie Antoinette paid the ringmaster ten gold louis to purchase the animal, because her six-year-old son, the Dauphin, was very fond of the cuddly, greedy little bear.
André had not stopped his carriage in front of the palace to watch the king’s clumsy performance. He had done so because, in passing, he had caught sight of a familiar figure. The familiarity seed to span more than two centuries and ca from a portrait painted by Jacques-Louis David—a painting whose subject’s era of glory had fascinated countless people, André included.
Judging by the blue-and-white lapels of the uniform, the short figure in the crowd was still an artillery lieutenant, though his coat was a little worn. A mane of dark brown hair lent him youthful vigour; his features were set in a sombre, cold expression, and his shy yet ravenous eyes looked as if they wanted to devour the whole city.
“Napoleon Bonaparte.” André was already certain that the short officer standing in the crowd not far away was the sa man who, in another tiline, would beco Emperor Napoleon. Yet at this mont Lieutenant Bonaparte was still a man whose French was clumsy and whose heart was set, as a Corsican nationalist, on the independence and freedom of his native island.
On the other side, Lieutenant Bonaparte, with a professional soldier’s instinct, sensed that he was being watched. When he looked around warily, he saw soone seated in a carriage beckoning to him, inviting him to co over. The carriage itself was unremarkable, painted black. But the n around it were not: at least two uniford constables and several plain-clothes guards ard with pistols and swords were keeping close watch on its surroundings.
Napoleon hesitated a mont, then walked over. Before he climbed in, a dark-skinned lieutenant in uniform asked him to hand over his pistol and sword for safekeeping. By now, the Corsican had more or less guessed the na of the important man waiting inside. A friend in the artillery, Brion, had told him that among more than two hundred serving generals in France—including the National Guard—only one Brigadier General, André Franck, had appointed a mixed-race black officer as his aide-de-camp.
“General Franck?” Napoleon instinctively tried to stand and salute his superior officer, but forgot that the carriage was cramped and low. The rocking of the vehicle nearly sent him sprawling.
André waved a hand and gave him a slight smile. “No need to be so formal. Sit down, Lieutenant. I am not even in uniform right now. You may call Monsieur Franck, or Monsieur Deputy Prosecutor.”
Noticing the young officer’s puzzled expression, André offered an explanation. “I asked you over because I recognised your Corsican accent. Do not worry—I once travelled across most of France during my student days in Reims, and the only place I regret not visiting was Corsica. I missed a kind invitation from a friend there.”
This piqued Napoleon’s interest. Half doubtful, he pressed, “Oh? Which friend? Corsica is not large. I may well know him.”
André smiled and casually gave a na.
Napoleon’s tightly closed lips suddenly parted, and he exclaid in surprise, “Ha! So it was Casanova. He is my cousin. Yes, I rember now. Four years ago, Casanova did ntion that he had invited a friend from Champagne to visit him in Ajaccio—but that you never ca. Casanova is now a mber of the Corsican communal committee and will be running in four months’ ti for a seat in the Legislative Assembly.”
Relief at the clarification brought a flush of excitent to the Corsican’s pale, hollow cheeks. Worldly as he was, André could easily read the implication: Napoleon wanted to ask his cousin’s friend for help. He could already guess the nature of the request.
With this in mind, he asked, in an apparently casual tone, “What brings you to Paris, Lieutenant?”
As he had expected, Napoleon did not hesitate to confide his purpose. “I ca to Paris to see the King’s ministers about a compensation claim involving a piece of land that dates back twenty years,” he said.
In 1782, Napoleon’s father, Charles Bonaparte, had obtained from the governor of Corsica the supervisory rights over a mulberry nursery and a vegetable garden on the island. Paris had agreed to advance him 8,500 livres, with the understanding that the proceeds after five years would belong entirely to him and his family. In practice, the elder Bonaparte had received only 5,800 livres, and in May 1786 the contract was terminated when the minister in Paris abandoned the plan—even though the Bonapartes had already planted extensive mulberry groves on the land.
The artilleryman had made a careful calculation. He was certain that the Paris ministry owed the Bonaparte family 3,050 livres. He had sworn at his father’s grave that he would recover this sum. So he had applied to his commanding officer in the La Fère artillery regint for long “yellow leave,” and, after completing the necessary paperwork in Corsica, had travelled all the way to Paris to demand paynt from the King’s ministers.
In 1788 Napoleon had been lucky. At Versailles he had secured an audience with a kindly minister, who authorized an imdiate paynt of 1,050 livres from the arrears. The remaining 2,000 livres, he promised, would be remitted to the Bonaparte family within the next two years.
Then the storm of Revolution had broken and power in Paris had changed hands. By March 1791, the promised 2,000 livres had still not reached Corsica. A month earlier, Napoleon had therefore set out once more for Paris, this ti to seek paynt from a very different “King’s minister.”
Now, however, he was running into closed doors everywhere. The National Constituent Assembly had sharply curtailed the powers of the King and his ministers, and the new minister in office had repeatedly refused to authorise paynt, citing various pretexts. Awkward and inarticulate as a speaker, the artillery lieutenant was furious and helpless at the sa ti.
When Napoleon had finished his account, André asked, “Which minister have you been dealing with?”
“Comte de Montmorin,” Napoleon said, his eyes full of expectant light.
Inwardly, André smiled. An old acquaintance, then. Last year he had impeached three ministers and left only Montmorin untouched. The Comte de Montmorin still served in the cabinet as Minister for Foreign Affairs and Finance, and was in effect its pri minister.
André took a slip of notepaper from his briefcase. Napoleon obligingly turned and crouched down, offering his back as a makeshift writing desk. André swiftly scribbled a line in pencil and signed his na. Handing the note to Napoleon, he said, “Lieutenant Bonaparte, take this to Comte de Montmorin. I am confident he will see to the paynt of the remaining arrears within twenty-four hours. Good luck.”
In fact, when Napoleon reached the ministerial offices and found Comte de Montmorin, the pri minister barely skimd the note with André’s signature before calling in his private secretary and ordering him to have the Treasury pay the Bonaparte family 100 gold louis. (Officially, the ratio between a gold louis and the livre was 1:20, though in practice it had already moved to 1:25.)
That afternoon, Lieutenant Bonaparte practically ran all the way to the villa on the Île Saint-Louis to thank General André, so excited that, as a Corsican, he mangled half his French pronunciation into a comical stamr.
“It was nothing more than lifting a finger,” André replied with a faint smile.
He believed that help given in ti of need was far more precious than adornnts added in a mont of triumph. When he learned that Napoleon’s elder sister, Maria Anna Elisa Bonaparte (the future Grande-Duchesse de Toscane), was studying at an ordinary girls’ school in Paris, André offered to sponsor her transfer to a higher arts academy. Historically, Elisa’s plain looks and coarse manners had made Napoleon keep his distance from her. But blood is thicker than water, and he was genuinely pleased that his elder sister now had the chance to study at a better institution.
At the sa ti, André sounded out the possibility of transferring Napoleon to the Champagne Composite Brigade, which was badly in need of experienced officers. Napoleon declined politely. He explained that he did not wish to go too far from ho, as he needed to help his mother care for his younger brothers and sisters. In truth, proud and ambitious as he was, Napoleon Bonaparte had not abandoned his political dream of fighting for Corsican independence.
André understood perfectly and took no offence. Early the next morning, Napoleon ca to bid farewell at the villa. Before he left Paris, André presented Lieutenant Bonaparte with a warhorse and 600 livres, asking him to convey his regards to Casanova and to look forward to eting again at the Legislative Assembly in Paris in September.
His encounter with Napoleon was a re episode. The political, economic and military resources now at André’s disposal far outstripped those of a young artillery lieutenant. As for any other plans or intentions regarding him, André had not yet made up his mind. At tis, he worried that changing history too much might provoke the wrath of the mysterious “Ti-Space Administration Bureau.”
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