Descending On France 1780
Chapter 232 - 225 Three People Walk Together

Chapter 232: 225 Three People Walk Together

At this time, the National Assembly was in its midday recess, with members who had been verbally exercising all day now discussing the recent debate in clusters around the chamber.

At that moment, a gentleman quickly approached Talleyrand and whispered something in his ear.

Fouché, who was by Talleyrand’s side, immediately raised an eyebrow sharply, looking this way with concern.

Talleyrand, noticing Fouché’s gaze, did not wait to be asked and lowered his voice to say, "Just now, it was like this, Frost he..."

He laid out the news he had just received.

Fouché exclaimed, "Directly sending a public official to the guillotine? When we do it, at least it requires the vote of the entire Parliament as a jury."

Talleyrand: "Why do you focus on these unimportant details? The important thing is that he has explicitly ordered the troops not to follow the resolutions of the Parliament. Although it’s only a minor issue related to the title of Division General, but..."

Talleyrand did not continue, looking at the podium where Robespierre, Marat, and Dan Dong, the trio of titans, were discussing among themselves, his expression very complex.

But Fouché directly pointed out: "I’m afraid a de facto military dictatorship has already been established. The three giants here combined are not as influential as that figure outside."

With Fouché speaking plainly, Talleyrand no longer concealed his thoughts, taking over the conversation: "Now, His Excellency is only one battle away from becoming the Duke of France. As long as His Excellency can repel the coalition, there is no need for a great victory, even a costly victory... no, even a draw, and His Excellency will be our Caesar."

Talleyrand had been using honorifics to refer to General Frost throughout.

Fouché nodded: "Yes, His Excellency has come all the way from a leatherworker to become the most powerful man in France, this path can truly be called legendary."

While saying this, Fouché was calculating whether he should go to Frost’s hometown first and take good care of His Excellency’s family.

As for Talleyrand, he was clearly calculating other matters.

At this point, Robespierre finished his conversation with the other two giants and began tapping the podium with a small hammer, notifying the members that it was time to reconvene.

As the members gradually returned to their seats.

When most had seated, Robespierre was ready to continue with the earlier topic, but Talleyrand suddenly stood up: "Chairman, I request to speak!"

Robespierre’s mouth twitched slightly, as the incorruptibles are naturally somewhat at odds with Talleyrand, the chameleon, but since Talleyrand had to some extent funded the Jacobin activities in Paris, Robespierre managed a smile: "Please go ahead, Bishop."

Talleyrand approached the podium, cleared his throat, and then spoke forcefully: "Yesterday, we passed a bill to change the military ranks of the army into those of the revolutionary, republican military! However, clearly, we have overlooked something – that military ranks play a role in distinguishing the hierarchy within the army, and they are vitally important to stabilizing the chain of command!

"Of course, our starting point was good, to eliminate differences in address to emphasize the spirit of equality! But this could spell trouble on the battlefield!

"Therefore, I suggest that we now reconsider this resolution and propose a more detailed system of titles that can distinguish positions within the chain of command!

"His Excellency Frost is busy with military affairs and did not protest against us, but he has already pointed out our mistake through his practical actions!"

Talleyrand spoke cogently, appearing to have become the confidant of General His Excellency Frost in the Parliament.

Fouché sat below, nodding repeatedly: "Ruthless, Talleyrand, you are just too ruthless!"

**

Morow ran to the Paris Security Command again to collect the regimental flag of the 67th Line Infantry Brigade.

He looked at the unremarkable flag in his hand, marked with the Arabic numeral 67, then looked up at the several military flags fluttering above the gate of the Versailles Palace.

Those were the flags of the First Instruction Brigade who served as guards for the General, the ceremonial knights’ banner, the banner of the Twilight Knights, and the banner of the First Precision Shooters’ company.

Each of these flags bore complex patterns and looked stately and dignified, indicating that the troops had a glorious history.

Morow looked back at the flag in his hands again, at the plain 67 stamped on the Republic’s tricolor of blue, white and red, and felt that it was exceedingly cursory.

Morow couldn’t help but purse his lips; although he still couldn’t accept that he had become the commander of a brigade, looking at this unadorned regimental flag, he couldn’t help but want to add some achievements to this flag through his actions.

Morow sighed and looked up, just in time to see another officer who was also grimacing at the simplicity of his own regimental flag.

The number 66 was written on that officer’s flag.

Morow remembered the General’s words: "Don’t decline now, the commander of the 66th Brigade is even a writer!"

Morow took a closer look at this "writer" and felt he didn’t look the part at all: because he was just too dark.

France at this time did not yet have the kind of supreme influence in West Africa that it would in later years, especially along the Mediterranean coast, as the Ottoman Empire was still in existence.

However, the French were not unfamiliar with black people because they also operated many plantations in the New Continent, and they too were involved in the triangular trade.

One very important goal of the French Revolution was the liberation of people of color, although it had not yet become a popular movement.

At this time, pointing at a black man and saying, "This is a writer," Moro simply could not believe it.

Curiously, he stepped forward: "Excuse me, are you... a writer?"

The black man was taken aback, lifting his head. It was then that Moro realized this man was not as black as he initially thought. Given his complexion, he was likely the illegitimate child of a French plantation owner in colonies like Haiti and a black maid.

Such illegitimate children were actually quite common.

After all, this was France. The only places with more illegitimate children than France were probably Austria, and Italy under Austrian rule.

"What?" The black man looked utterly confused, "I... erm, although I have written sonnets, no one in Paris is willing to listen to me recite them. I’m a private. And you?"

Moro: "I am a lawyer... that is, General addressed you as a writer..."

The mixed-race man forced a bitter smile: "Ah, the General somehow misunderstood after seeing my last name."

Moro: "You are? Oh sorry, I should introduce myself before asking someone’s name. I’m Jean Victor Marie Moro, as I just mentioned, a lawyer."

The mixed-race man shook Moro’s outstretched hand: "I am Thoma Alexandre Dumas. My family has served in the military for four generations of nobility, but as you can see due to my lineage, I can only start from the bottom as a private."

Moro: "Oh... the name Dumas..."

"It’s my mother’s surname. Since I can’t enjoy the protection of my father’s family in the military, I might as well use my mother’s name. I want to honor my black mother!" said Alexander Dumas with determination.

But his spirits quickly deflated: "However... they shouldn’t have made me a brigade commander right off the bat as a private."

Moro: "You haven’t learned how to be a brigade commander?"

"Of course, I have. I’ve thoroughly studied all the knowledge necessary to become a competent officer. But after serving as a private for so long in the French military, I had given up and was planning to get a promotion to sergeant then retire and go home. And suddenly, they made me a brigade commander! The General was even oddly saying I’m some writer..."

In reality, Anning himself had got it completely wrong. Seeing this person named Alexander Dumas and his dark complexion, he directly assumed this man was the great Dumas.

However, this person was actually the great Dumas’ father, who by order of seniority, should be called the greater Dumas.

But at that time, no one could make sense of this matter.

So Moro could only stare blankly with the greater Dumas.

Just at that moment, new clamor came from the direction of the headquarters.

"I protest! I want to see the General!" an unkempt forty-year-old man angrily said, "I am an architect! I joined the military to help you repair the fortresses! I did not come to command an infantry brigade!"

At that point, both Moro and the greater Dumas noticed the banner in the hands of the assertive middle-aged man: a crude sixty-eight was emblazoned on the tricolor flag.

It seemed this was the commander of the Sixty-Eighth Infantry Brigade.

The commander was still ranting, "I’m an architect! I only know how to build, not fight wars!"

Moro and the greater Dumas approached him, one on each side, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

Moro: "Buddy, save it. I can tell by now, the General would like anyone literate and capable of calculating artillery trajectories to become officers. I’m a lawyer, and that one there is a writer..."

Greater Dumas: "I’m a private! Not a writer!"

But your son will be, and an extraordinary one at that, so it doesn’t matter.

The architect sighed deeply: "Alas, I had almost guessed as much. How can such an army fight battles!"

Moro: "Take it easy. Our General himself was once a leatherworker. I am the brigade commander of the Sixty-Seventh Infantry Brigade, the former lawyer Jean Victor Marie Moro."

Greater Dumas: "I’m the brigade commander of the Sixty-Sixth Infantry Brigade, Thoma Alexandre Dumas, former private, and for some reason believed to be a writer."

The architect sighed, shook their hands in turn: "I’m the brigade commander of the Sixty-Eighth Infantry Brigade, the former architect Jean Baptiste Cléber. I look forward to our collaboration."