The Brittany Club

"Regarding this matter," Armand began, "our play carries an inherently strong political undertone. When I was writing it, I knew that performing this work would carry political risks in itself."

Having said this, Armand paused for a moment before adding, "Moreover, we chose to stage it during such a period, which is in itself a politically charged act. We have long since considered the political risks. Even if something were to happen, it would be nothing more than going to the Bastille to eat rats for a while."

People usually refer to going to prison as "feeding the rats," but Armand called it "eating the rats"—a single word difference, yet the implication was entirely different. While the average person speaks of the Bastille with terror, both Armand and Robespierre knew that because the Bastille was frequently used to house nobles, in terms of conditions, there was likely no other prison in all of France better than it.

"Furthermore, I feel that if our King were even slightly clever, we wouldn't be in any danger of feeding the rats at the Bastille," Saint-Just remarked. "If our King decided to suppress the people, he should have adopted decisive and forceful measures, swiftly arresting all the representatives of the Third Estate and sending them to the guillotine immediately. Although this might have caused some chaos, the rebels would be left without a leader and could be defeated one by one."

At this point, a mocking smile appeared on Saint-Just's handsome lips. "Besides, most of these representatives are wealthy men—Mr. Robespierre, you are almost the poorest among them, but even you are a 'wealthy man' compared to most people in the Saint-Antoine District. And some are hundreds of times wealthier than you. If he simply wiped out the representatives, confiscated their assets, and used that money to win over more troops, as well as the nobles and the poor who are willing to follow the King, then our King might still be able to weather this storm. Of course, by doing so, France might face a civil war. He would have to be prepared that if he failed, he would end up on the guillotine just like Charles I. However, considering the other side would be leaderless, I think his situation would be much better than that of Charles I back then. If our King truly intended to do this, we would likely have our heads chopped off directly; how would it ever come to feeding rats at the Bastille?"

Having said this, Saint-Just even gently stroked his slender neck, looking quite like someone who might say, "A fine head, who shall cut it off?"

"Do you think the King will do this?" Robespierre asked.

"No," a look of contempt appeared on Saint-Just's face. "If the King had such mettle, he wouldn't be unable to control that Austrian woman. He also wouldn't have come away empty-handed at the Assembly of Notables. In short, our Majesty lacks both the guts to be a tyrant and the magnanimity to be an enlightened monarch. He is simply not a king worthy of awe. Therefore, I do not believe we are in any danger."

"Mr. Saint-Just," Robespierre exclaimed in admiration, "you possess a calmness and courage that belie your age and appearance. To be honest, I was quite surprised when I saw you cast as Spartacus yesterday, but your performance was truly outstanding and perfectly convinced me. I was wondering how someone as young as you could possess such power. But this conversation with you today has made me understand that a person's thoughts and strength truly cannot be measured by years. Mr. Saint-Just, it is indeed as you said; our King does not have that kind of resolve. Moreover, we are not fools who will wait idly for him to do as he pleases. Over these years, the privileged classes have been living in such luxury that the country has no money left. The army is equally broke and equally full of discontent. Furthermore, those who make up the army are also the people of France. The army is composed of people, not soulless tools. If the King really wants to take a risk, the only ones he can truly count on are mercenaries. But if he has money for mercenaries yet none for the French army, tell me, what would the French army think? In fact, we are not entirely unprepared; many nobles and many officers are in contact with us. If the King truly intends to make a big move, he cannot hide it from us. So, although your performance carries some risk, it is not uncontrollable. After all, it was I who invited you, and even if you didn't ask, I would have to consider your safety. So you can rest assured; although there are some risks, the possibility of ending up in the Bastille is very small."

"We don't fear the guillotine, let alone the Bastille," Armand said.

The group discussed the performance a bit more, and then Armand and Saint-Just prepared to take their leave. Robespierre walked them to the door and suddenly added, "Ah, there is one thing I almost forgot. We have a club consisting of good friends who hope to carry out reforms. I feel our philosophies are quite similar; would you be interested in joining?"

"What kind of club is it?" Saint-Just asked.

"The Breton Club. It was originally a club for representatives from the Brittany region, but after the Estates-General convened, more people joined. They are all friends who support constitutionalism, so we are currently considering changing the club's name to 'Friends of the Constitution.' How about it? If you are interested, I can be your sponsor," Robespierre said.

"That sounds good," Armand said. "I have another friend who is also quite excellent. Perhaps you have heard of him; his surname is Bonaparte—Joseph Bonaparte, a scientific genius."

"I have heard of him," Robespierre nodded. "Although I cannot understand what he writes. Could you wait a moment? I will go in and write an invitation for him right now for you to take to him."

"We would be happy to oblige," Armand said.

Robespierre went into his study to write the letter, while Armand and Saint-Just walked into the living room and sat on the sofa to wait.

"Armand, do you think Mr. Bonaparte would be willing to join this club?" Saint-Just asked.

"Don't worry, I know Joseph and I understand his political views. In fact, you... you know, many of the creative ideas in the script for Spartacus came from him. He is definitely a progressive youth who supports constitutionalism." Armand almost blurted out that the Slave War Song was written for him by Joseph, but thinking of Joseph's attitude when he gave him the song, he vaguely felt that he might have done something foolish.

"I know that too," Saint-Just said, "but I always feel that Mr. Bonaparte is not very willing to participate too much in politics. He seems to prefer focusing his energy on his studies. I have no doubt that Mr. Bonaparte loves constitutionalism, but I think he might love science even more."

"Damn! I hadn't thought of that." Armand shook his head. However, he immediately added, "That guy really might be like that. But it's just a club invitation; it shouldn't take much time. If he's truly busy, he doesn't have to participate."

As the two were talking, they saw Robespierre walk out of the study and hand an envelope to Armand.

"The invitation is written. I look forward to meeting this genius scientist at the club."

"Um, but Mr. Robespierre..." Armand hesitated.

"What is it, Mr. Lavoisier?" Robespierre asked.

"Joseph is currently busy with an important piece of research. It takes up a lot of his energy..." Armand said, "He might not be able to fully participate in the club's activities..." Armand said stammeringly.

Robespierre was stunned for a moment, then laughed. "Ah, Mr. Lavoisier, that is not a problem. It is just a club. No club requires all members to be present at all times. After all, everyone has their own affairs, right? So, this is not a problem at all."

"If that's the case, then it should be fine," Armand said.

After leaving Robespierre's place, Armand looked at the sky and said to Saint-Just, "Louis, Joseph lives not far from here, just a street away. Looking at the time, he should be heading home right about now. I plan to go straight to his place and hand him this invitation. Would you like to come with me?"

Saint-Just thought for a moment, then shook his head. "There isn't much time left before the next performance; I'd better go back and prepare."

The two parted ways at the street corner. Saint-Just boarded a hackney carriage to return to the theater, while Armand walked on foot toward Joseph's residence.

When Armand knocked on Joseph's door, Joseph was having dinner with his two younger brothers. Generally speaking, if a transmigrator from the Great Eater Nation of the East accidentally transmigrated to the West, they would usually cook Chinese food themselves if they had the means, because most Western food, in the eyes of foodies from the Great Eater Nation, is simply not very tasty. This is especially true for those unfortunate enough to transmigrate to countries where the only options are potatoes, eggs, and "looking at the stars at a forty-five-degree angle" sardines. However, what Joseph was eating was authentic Western food—bread and grilled lamb chops. This was not only because he was lucky enough to have transmigrated to the "Great Eater Nation of the West"—the French are famous worldwide for their culinary skills—but also because, in this era, the various ingredients needed for Chinese cooking were basically unavailable in France. Moreover, Joseph now held a certain status, and for someone of his standing, cooking for himself was a bit improper. Furthermore, labor was cheap, so Joseph had hired a maid to help out at home.

In the Great Eater Nation of the future, hiring a domestic helper was quite expensive, with their income significantly exceeding the median wage. But in France during this era, hiring a maid to manage the household really didn't cost much.

"It smells so good, is that grilled lamb chops? Hmm, Joseph, your quality of life has greatly improved," as soon as he entered, Armand twitched his nose, took a few deep breaths, and smiled.

"It's alright. Armand, why are you here at this hour? Is something the matter?" Joseph asked.

"Ah, I'm here to deliver a letter, an invitation," Armand said.