"I thought you were being pursued and were coming here to hide," Joseph said with a smile. "But you came at just the right time. We can have dinner together."
He led Armand inside, then turned and called to the maid busy in another room, "Aunt Sophie, please bring my friend a place setting."
Then he sat down and looked at Armand. "So, what fancy invitation have you got this time? Do you want me to come and lend my support?"
"I did get a special invitation—to perform at the Palais-Royal," Armand said, flaunting the news with no small amount of pride.
"Ah, now you're really famous," Joseph said with a smile.
By then, Sophie had brought over the place setting.
"Aunt Sophie, could you get that bottle of brandy from my cupboard? I want to have a drink with Armand to celebrate," Joseph said happily.
"Mm," Sophie replied, then turned and left.
"But Armand, I may not be able to attend this performance of yours." Joseph put on a regretful expression. The revolution was about to break out. Though Joseph had learned history from a PE teacher in his previous life, he knew that for a while after the revolution, until his adopted younger brother Napoleon entered the political arena, France's political scene would be a case of "one noisy act after another": today the nobles and royalists would be strung up from lampposts, tomorrow the profiteers and traitors, and the day after that, the Sans-culottes and the rabble... In short, political shifts during this period would be both violent and dangerous. Joseph thought it best to keep some distance from the political figures for now.
"No, no, Joseph, you've misunderstood," Armand said. "The invitation I meant isn't for this performance. I know you're busy, and this isn't the premiere, so I wasn't planning to invite so many friends again."
"Then what invitation are you talking about?" Joseph had a vague premonition that it wasn't good.
"An invitation to a club," Armand said, taking the invitation from beside him and handing it over.
Joseph took the letter and glanced at the envelope first. It read, "To Monsieur Joseph Bonaparte," and the signature at the bottom was written in elegant, sweeping script: "Maximilien François Marie Isidore de Robespierre."
Joseph hadn't yet figured out who that was when Aunt Sophie returned with the bottle of brandy.
"Thank you, Aunt Sophie." Armand took the bottle, poured himself a glass, then poured half a glass for Joseph.
"Maximilien François Marie Isidore de Robespierre... Robespierre!" Joseph finally recognized the surname at the end of that long string of names. He was so startled that he broke out in a cold sweat.
"Yes, Representative Robespierre. The Incorruptible," Armand replied as he drank.
Joseph lowered his head and pulled the letter from the envelope to read, using it to conceal his alarm.
"What is it, Joseph?" Armand had noticed that something was a little off about him. "If you're too busy, you don't have to go. It's only an invitation to a club, after all. What's the problem?"
If I could get out of it, who the hell would want to go? Joseph thought. He knew that if he didn't go because he was "busy with research," Robespierre probably wouldn't be too angry. But the fact that Robespierre wasn't angry now didn't mean he wouldn't be angry in the future.
Robespierre wasn't angry now because his position was no higher than Joseph's; he couldn't do anything to him. But in the future, when prosperous cities lay beneath his feet and a mighty nation was in his hands—when a single word from him could send anyone who had offended him to the guillotine—would he still be so forgiving when he remembered this? Joseph had no confidence at all. This was the legendary "demon king of murder," Robespierre!
Still, the invitation was to join the Brittany Club, not the Jacobin Club. (Joseph had learned history from a PE teacher, so he had no idea that the Brittany Club was the precursor to the Jacobin Club.) Joining it shouldn't be anything too dangerous, right? Besides, not everyone who had joined the Jacobin Club ended up at the guillotine. But if the "demon king" held a grudge against you, the odds of avoiding the guillotine got a lot slimmer.
"I can certainly make time to attend once," Joseph said, lifting his head. "Of course, I'm not a representative like the others, so I probably won't be able to attend every meeting."
"Of course. That's no problem at all," Armand said. From his expression, he had no idea how much trouble he'd caused Joseph.
"Then I'm very honored to receive this invitation," Joseph said.
"Shall we have a drink, then?" Armand never passed up a chance to drink with someone.
"All right." Joseph put on a broad smile and raised his glass...
After seeing Armand off, Joseph couldn't help cursing. "Damn it!" That classmate of his was far too good at stirring up trouble. Now he'd even dragged the demon king into it. Honestly...
But cursing wouldn't solve anything now. Joseph could only calm himself down first, then think carefully about how he should respond.
The time named in the invitation soon arrived. Joseph changed his clothes, climbed into a light carriage, and left Paris for the Royal Tennis Court near Versailles. The Constituent Assembly met there, and the Friends of the Constitution Club now used one of the Royal Tennis Court's halls as its meeting place.
Joseph got out of the carriage at the gate of the Royal Tennis Court and handed his invitation to the doorman. Before long, he saw a neatly dressed young man walking over.
"Are you Monsieur Bonaparte? I'm Robespierre, a representative of the Constituent Assembly." The young man held out his hand to Joseph.
"I'm very pleased to receive your invitation," Joseph replied.
Robespierre led Joseph into the Royal Tennis Court, introducing him to the various buildings around them as they walked.
By the time they entered the Friends of the Constitution Club's meeting hall, it was already packed with people. Robespierre chatted with others now and then, introducing Joseph to his friends. His face was all smiles; there was nothing about him that suggested a "demon king."
"Why, Bonaparte, I didn't expect to see you here." Just as Joseph was talking with Robespierre and his friends, a voice rang out.
Joseph turned and saw the Duke of Orleans striding toward him.
"Your Highness, I didn't expect you to be here too." Joseph bowed as he spoke.
"None of that. We're old friends." The Duke of Orleans patted his shoulder warmly. "What, are you surprised to see me at the Brittany Club? What's so surprising about that? I support constitutional government too. I'm a member of the Brittany Club as well."
Indeed, great nobles like the Duke of Orleans and the Marquis de Lafayette were members of the Brittany Club. For a time, they had even been its leading figures.
In fact, in the original history, the Brittany Club—which later became the Jacobin Club—would not turn into a radical left-wing organization until the trial of Louis XVI. Differences over the king's fate split the Jacobin Club. In the club's election, Robespierre, who advocated executing the king, was chosen as president, while those who supported the king left under the leadership of the Marquis de Lafayette. Only then did the Jacobin Club become a radical left-wing organization. The Duke of Orleans, meanwhile, stayed in the Jacobin Club, hoping to use the Jacobins to kill Louis XVI and make himself king of France. In the end, he'd tried to steal a chicken and lost the rice too, winding up at the guillotine himself.
"Bonaparte, let me introduce you to a friend. He's been wanting to meet you for a long time, too," the Duke of Orleans said.
Then he glanced to either side before telling a servant standing nearby, "Go over there and fetch Gilbert."
The servant headed to the left. Joseph followed him with his eyes and saw a tall, middle-aged man in a wig talking with someone. The servant went over and waited until the man had finished speaking, then said something to him in a low voice. The man looked up toward them. He had evidently noticed Joseph, and he smiled at him before striding over.
"Gilbert, let me introduce you to a friend," the Duke of Orleans said. "This is our brilliant scientist, Bonaparte. Well, he has the same first name as me: Joseph Bonaparte. He's the one who measured the speed of light accurately."
Then he turned and introduced the tall, middle-aged man to Joseph. "This is the Marquis de Lafayette, the hero of North American independence."
Joseph knew a little about him, thanks to a forum post from the future. Someone had asked how to interpret the God Emperor's claim that if not for the United States, the French would all be speaking German. Someone had replied, "If the 'Louis the Traitor' hadn't sent Lafayette and his French troops to aid America, the British would have hanged Washington for treason long ago—though the great God Emperor would still speak English; his title would just have been governor instead of president." Then some busybody had added "Founding Father of America" to Louis XVI's list of titles.
Now that he was living in this era, Joseph knew even more: Lafayette was one of the few French generals to win a war against Britain, and he enjoyed great prestige in the army. So he bowed to the Marquis de Lafayette. "It's an honor to meet you, Your Excellency."
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