Not long after that conversation, Armand handed Joseph two plays—Shakespeare's Timon of Athens and Milton's Samson Agonistes—along with quite a few poems and other things.
"These are some things that have piled up here over the last two years. They've been sitting around for almost half a year now... You know I don't have that much time to work on them. Since they're already overdue, there's no need for you to rush. Take your time; the people on the other end aren't in a hurry either." After handing them to Joseph, who had just secured leave and was preparing to return to Corsica, Armand said this to him.
"Joseph, I hope your father is all right, and that you can come back soon." Another classmate, named Lafa, added, "You always give us a lot to think about during our discussions. Without you, our club meetings have lost their sparkle."
"Lafa's right. Our club can't do without you," said another, a short fellow named Honoré. Like Joseph, he depended entirely on a scholarship to get by, so he felt a closer bond with Joseph.
The club Lafa had mentioned was a small group called the Friends of Youth Club. It was made up of young people with completely different ways of life and attitudes, all dissatisfied with the world around them and full of all sorts of naïve hopes for the future. In fact, there were plenty of young people like that in schools across France.
Joseph knew that many of these youths, who seemed so immature and laughably naïve now, would later become famous figures in the Revolution. The little cliques they formed—which people today might dismiss as kids getting together to cheer themselves on—would also become political parties. The famous Jacobins, for instance, had started out as nothing more than a club.
The Friends of Youth Club was, in fact, the embryonic form of just such a political party. Its members came from all walks of life: there were well-off nobles like Armand, struggling nobles like Joseph, prosperous merchants' sons like Lafa, and poor boys like Oreno. Their personalities differed just as much: Armand was outgoing and flamboyant, Lafa worldly and easygoing, while Oreno seldom spoke but was decisive and resolute when it came to getting things done. Yet they all agreed on one thing: France's current system was deeply unfair and had to be changed. They simply hadn't yet reached a consensus on how it should be changed.
Voltaire's influence was plain to see in Armand. Like Voltaire, he enjoyed using sharp words to mock the Church. As for the form of government, however, he preferred Britain's constitutional monarchy. In political discussions, he was always bringing up the Glorious Revolution and the Bill of Rights.
Oreno, on the other hand, opposed every kind of monarchy. One of his uncles had fought the British in North America under General Lafayette. From him, Oreno had heard countless things about the United States. As a result, he had become a staunch republican. He opposed every kind of monarch and firmly believed France ought to become a republic.
As for Lafa, he felt that in theory, a republic was certainly the best system and the one most consistent with the principle of equality for all. In fact, that was also in keeping with Christ's teachings. "The prophet Moses opposed monarchy long ago," Lucien had said. On the other hand, Lafa also believed, "Monarchy is France's tradition, and ordinary people are used to being ruled by a king. So we can't completely disregard France's traditions and the people's habits. A constitutional monarchy is therefore an acceptable compromise."
As for Joseph, he didn't seem especially concerned about the form of government. He cared more about individual rights.
"I don't care who governs the country, whether it's a king or a president. What matters most to me is that his power be restrained, so he can't arbitrarily interfere with my freedom and rights. There's an idea in the North American Declaration of Independence that I strongly agree with: the people have the right to overthrow tyranny. Only power recognized by the whole people is legitimate. In that regard, I respect whatever the people of France choose."
What he said was quite tactful, especially that last sentence. But the young people of this era hadn't been steeped in the diplomatic doublespeak of some later country's foreign ministry, so they thought Joseph's words made a lot of sense. They overlooked the most crucial question buried in them: Who were the people, and who spoke for them?
Joseph had come from the future. He had seen plenty of different systems of government put into practice, and he'd also spent plenty of time as an armchair pundit on forums, pontificating about the world. So he could rattle off the pros and cons of every kind of government, and make it all sound very convincing to the others.
Compared with the well-informed people of later generations, the young people in the Friends of Youth Club were much more innocent—and much easier to fool. Though they still had some political differences, Joseph had managed to turn his own views into the club's shared platform. He himself had consequently become its spiritual leader. Now that he was about to leave Paris for a while, several of his classmates had taken leave to see him off at the station.
"Joseph, don't worry too much about money," Lafa said again. "It's much easier to find a way to earn money in Paris than in the provinces. Come back as soon as things at home are settled. We'll find a way together. If you're really short of money right now, I can get some from my father for you. It won't be much, but two or three hundred francs shouldn't be a problem. And there'll be no interest."
"Lafa, didn't you say your father was stingy?" Oreno asked.
"That's true. But when there's really a need to spend money, my father can be quite generous." Lafa shook his head. "You don't know—he keeps a tight rein on every last penny I spend. After I've eaten my fill, I'm not even allowed an extra beer. According to the old man, beer fills your stomach less efficiently than black bread.
"But on the other hand, when he sent me to school, he told me, 'Lafa, you know that Lycée Louis-le-Grand is one of the best schools. There are only two kinds of people who study here. One kind comes from rich or influential families. The other is exceptionally talented. Lafa, you know I'm frugal, and I believe frugality is a virtue. But do you really think I made my fortune by being more frugal than everyone else? No. It's because I know where money will do the most good. I've spent money pulling strings to get you into Lycée Louis-le-Grand for two reasons.
"'First, you can learn all sorts of skills here, including many I can't teach you. Second, you can meet all sorts of capable people and become friends with them. That will make it easier for you to get things done in the future. So when it comes to this sort of thing, I've never been stingy.'"
"Lafa," Armand called out, "your father really is an extraordinary fellow! Perhaps I should introduce my uncle to your father. They'd surely become friends."
"Ah, Armand, if you could arrange for my father to meet Monsieur Lavoisier, he'd gladly pay to treat us all to champagne. But you'd better think it over, because my father would probably use the occasion to make even more money." Lucien answered, "Besides, my father would never become friends with your uncle. His only friend is the Louis d'or."
"Lafa, are you sure your father would consider me a talented person worth investing in?" Joseph asked.
"Of course. I think so, and my father believes, first, that my loyalty to him is beyond question. Second, there are very few people he knows who are both loyal and capable of judging whether someone has talent and a future, and I'm certainly one of them. Besides, my father once said, 'In business, nothing is guaranteed to make a profit or a loss. Taking risks is part of doing business.'" Lafa replied, "I think that though it's not certain, Joseph, you may one day go down in history."
"Ah, Lafa, I'll go down in history too. Invest a little in me!" Armand shouted with a laugh.
Lucien looked at Armand and burst out laughing. "Armand, my friend, I believe you might go down in history one day too. But my father once said, 'A poet, even a poet who goes down in history, is not a good investment. At least, not while he's still alive.'"
"Damn, that sounds so much like something my uncle would say," Armand said, putting on a rueful expression.
"Joseph, you have to come back," Oreno said, taking his hand.
"If I can, I'll be back as soon as possible," Joseph replied.
With that, he tipped his hat to them, then turned and climbed into the stagecoach.
Carlo's condition had worsened rapidly. By the time Joseph returned to Corsica, Carlo was already on his deathbed. For most of the day, he remained unconscious, and the time he spent awake added up to no more than two hours. The doctors were now completely helpless.
In this era, European doctors had little to offer for serious illnesses beyond bloodletting. And even in later times, stomach cancer could be fatal if it wasn't discovered in time. In this era, they had neither the technology to detect it early nor the means to treat it once found. So by this point, the doctor told the family bluntly, "What Monsieur Carlo needs now isn't a doctor, but a priest."
Napoleon had returned too, arriving a day before Joseph. Once Joseph was back, the whole family was together. At dusk that day, Carlo briefly regained consciousness once more. The priest began saying his final prayers at his bedside, his wife held his hand, and his children gathered around him. His gaze moved from his wife to his children, then finally settled on Joseph.
"Joseph..." Carlo said in a faint voice.
"Father, I'm here," Joseph replied.
"Take care of the family..." Those were the last words Carlo ever said to Joseph.
Before you continue