Chapter 955: Let the Radiance of Versailles Dispel Europe's Long Night
Elijah didn't lack money; what he lacked was status and social standing.
If a government official were to emerge from his household, who would dare mock him as a mere nouveau riche again?
'A son-in-law is family too, after all,' he reasoned.
But the moment General Masséna suggested that Thwaite might forgo the opportunity to become an official, Elijah could no longer contain himself.
Masséna studied Elijah with a look of confusion before turning back to the elder Thwaite. "And this gentleman is?"
"General, this is Mr. Richter. He is..." The old tailor hesitated mid-sentence. His son was certainly in love with the Richter girl, but a man of Mr. Richter's stature might not necessarily look kindly upon them—especially now that his son was disabled.
Elijah watched the tailor with equal tension, fearing the man might say something to distance their families.
Sergeant Thwaite, however, possessed the straightforwardness of a career soldier. He cut in immediately, "General, I am in love with Mr. Richter's daughter. I believe he has come here to visit me."
Elijah breathed a sigh of relief, silently thanking the heavens he hadn't blurted out "I forbid you from seeing each other" earlier. He nodded survivalists, "Exactly. Corinna told me Mr. Thwaite was injured, so I rushed over to see how he was faring."
The group chatted for a while longer regarding Thwaite's education. Seeing the pleasant atmosphere, Elijah realized this was a rare opportunity.
He steeled his resolve, cleared his throat, and addressed the old tailor. "Um, Mr. Thwaite, the truth is, beyond visiting Henry today, I also wished to speak with you about... well, the matter of their engagement."
Sergeant Thwaite froze for a moment before a radiant smile broke across his face.
The old tailor was even more overwhelmed, rubbing his hands together in excitement. He could do nothing but nod repeatedly, unable to find his voice.
General Masséna smiled and inclined his head. "Ah, a hero and the girl who loves him. A truly enviable romance.
"Mr. Thwaite, if I may be so bold, usually you should be the one taking the initiative to visit the lady's house for such discussions."
Elijah waved his hand dismissively. "It's quite alright, quite alright. As long as they truly love one another, nothing else matters."
Masséna glanced at the stunned tailor and turned his question to Elijah. "Do you have any suggestions regarding the engagement?"
"Today would be excellent," Elijah replied, gesturing toward Schérer. "I had originally intended for my brother-in-law to serve as the witness. He comes from a noble line spanning over four hundred years.
"Of course, I would now be honored if the esteemed General Masséna would grace us by witnessing this union instead."
Masséna laughed heartily. "Of course. It would be my pleasure."
Schérer could only watch in stunned silence as everything unfolded with unimaginable speed. Staff from the Ministry of Military Affairs were already informing the neighbors and bustling about to prepare a makeshift engagement ceremony. He could only cross himself and whisper under his breath:
'May God bless these two young lovers.'
Three days later.
Baron Schérer and his wife hurried back toward Vienna, carrying gold coins worth 4,500 francs.
As their rail carriage passed the Reims amusement park, the Baron caught a glimpse of the massive, slowly rotating Ferris Wheel. He quickly looked away, bowing his head.
His mind had been a battlefield of agonizing thoughts throughout the journey.
Why was it that Lukas and the tailor's son, both young soldiers, faced such different fates? One was sitting in a prison cell, waiting for his father to bribe a judge just to escape a beheading, while the other had a general personally presiding over his engagement.
One would forever carry the weight of a criminal's brand, cursed by the public.
The other possessed a future brimming with hope.
'Could Lukas have been wrong?'
Schérer shook his head violently.
'No, he wasn't!'
'He only wanted to help the people who couldn't afford their taxes and the families of soldiers who weren't receiving their pensions.'
'He is a hero in my heart!'
'He is not a single bit inferior to that tailor's son!'
'But why... why did it end like this?'
Schérer yanked at his hair in frustration, only to be interrupted by the cry of a newsboy outside the carriage. "Reims Gazette! His Royal Highness the Crown Prince issues the French Hero Decree! Enhanced protections for disabled soldiers..."
In an instant, Schérer felt a wave of clarity wash over him. He nodded slowly.
Yes, the difference was that France had a "Son of Divine Favor," while Austria was being tormented by a foolish Emperor.
He used to believe that what Austria needed was a parliament.
But upon reflection, France didn't have a parliament either, yet it enjoyed prosperity, justice, and victory.
If the French Crown Prince led Austria, Lukas would never have been driven to riot over taxes and pensions.
'This... this is the answer!'
Schérer's hands began to tremble.
He reached into his leather bag, pulled out the manuscript he had been working on, and tore it to shreds without hesitation.
The first line of that draft had read: "A Discussion on the Significance of the Church, the Royalty, and the Parliament."
He took out a fresh sheet of paper and began to write anew. His previous views were all fallacies—errors so profound they made him want to mock his younger self.
However, after writing only a few lines, he stopped abruptly. He stared blankly for several seconds before flipping to a brand new page. With a steady hand and a solemn expression, he penned the title: "Let the Radiance of Versailles Dispel Europe's Long Night."
...
Southeast France.
Nice.
Tens of thousands of French soldiers marched northward along the broad highway, their voices rising in a rendition of "Glory and Victory" to the accompaniment of fifes and drums.
They belonged to the French Army of Italy. Following the signing of the French-Austrian armistice, they were returning home in waves.
In a Gem VI carriage positioned toward the rear of the column, Desaix looked at Napoleon with astonishment. "Are you saying the Ottomans have massed tens of thousands of troops in Bulgaria?"
"Exactly," Napoleon confirmed with a nod. "A friend of mine serving in the General Staff told me. The information is absolutely reliable."
"So, both the Ottomans and the Prussians are planning to launch a war against Austria?"
"Evidently so."
Desaix grew agitated. "This is a perfect opportunity! If we take this chance to strike the Klagenfurt fortress, we could be holding a victory parade in Vienna within a month!"
Napoleon nodded, then slowly shook his head. "Regrettably, the General Staff has no intention of doing so."
"We must submit a proposal to General Berthier!" Desaix urged. "My God, the army should be turning back toward Venice immediately."
"It's useless." Napoleon spread his hands. "Word is that this order came directly from the Crown Prince himself."
Desaix was stunned. "Why would His Highness..."
Napoleon let out a sigh. "Who knows? Perhaps His Highness is still too young. Despite his extraordinary strategic brilliance, there are bound to be shortcomings—be it in terms of courage or decisiveness."
Desaix leaned forward. "We should request an audience with the Prince once we return to Paris. I believe we can convince him."
"It will be difficult." Napoleon leaned back against the seat. "In fact, I already submitted a report to His Highness earlier. It was not adopted."
"Are we really just going to watch this chance to occupy Vienna slip through our fingers?"
Napoleon gave him a meaningful look, then lowered his voice. "Perhaps we can find another way ourselves."
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