20 November 1719 – Evening
On the opposite side of the war, they were sat in a tremendously decorated drawing room lined with frescoes and carpeted in fine rugs. They were sipping their wines and looking into the fire crackling in the fireplace, passing comments between them. All except one man; this man: a thinly-shaped, sour-faced man with shaggy hair and a black goatee. He refused to take wine.
“It’s a fine brand, from the Italian Riviera. Not as good as our own Elysian concocts, I admit, but has its merits.”
“I refuse to drink that stuff.”
“Why not, Julius. Is it wrong to be merry?”
“It is not the time to be merry, Courat,” he replied, getting out of his chair to take out of his briefcase a bottle of scotch. “Wine is for peace, scotch for times of war. It is because of this that the Italians keep suing for peace and the Scots keep calling for war.”
The assembly laughed.
“But victory is ours, surely,” said Courat. “Can’t we drink to that?”
“You can. You would be toasting a thing non-existent, a fanciful idea which floats in your imagination.”
“Julius,” said another, pretending to embrace the room with his arms, “this is victory. I see it as I walk in these palaces. I can smell it in the roses. I can taste it in the wine.”
“Then keep tasting, Dominicus,” said Julius, “for your mind is clotted with wine and you cannot distinguish false from fact.”
Another wave of laughter emerged.
“Jest comes easy to you this evening,” said Dominicus. “Perhaps the incorruptible Julius is as influenced by liquor as we are by wine.”
“Does liquor give for fine humour then, Dominicus?” said Courat with a smile.
“No, Courat. Wine makes you laugh to anything,” said Julius before Dominicus could answer.
“So the fault is in us?”
“The fault is in that bottle,” said Julius, pointing straight to the Italian beverage as he sat back down with a glass in his hand. “The King was not dethroned because the country was in turmoil. He was dethroned because he was too drunk to fix it.”
“But that’s all history, Julius,” said a man who had been listening from the window. “The King is dead. We killed him. The realm belongs to us now.”
“The people, Frederberg, not us,” said Julius impatiently. “I dislike it when you forget the people.”
A moment of awkwardness followed this remark until Courat broke the tension.
“Why do you not think the revolution was a success?”
Julius took his time, appearing to ponder.
“Perhaps he fears the Prince?” said Dominicus.
“He is a danger,” said Julius, gently nodding his head. “The people could go over to him at any moment.”
“The people hate monarchy,” said Frederberg. “Not a week has passed since they lynched the rotten bastard from the Dungeon towers.”
“Oh, they hated that king, yes. But the Prince?” Julius got up and began meandering around the room. The assembly watched him think. “Public memory is short and shaky – very much dependent on the public purse; if the Prince promises them riches in return for favours, he will have bought their hearts.”
“But he has no riches! We currently hold the positions of power, so we can pull the strings,” said Frederberg.
“He has no riches, but he has rich blood. When his forefathers were reigning and bathing in glory, our ancestors were nibbling sawdust and serving like animals in the fields! Or have we become too immersed into our newly-found lifestyles that we have conveniently forgotten our humble backgrounds? And if we have forgotten, gentlemen, the people never will. They know a nobleman when they see one. We don’t dress like kings and speak like dukes, or do we? Are we to emulate the tyrants we have vanquished? This revolution is trying to break that tradition – restore the primordial equality of mankind.”
“And we have succeeded!”
“No!” shouted Julius as he slammed his glass on a nearby table. “No, we have not. Success is not conquering thrones but conquering minds. I beseech anyone of you to go tomorrow to the marketplace and observe. Ask any person for their friendship and see how they respond. ‘Who is your father?’ they will ask. ‘To which tribe do you belong? To which god do you sacrifice?’ This revolution has failed to change the most important section of society: its people. Our government is new and our leaders are new, but what will it matter if we are still struggling in the same old squalor?!”
Nobody said a word. Julius rested his head against the wall and held his shoulder in his hand. When he spoke again, he was much calmer and restrained.
“Change will not arise anywhere until its people change themselves. Take these words as gospel, gentlemen, and learn them off by heart: the revolution has not ended; it has only just begun.”
This was not 1st chapter...
On the opposite side of the war, they were sat in a tremendously decorated drawing room lined with frescoes and carpeted in fine rugs. They were sipping their wines and looking into the fire crackling in the fireplace, passing comments between them. All except one man; this man: a thinly-shaped, sour-faced man with shaggy hair and a black goatee. He refused to take wine.
“It’s a fine brand, from the Italian Riviera. Not as good as our own Elysian concocts, I admit, but has its merits.”
“I refuse to drink that stuff.”
“Why not, Julius. Is it wrong to be merry?”
“It is not the time to be merry, Courat,” he replied, getting out of his chair to take out of his briefcase a bottle of scotch. “Wine is for peace, scotch for times of war. It is because of this that the Italians keep suing for peace and the Scots keep calling for war.”
The assembly laughed.
“But victory is ours, surely,” said Courat. “Can’t we drink to that?”
“You can. You would be toasting a thing non-existent, a fanciful idea which floats in your imagination.”
“Julius,” said another, pretending to embrace the room with his arms, “this is victory. I see it as I walk in these palaces. I can smell it in the roses. I can taste it in the wine.”
“Then keep tasting, Dominicus,” said Julius, “for your mind is clotted with wine and you cannot distinguish false from fact.”
Another wave of laughter emerged.
“Jest comes easy to you this evening,” said Dominicus. “Perhaps the incorruptible Julius is as influenced by liquor as we are by wine.”
“Does liquor give for fine humour then, Dominicus?” said Courat with a smile.
“No, Courat. Wine makes you laugh to anything,” said Julius before Dominicus could answer.
“So the fault is in us?”
“The fault is in that bottle,” said Julius, pointing straight to the Italian beverage as he sat back down with a glass in his hand. “The King was not dethroned because the country was in turmoil. He was dethroned because he was too drunk to fix it.”
“But that’s all history, Julius,” said a man who had been listening from the window. “The King is dead. We killed him. The realm belongs to us now.”
“The people, Frederberg, not us,” said Julius impatiently. “I dislike it when you forget the people.”
A moment of awkwardness followed this remark until Courat broke the tension.
“Why do you not think the revolution was a success?”
Julius took his time, appearing to ponder.
“Perhaps he fears the Prince?” said Dominicus.
“He is a danger,” said Julius, gently nodding his head. “The people could go over to him at any moment.”
“The people hate monarchy,” said Frederberg. “Not a week has passed since they lynched the rotten bastard from the Dungeon towers.”
“Oh, they hated that king, yes. But the Prince?” Julius got up and began meandering around the room. The assembly watched him think. “Public memory is short and shaky – very much dependent on the public purse; if the Prince promises them riches in return for favours, he will have bought their hearts.”
“But he has no riches! We currently hold the positions of power, so we can pull the strings,” said Frederberg.
“He has no riches, but he has rich blood. When his forefathers were reigning and bathing in glory, our ancestors were nibbling sawdust and serving like animals in the fields! Or have we become too immersed into our newly-found lifestyles that we have conveniently forgotten our humble backgrounds? And if we have forgotten, gentlemen, the people never will. They know a nobleman when they see one. We don’t dress like kings and speak like dukes, or do we? Are we to emulate the tyrants we have vanquished? This revolution is trying to break that tradition – restore the primordial equality of mankind.”
“And we have succeeded!”
“No!” shouted Julius as he slammed his glass on a nearby table. “No, we have not. Success is not conquering thrones but conquering minds. I beseech anyone of you to go tomorrow to the marketplace and observe. Ask any person for their friendship and see how they respond. ‘Who is your father?’ they will ask. ‘To which tribe do you belong? To which god do you sacrifice?’ This revolution has failed to change the most important section of society: its people. Our government is new and our leaders are new, but what will it matter if we are still struggling in the same old squalor?!”
Nobody said a word. Julius rested his head against the wall and held his shoulder in his hand. When he spoke again, he was much calmer and restrained.
“Change will not arise anywhere until its people change themselves. Take these words as gospel, gentlemen, and learn them off by heart: the revolution has not ended; it has only just begun.”
This was not 1st chapter...