"I can swear upon my mother's grave — the Four-Colour Problem has no solution, and it will remain so for two hundred years to come."
André had already lost count of how many times he had repeated that sentence to curious acquaintances.
Prieur stamped his foot and sneered. "An orphan raised in the Reims monastery swearing by his mother's grave — tell me, André, when will you even find your mother's grave?"
Robespierre suppressed a smile; for all his irony, he still thought it terribly impolite to jest about a friend's dead parent.
André merely shrugged. To protest would only deepen the misunderstanding. All Paris already believed that the tax prosecutor had invented the problem as a joke to humiliate those academicians who had once looked down upon him.
So be it. Misunderstanding was harmless, even useful. The more people spoke of it, the more the myth grew. André, weary of defending himself, turned his attention to the upcoming Fête de la Fédération — the Festival of the Federation.
To twenty-first-century Frenchmen, the name may sound distant, but its successor is well known: the 14th of July, Bastille Day — France's national holiday. In 1790, it was the first secular celebration in continental Europe, born from the hope of a reconciled nation.
It was now July 13th, the eve of the festival, and the only day reserved for the grand rehearsal.
The Champ-de-Mars was ready. After the labour of nearly two million citizens, the ground had been levelled and compacted; stones had been laid to form a solid foundation. People now strolled freely across the vast plain, gazing in awe at the immense oval amphitheatre that held the National Altar.
"Two football fields in size," André murmured after circling the arena, "but the stands are far too low."
Because the King and Queen had come to witness the rehearsal, security was unusually strict. Even the mounted police squad had been redeployed to guard the southern gate.
Among the delegations rehearsing near the altar, the Bretons were by far the most disciplined. While most provinces sent only a few leaders, the entire Breton contingent had arrived, playing their bagpipes in octaves so pure and solemn that the royal couple themselves applauded.
At the end of the rehearsal, the Bretons suddenly knelt as one. On the altar, tears streamed down their faces. Their young captain stepped forward, knelt upon one knee before the royal dais, drew his sword and presented the hilt to Louis XVI, proclaiming solemnly that Brittany would remain forever loyal to His Majesty.
From the steps of the amphitheatre, Prieur, Robespierre, and André — three convinced republicans of the far left — exchanged silent glances. None spoke, but each marked the young Breton officer in memory. A dangerous royalist.
"He's called George Catelino," said Lieutenant Hoche as he rode up. Dismounting, he climbed the steps and saluted the prosecutor and the two deputies in turn. Behind him, Augereau remained on horseback, patrolling with his cavalry, keeping a deliberate distance from André.
"Remember Catelino's face," André said to Hoche. "It may prove useful one day." Then, with a nod, he ushered his two companions toward their carriage.
The Festival of Federation would begin the next morning. The Constituent Assembly had declared a two-day recess, and the three men's next stop was naturally the Jacobin Club.
As the carriage swayed through the streets, Prieur suddenly broke the silence. "The second-quarter deficit has reached 2.2 billion livres. Damn that Necker — his miserable economic policy is ruining France. André, if the tax tribunal were founded today, could you recover a hundred million for the state?"
André looked from one deputy to the other. "Do you want the truth?"
Both nodded.
He spread his hands. "Then here it is: impossible. Three months ago, I said it could be done because the farmers-general still kept their assets inside France. But since then — according to my informants — they've transferred or hidden most of it abroad or in the provinces. Fifty million is the best we could hope to recover. In another three months, perhaps not even twenty."
The deputies fell silent. They knew he was right; in their own affairs they would have acted no differently.
André went on, "But hunting the tax-farmers isn't the only way to ease the deficit. The damned Americans still owe us 1.06 billion livres in military loans. I propose that the Assembly issue a firm repayment schedule — short- and medium-term — demanding payment in any acceptable form: gold, silver, dollars, grain, wool, cotton, tobacco, even mortgaged ships. We must not spare that fool Lafayette. While he calls himself Washington's son, he forgets he was born a Frenchman."
At the mention of Lafayette, both deputies grimaced. The sentimental marquis had repeatedly persuaded the finance committee to postpone collection, preaching that Franco-American friendship was too sacred to be measured in coin. But by the end of the eighteenth century, America was of little use to France except to irritate England.
Robespierre, after a thoughtful pause, said, "Yes, the American debt must be pressed. But that won't solve the present crisis. Necker's ministry has already delayed the soldiers' pay on the frontier. The Jacobin correspondence from Nancy reports that many troops there have gone five months without wages. I fear the noble officers may exploit their discontent to provoke mutiny."
By now, Robespierre had withdrawn from all Assembly committees to devote himself entirely to organizing the Jacobin communications bureau — a network gathering reports from provincial clubs, compiling them into fortnightly bulletins, and distributing political analyses from Paris. Through this quiet labour, he was binding the movement together and tightening his control over it.
André, meanwhile, felt like a human talisman: whenever money or taxation arose, Robespierre and Prieur came to consult him, as though he carried a bottomless pouch of fiscal miracles. He grumbled inwardly, yet he enjoyed the attention. The more powerful friends one had, the easier both fortune and escape became.
Soon he offered a new idea, smiling slyly. "If we need quick cash — that's simple. We cheat. Oh, pardon me, I mean we issue a lottery. I once made a rough calculation: at two sous a ticket, if we sell ten rounds a month in Paris, with six hundred thousand residents, we could raise a million livres. After costs, prizes, and commissions, at least six hundred thousand net — enough to pay twenty thousand soldiers. Extend it to fifty cities, and we could cover the wages of the entire frontier army."
Lotteries were nothing new to the French. Under Louis XIV there had even been a minister of lotteries, and half the Sun King's war chest came from such sales. But under Louis XVI, the practice was abolished — the philosophers of the Enlightenment had deemed it immoral, claiming it bred vice among the people.
To Prieur, the idea was awkward. In his student days at Reims — under Louis XV — he had denounced the lottery as the devil's temptation, the fruit of corruption. Yet facing a bankrupt treasury, even old convictions began to waver.
"Any other suggestions?" he asked, noticing the prosecutor's hesitant look.
André hesitated only a moment, then laid out the scheme he had long conceived. "Yes — but this one's more complicated. I'll summarise first. If you're interested, I'll submit a detailed plan. It concerns the imposition of an adjustable income tax upon France's six million active citizens — essentially, a new capitation tax."
He began to explain with the precision of an accountant:
"In Paris, for instance, families earning less than 150 livres per month would be exempt.
From 150 to 400 livres — 5 percent on the surplus;
401 to 900 livres — 10 percent;
901 to 1500 livres — 15 percent;
1501 to 3000 livres — 20 percent;
and anything above that — 25 percent.
The top rate, I suggest, should not exceed 25 percent for now. Implemented in Paris, this would yield about 1.5 million per month, not less than half a million in net revenue."
The idea of an income tax was not entirely born from the time-traveller's memory of the future. Since 1765, the British Parliament had been debating a similar "noble tax," and by 1799 it would indeed become Britain's first income tax. France had once discussed it too, only to let it vanish amid hesitation and pride.
André's motives were not purely patriotic. Should the Assembly adopt such a law, his own power as prosecutor would expand enormously — and in a country where evading taxes was a national pastime, his net of guilt would catch plenty, and miss none.
There was another reason. At Mirabeau's and Sieyès's urging, André was also tasked with persuading the extreme left to ease their attacks on the electoral system — the division of citizens into "active" and "passive" — so that the Constitution of 1791 might pass without endless obstruction.
He therefore spoke with studied eloquence:
"From the civic point of view, taxation is the citizen's duty for the enjoyment of public goods, and an instrument for balancing wealth — taking a little from the rich to do a little more for the poor. From the academic view, taxes fund the army, the police, culture, and infrastructure; those who enjoy these services owe contribution. Income tax, in particular, allows the state to moderate inequality, ease resentment among the poor, and strengthen social harmony."
He had chosen every word carefully, so that the two lawyer-deputies, untrained in economics, might follow his reasoning. Whether they truly understood was another matter.
The truth was, reintroducing any tax in a nation newly drunk on liberty and patriotism was nearly impossible. The process — proposal, debate, enactment, and implementation — would take years. At the Assembly's current pace, nothing would be decided before its dissolution in 1791.
But André cared little. The proposal itself was enough. It would brand him among the Jacobins as a man of the people — rational, reform-minded, devoted to public welfare.
In reality, the "man of the people" had already used his office to conduct a series of illicit financial operations that swelled his fortune to nearly four hundred thousand livres — and counting.
Until he possessed enough power to safeguard that wealth, André knew he must play the part: modest in pleasure, prudent in speech, ascetic in appearance, charitable in tone.
Yes — that was the image of a perfect politician.
Note:
Mirabeau – A noble-born revolutionary orator and early leader of the Constituent Assembly; advocated constitutional monarchy and gradual reform.
Billaud-Varenne – Jacques-Nicolas Billaud-Varenne: A radical Jacobin politician and member of the Committee of Public Safety; one of the chief architects of the Reign of Terror.
Prieur – Pierre-Louis Prieur (Prieur de la Marne): Member of the Committee of Public Safety, known for rigorously enforcing the Terror throughout the provinces.
Lavoisier – Antoine-Laurent de Lavoisier: The "Father of Modern Chemistry"; a Paris tax official and scientist executed during the Revolution as a former tax farmer.
Paulze – Jacques Paulze: Lavoisier's father-in-law and finance manager of the Ferme Générale; symbol of ancien-régime fiscal oligarchy, executed alongside him.
Lefebvre – François-Joseph Lefebvre: General of the Republic and Empire; rose from humble origins to Marshal of France, embodying the new military nobility.
Necker – Jacques Necker: Swiss-born banker and royal finance minister; his reforms and fiscal crisis led directly to the calling of the Estates-General.
Charles Ouvrard – Financier and military supplier from a merchant family; speculated in bonds and army contracts during the Revolution and Empire.
Périer brothers: founders of the Paris Water Company; pioneers of early French industrial and financial enterprise.
Robespierre – Maximilien Robespierre: Leader of the Jacobins and lawyer by training; promoted the "Republic of Virtue" and directed the Reign of Terror.
Jean-Baptiste Say – Classical economist, author of A Treatise on Political Economy; advocate of free markets and entrepreneurial initiative.
Saint-Just – Louis Antoine Léon de Saint-Just: Jacobin statesman and Robespierre's ally; known as the "Angel of the Revolution," symbolizing cold reason and moral rigor.
Pierre Villiers – Pierre Villiers: Journalist and playwright; served as Robespierre's secretary and later wrote memoirs critical of the Terror.
Laplace – Pierre-Simon Laplace: Mathematician and astronomer; author of Celestial Mechanics, later served as Minister of the Interior, embodying rational science in politics.
Fourcroy – Antoine François Fourcroy: Chemist and educational reformer; collaborator of Lavoisier, helped standardize chemical nomenclature and founded polytechnic education.
Condorcet – Marie Jean Antoine Nicolas de Caritat, marquis de Condorcet: Enlightenment philosopher advocating universal education and gender equality; Girondin thinker who died in prison.
Robert Surcouf – Robert Surcouf: Privateer from Brittany; famed for raiding British merchant ships in the Indian Ocean, symbolizing French maritime daring.
Jean-Marie Roland – Jean-Marie Roland de la Platière: Minister and economist of the Girondin faction; proponent of liberal economics and moderate republicanism.
Madame Roland – Marie-Jeanne Roland de la Platière (Manon Phlipon): Political writer and salon hostess; moral center of the Girondins, remembered for her final words, "O Liberty, what crimes are committed in thy name!"
Manon – Marie-Jeanne Phlipon (Madame Roland): Madame Roland's familiar name; represents the rational courage of Enlightenment womanhood.
Jérôme Pétion de Villeneuve: Former Mayor of Paris and Girondin leader; supporter of constitutional republicanism, died while fleeing persecution.
François Buzot: Lawyer and deputy; idealistic Girondin and confidant of Madame Roland, who committed suicide in exile.
Fourier – Joseph Fourier: Mathematician and physicist; pioneer of heat theory and Fourier series, foundational to modern engineering and astronomy.
Bailly – Jean-Sylvain Bailly: Astronomer and initiator of the Tennis Court Oath; first Mayor of Paris and a moderate revolutionary.
Augereau – Pierre François Charles Augereau: General of the Republic and Empire; rose from common origins to become Marshal of France, noted for bravery and discipline.