The Fox of France

As the Marquis de Lafayette spoke, a middle-aged man of about forty, dressed in a black bishop's robe and with a slight limp, entered the small meeting room and bowed to the others.

"Bishop Talleyrand!" Several people in the room immediately recognized the clergyman.

Bishop Talleyrand was a prominent figure in the salons and social scenes of Paris. He came from a fallen noble family and had been sent to a theological school for his education, a path many noble-born children often followed.

In general, noble-born children had several paths to choose from:

First, they could inherit their family's wealth and live a life of leisure and indulgence. However, Talleyrand's family's wealth had been squandered by previous generations of hedonistic heirs.

Second, they could join the military and enjoy the king's pay as officers. However, a crippled officer like Talleyrand was not in high demand.

Third, they could become civil servants and enjoy the king's salary, embezzled public funds, and bribes from others. But to secure a civil service position, one needed to bribe their way in, and Talleyrand's family couldn't afford it.

So Talleyrand was left with the only option - becoming a clergyman.

The path of a clergyman wasn't all that bad, theoretically speaking. All believers were equal in the eyes of God. But in reality, some people were more equal than others. Typically, commoner-born clergymen would, at best, become parish priests, while clergy above that rank were predominantly from noble backgrounds.

The Church possessed vast resources, and becoming a bishop allowed one to live a comfortable life.

In Boccaccio's "Decameron," there's a story about a devout Christian who tried to persuade his friend, a Jew, to convert to Christianity. The Jew was tempted and decided to visit the Christian world's capital, Rome.

When the Christian heard of this decision, he was horrified, thinking his mission would surely fail because there was no virtue in Rome, only sin and corruption. There, people were deeply mired in wrongdoing.

However, after the Jew's visit to Rome, he immediately converted to Christianity. He thought, "The Catholic Church is so corrupt and depraved, yet it stands strong. There must be true divine power behind it."

Unlike the Jew in the story, Talleyrand was already a devout Christian. He had studied theology at the College of St. Sulpice for five years, although this education didn't bring him closer to God. It made him something of an atheist. But, for the sake of the Church's financial support, he put on a façade of devotion.

With this pretense, he secured the position of Abbot of the Saint-Remi Abbey in Reims and an annual pension of a staggering 18,000 livres (a type of silver coin that later became the franc) when Louis XVI ascended the throne.

With this money, Talleyrand led a secular nobleman's life in Paris. His position as the abbot was merely a well-paid sinecure, allowing him ample free time. He had bought a comfortable house in Paris, alternating between living in Reims and the capital, indulging in drinking, gambling, and the pleasures of the flesh.

Through his connections, he also gained access to bankers who provided him with information about the inner workings of the Church and even the government. In return, Talleyrand helped them find opportunities for profit through financial speculation, amassing wealth.

Talleyrand was no miser; he made money quickly and spent it just as rapidly. With the help of his friends, he came close to usurping the position of the Archbishop of Lyon after the Affair of the Diamond Necklace, only to be thwarted by the Queen's interference.

Though he didn't become the Archbishop of Lyon, he managed to secure the position of the Archbishop of Autun. Since Talleyrand had climbed the ranks through the favor of the king, most people considered him a staunch conservative and a royalist. However, his presence in the current meeting raised eyebrows.

"Gentlemen, it's an honor to see you," Bishop Talleyrand said, addressing the others.

"Bishop, what brings you to our gathering all of a sudden?" asked Ségur.

"Count d'Artois is preparing to leave France with his family for Italy," Bishop Talleyrand replied.

"Count d'Artois?" Louis XVI's brother and a staunch conservative. The historian Tocqueville once commented about him:

"We have seen many leaders in history whose knowledge, culture, political judgment, and value choices remain frozen at some stage of their youth. Regardless of how long they live or how much the world changes, they act as if stuck in a particular moment. They persist with obstinacy, self-confidence, and the delusion of defending certain values that would chart a new direction for the nation. In reality, their beliefs and policies are nothing but outdated relics."

"Count d'Artois is going into exile?" Ségur smirked. "The one who wanted to suppress us relentlessly? Now he's fleeing?"

"He has fled, and perhaps His Highness will be even more delighted," Barnave said, furrowing his brows.

"But this could be a good thing, couldn't it?" the Marquis de Lafayette said. "The king's power is waning, and apart from us, His Majesty has no one else to rely on."

"But we have the same problem as that prince's instigated mob," Barnave remarked.

"Then let him continue his act," Lafayette suggested. "The mob wants things we can't give them. Can that prince give them what they want? He never thought about the fact that when he set fire to his brother's house, it was connected to his own."

"Our houses are adjacent to theirs too," Barnave pointed out.

"Mr. Barnave, you're right," Bishop Talleyrand chimed in. "In truth, the three estates are a false concept. The division into three estates is utter nonsense. It's just that some fools believe in it."

"What do you mean?" Ségur frowned. He had gained fame for his work "What Is the Third Estate?" Now, Talleyrand was claiming that the concept of the Third Estate was false, and it didn't sit well with him.

"Mr. Ségur, please consider our neighboring country to the west, the most successful nation in the world today. Think about what privilege really is," Talleyrand said.

"I don't understand your point," Ségur admitted. He couldn't follow Talleyrand's line of thought, which made him even less pleased with the bishop.

"At its core, privilege is the right to a good life," Talleyrand explained. "Traditional nobility once enjoyed this privilege simply because of their birth. But in modern times, this hereditary privilege has largely become obsolete. Even without a revolution, birthright has transformed into a privilege of wealth."

With a pause to let his words sink in, Talleyrand continued, "Let's take me as an example. I was born into a minor noble family, but my family was impoverished when I was born. Our wealth, except for a noble suffix in our name, had disappeared. Our family's life was no better than that of an ordinary third estate person and was even worse because they were wealthier. Money is privilege."

Talleyrand paused again, allowing everyone to digest his words. After a moment, he continued, "Let's look at the English. Do they have nobility? Yes, they do. Do they have respectable non-noble people? Yes, they do. Do they have a horde of penniless rabble? Of course. Why, then, can they have a 'Glorious Revolution' without bloodshed?"

"Why?" Ségur asked.

"Because the English understand that money is power, and power is money. These two things can be mutually exchanged. A person can be a noble, a clergyman, and a wealthy man simultaneously. There is no unbridgeable gap between these roles."

"Like you, Bishop?" Ségur asked, with a sarcastic smile.

"Yes," Talleyrand replied, unapologetically. "Only poverty creates a profound gap between privilege and the lack thereof. The nobility should realize this and open the gates of power to wealthy non-nobles. The well-off should join forces with the nobility to share power, and the nobility should share wealth. In the end, everyone will get what they want, which is why England is strong and stable."

"I've been trying to convince the king and other nobles for a long time, hoping they would follow the English example and unite all respectable people," Talleyrand continued. "But in France, there are too many fools. In the nobility, you have someone like Count d'Artois, who lives in the Middle Ages, thinking he can rule France as if it's still the Middle Ages and unwilling to share any benefits with the wealthy. He doesn't realize that money is power. The wealthy, or more precisely, the powerful non-nobles, won't allow him to manipulate them."

"Then there's the Duke of Orleans, a self-proclaimed smart fool. He recklessly opened the bottle containing the devil without considering the consequences. Should we really share power and wealth with these unlettered masses? France may be wealthy, but we can't evenly distribute it among the rabble. Yet the Duke of Orleans set them free and let them see their own power. Once they realize their power, they won't hesitate to use it for their benefit. But what they want, we can't provide because they want to live just like us. That's impossible!"

Nobles, as well as wealthy individuals, should naturally form a sacred alliance, Talleyrand argued. Due to their stubbornness, ignorance, and damn arrogance and ambition, they all had gone down the wrong path. An obstinate refusal to progress, even when progress could provide a better life, and an irresponsible release of the devil had plunged France into immense danger. Talleyrand believed that the king could no longer save France, but those present could. That's why he had come to them.

Ségur stared at Talleyrand, wide-eyed, for a long moment. Finally, he sighed, "Bishop Talleyrand, you are the Machiavelli of France, a man without faith."

"No, Mr. Ségur," Talleyrand said earnestly. "You're prejudiced against me. I may not truly believe in God, but I love France."

"Your faith doesn't interest us," Barnave added. "We know you were reprimanded for visiting Voltaire (who had been excommunicated for vehemently opposing the Catholic Church), and you later repented to the Red Archbishop. It was a sincere repentance, they say. But we're not concerned with that. What matters is how we can deal with the devils that have been let out of the bottle. Do you have any guidance for us on that?"

"There have always been two ways to put the devils back in the bottle," Talleyrand immediately replied.

"Which two ways?" Ségur asked.

"The first is Solomon's way, overpowering the devils by one's own strength and forcing them back into the bottle. The other way is the fisherman's way, deceiving them with lies and luring them to enter the bottle on their own."

"As a bishop, you're comparing us to the stories of non-believers," Ségur interjected.

"Seeking the truth, even in a distant land," Talleyrand replied.

"That's another pagan saying."

"France has already allied with the pagans."

"Let's get back to the point, gentlemen, Bishop," Barnave said. "Bishop Talleyrand, which method do you think we can use?"

"Both methods simultaneously," Talleyrand answered. "However, before we prepare to put the devils back in the bottle, we must find a way to deal with the person who released them from their prison due to his ambition. Otherwise, this prince, though limited in ability, has been causing trouble for the king for years. He knows very well how to create chaos in France, and there are few who understand the art of creating chaos in France better than him. If we don't deal with him first, our mission will be difficult to accomplish."

"How should we deal with him?" Ségur inquired.

"Let's not rush. Wait for him to make a mistake," Talleyrand advised.

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