Unpublished, From the Desk of Citizen Laurent Ignace
Through my duties as Marshal of Orléans, my faith has been subjected to a terrible test. As a boy, I believed in the imperial system. As a man, I believed in the imperial system. But through these years of civil war I have been disillusioned. I have come to see the hollowness of what had once motivated my life. Marshals claim to fight for grand causes, lead thousands of their followers to death and their countrymen to ruination in the name of one ruler or another, as if one boy, one girl, or one woman shall change the fundamental state of the French people.
In truth, all of these factions: the Empress, the marshals rogue and loyalist alike, have fought only for their own power. Jeanne fights so that none may challenge her rule; Jourdain switches sides so that he might enjoy the fruits of victory, damn the men who have already died for his now-abandoned cause; Villeneuve, threatens to level his province to the ground out of spite alone.
Having recognized the venality of the motivations of the leaders of this civil war, those who I once regarded as my colleagues, what comes of any of their victories? Tyranny, reprisals, the impoverishment of the masses and the further crushing of the French people.
But there are always those who have proposed a different path. France has a proud history of such forward-thinkers, those who imagine a nation without such cruel dominance of the rich over the poor, the powerful over the powerless. In this age, such men and women are criminals. Long did I pursue my duty, believing it to be in service of higher goals of empire, suppressing these dissidents, seeing their works seized, their presses confiscated and their firebrands arrested. But as I did this, I came to realize the enormity of my own crimes. These were reasonable, people, good people, seeking the betterment of the French people as a whole. The crimes attributed to them pale in comparison to the immense crime of the tyranny that has been imposed upon them for centuries, a tyranny of royal blood and martial steel, of stolen labour and the starving poor.
In the twilight of my old faith, surrounded in the darkness of comforting lies I had gathered around myself, this truth was the one source of illumination.
To fight for the cause of empire is meaningless, it is foolishness, it is a game of death played by princelings and petty tyrants using the blood of the people they purport to protect as currency. This game I shall play no longer.
I have seen to the arrest of many of my own officers, as one of my last acts with the authority of an Imperial Marshal. I have since passed all of the legislative powers which I once held to a council of worker's deputies in Orléans, dissolved my own office and submitted myself to the people's judgement. It is my remaining wish to spend my life in a matter that may finally improve the plight of those who I have long wished to protect, but ever failed to truly liberate.
Laurent Ignace frowned as he looked at the typewritten message. Half a dozen others were printed out on the desk around him, illuminated by the dim orange glow of an oil lamp.
"Marcel?"
"Yes?"
"It still feels like... no matter what I say, they'll think it's nonsense."
"I believe in you, Comrade Ignace."
"I appreciate that. But this... it..."
"Perhaps you're taking the wrong approach. You are but a single man. Your explanation for yourself is, perhaps, not what is important. Talking mouths will ponder your sincerity regardless of what you say."
"So..." Laurent nodded slowly, seeing his comrade's angle, "Simply leave it to them to imagine. Speak with the action alone."
"Just so. You have dissolved the Marshalry and submitted yourself to the judgement of the Council of Deputies. Let them imagine it was a revolution from the bottom up, an act of your own corporals against you, or some harebrained scheme, for all it matters. But the French people will know that no matter the cause, an army of Orléans now marches not for any King or Queen..."
"...But for the people."
"Long live the people."
"Long live the people."
Through my duties as Marshal of Orléans, my faith has been subjected to a terrible test. As a boy, I believed in the imperial system. As a man, I believed in the imperial system. But through these years of civil war I have been disillusioned. I have come to see the hollowness of what had once motivated my life. Marshals claim to fight for grand causes, lead thousands of their followers to death and their countrymen to ruination in the name of one ruler or another, as if one boy, one girl, or one woman shall change the fundamental state of the French people.
In truth, all of these factions: the Empress, the marshals rogue and loyalist alike, have fought only for their own power. Jeanne fights so that none may challenge her rule; Jourdain switches sides so that he might enjoy the fruits of victory, damn the men who have already died for his now-abandoned cause; Villeneuve, threatens to level his province to the ground out of spite alone.
Having recognized the venality of the motivations of the leaders of this civil war, those who I once regarded as my colleagues, what comes of any of their victories? Tyranny, reprisals, the impoverishment of the masses and the further crushing of the French people.
But there are always those who have proposed a different path. France has a proud history of such forward-thinkers, those who imagine a nation without such cruel dominance of the rich over the poor, the powerful over the powerless. In this age, such men and women are criminals. Long did I pursue my duty, believing it to be in service of higher goals of empire, suppressing these dissidents, seeing their works seized, their presses confiscated and their firebrands arrested. But as I did this, I came to realize the enormity of my own crimes. These were reasonable, people, good people, seeking the betterment of the French people as a whole. The crimes attributed to them pale in comparison to the immense crime of the tyranny that has been imposed upon them for centuries, a tyranny of royal blood and martial steel, of stolen labour and the starving poor.
In the twilight of my old faith, surrounded in the darkness of comforting lies I had gathered around myself, this truth was the one source of illumination.
To fight for the cause of empire is meaningless, it is foolishness, it is a game of death played by princelings and petty tyrants using the blood of the people they purport to protect as currency. This game I shall play no longer.
I have seen to the arrest of many of my own officers, as one of my last acts with the authority of an Imperial Marshal. I have since passed all of the legislative powers which I once held to a council of worker's deputies in Orléans, dissolved my own office and submitted myself to the people's judgement. It is my remaining wish to spend my life in a matter that may finally improve the plight of those who I have long wished to protect, but ever failed to truly liberate.
Laurent Ignace frowned as he looked at the typewritten message. Half a dozen others were printed out on the desk around him, illuminated by the dim orange glow of an oil lamp.
"Marcel?"
"Yes?"
"It still feels like... no matter what I say, they'll think it's nonsense."
"I believe in you, Comrade Ignace."
"I appreciate that. But this... it..."
"Perhaps you're taking the wrong approach. You are but a single man. Your explanation for yourself is, perhaps, not what is important. Talking mouths will ponder your sincerity regardless of what you say."
"So..." Laurent nodded slowly, seeing his comrade's angle, "Simply leave it to them to imagine. Speak with the action alone."
"Just so. You have dissolved the Marshalry and submitted yourself to the judgement of the Council of Deputies. Let them imagine it was a revolution from the bottom up, an act of your own corporals against you, or some harebrained scheme, for all it matters. But the French people will know that no matter the cause, an army of Orléans now marches not for any King or Queen..."
"...But for the people."
"Long live the people."
"Long live the people."