The Radiant Republic

When André pulled the hot towel away from his face, he looked into the bright mirror and saw his true self once again: a handsome fellow with a full, rounded face and fair, smooth skin. Standing nearby, Madame Marguerite was unfazed by the sight. She took a golden tray from the attendant waiting outside the door and turned back toward him. On the tray were the items André required every morning: a single-edge razor and a bar of local soap that gave off a faint fragrance.

As was his custom, André grabbed the razor, applied some soap, worked up a lather, and quickly shaved his beard in a few strokes. After wiping his chin with the hot towel once more, he fixed his gaze on the razor. The entire blade was polished to a brilliant shine, casting a mesmerizing metallic glow under the candlelight overhead. Indeed, this single-edge razor, which people of later generations would consider incredibly primitive and crude, was among the first stainless steel products of the eighteenth century.

Ten months ago, the French chemist Vauquelin had discovered the metal chromium in iron ore from Lorraine. Subsequently, at the request of his primary benefactor, André, the young chemist began attempting to fuse chromium into steel, striving to ensure the chromium content reached at least eighteen percent.

After six months of tireless effort, the twenty-year-old Vauquelin, aided by several metallurgical technicians, finally obtained a brilliant and dazzling new type of steel. Most incredibly, this material—which Commander André had already pre-emptively named "stainless steel"—did not rust even after being completely submerged in water for two months (though this was limited to freshwater). Meanwhile, ordinary iron and steel could not last more than a few days before unsightly rust spots appeared on the surface.

Soon after, a machinery plant located in the Châlons industrial base followed André's instructions and used half of the ten kilograms of stainless steel obtained to produce the world’s first batch of stainless steel cutlery and kitchenware: fruit knives, folding knives, razors, as well as forks, spoons, and fruit platters. In late December 1792, these were sent to the administrative palace in Brussels as a New Year's gift dedicated to Commander André.

During a banquet hosted for foreign guests, Madame Marguerite had, whether intentionally or not, left a stainless steel fruit knife in the indoor fountain pool. When the Archbishop of Brussels returned to the same spot two weeks later, he was astonished to find that the fruit knife, after being submerged for seven days, remained as lustrous as new, without the slightest hint of rust. (While stainless steel products appeared in the nineteenth century, their cheap, large-scale use did not occur until the early twentieth century.)

The incident immediately caused a massive sensation throughout Brussels. Many diplomats, politicians, wealthy nobles, and tycoons flocked to the administrative palace to view these miraculous steel implements that never rusted. Seeking to capitalize on the interest, André, with Marguerite's consent, sent the thirty or so stainless steel items sent by the Reims Institute to a Brussels auction house for public sale. He kept only a single razor for himself; the fruit knife that stayed forever bright belonged to Madame Marguerite, while a small stainless steel bowl was reserved for his two-year-old daughter, Marie.

Although this stainless steel was still extremely expensive in the eighteenth century—costing roughly twice the weight of silver—the total production cost was only around three thousand francs. Once the sensational effect took hold, the thirty-two stainless steel items at the auction house successfully raked in one million five hundred thousand francs, a three-hundredfold return. Starting in December 1792, the "Reims franc" became the official currency of the Belgian region, replacing the thaler that had circulated among the German states.

Of course, such a windfall could only be exploited once or twice. After all, mining and smelting chromium was arduous and dangerous, with a high risk of chromium poisoning. This meant that the production capacity of stainless steel could not be increased but was instead scaled back, as the small amount of chromium refined in the laboratory was mostly used for specialized seamless steel pipes.

At the start of the new year in 1793, André took half of the proceeds from the auction of the stainless steel products—about six hundred thousand francs—and, in the name of Madame Marguerite, invested it into a fund for textile and dyeing factories being established by Comte Michel-Jean Simon. The remaining half was donated by André in the name of his young daughter, Marie, to the Catholic Church in Brussels, specifically earmarked for the relief of abandoned infants and orphans under the age of twelve throughout Belgium.

Following this move, the prestige of the industrial and commercial faction led by Comte Michel-Jean Simon soared. The textile and dyeing factories under preparation were immediately sought after by the Dutch exchange and investors of all stripes. Meanwhile, André's massive donation to the Brussels Church's charitable works greatly eased his tensions with the Catholic Church, gradually dissolving the final traces of friction between the conqueror and the Walloons.

Even so, André remained steadfast in his religious policy: "Render unto God what is God's, and unto Caesar what is Caesar's." Both the military police and the Ministry of Police strictly forbade the Catholic Church from owning any land outside of churches or monasteries, and priests of all ranks were prohibited from involving themselves in secular fields outside of relief, healthcare, and education. Violators were punished without leniency.

Regarding basic education, the educational funds and teacher reserves currently controlled by André could only guarantee the promotion of compulsory education in the fifteen northern provinces of France for at least the next three to five years. In Belgium and the vast regions on the west bank of the Rhine, various forms of primary education still relied on the local Catholic Church or the traditional strength of other Protestant denominations.

By the start of 1793, nearly all eighty thousand citizens of Brussels acknowledged that since the arrival of the French, the Belgian region had not only seen the restoration of peaceful life but also a significant improvement in the supply of goods compared to the Southern Netherlands under Austrian rule. Most importantly, construction sites were roaring everywhere, and employment opportunities were abundant.

Taking Brussels as a comparison, half a year ago, the city—especially its outskirts—was almost silent. People from the countryside brought their families to the urban area to find any job just to survive. To this end, they lived in simple tents or abandoned monasteries, dreaming of peace and stability, earning a bit of money each day at construction sites to buy bread for their families, living in miserable poverty. Even so, these people had to endure a series of hopes and disappointments, panics, violence, suppression, and wars since the Brabant Revolution of 1790.

Now, the war and internal strife had ended in October of last year, and this beautiful city had returned to the normal order of several years ago. Through the efforts of the administrative palace and André, a large tract of wasteland on the right bank of the Senne River—a tributary of the Scheldt—in the northeastern suburbs of Brussels was planned as an industrial base similar to the western suburbs of Châlons.

Starting two months ago, various machinery plants, textile mills, and dyeing factories were rising one after another. Although the wages and benefits provided by Comte Michel-Jean Simon were quite ordinary, they included free room and board for the workers' families and free education for their children, which in turn attracted tens of thousands of urban residents back to the suburbs. Providing housing, food, and educational benefits for workers' families was done at André's request.

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While the war of national defense was at its height, the military police, acting on André's instructions to replenish the strategic general reserve, had recruited a volunteer army from the Châlons industrial base. They secured over thirty thousand troops almost overnight. Because the Battle of Valmy proceeded exceptionally smoothly, these thirty thousand volunteers, who had been waiting with their boots on, never had to march to the battlefield. However, in their reports, the military police repeatedly emphasized the obedience and discipline of the workers, which left a deep impression on André.

Despite André's constant advocacy for friendly diplomatic relations with Britain—even going so far as to humbly cater to various reasonable and unreasonable demands from British diplomats—he knew in his heart that the peace between the two countries across the English Channel had officially entered its countdown. This was directly related to the public trial of the former King Louis XVI by the National Convention in Paris.

At the same time, neither British envoys nor diplomats from other European nations could persuade André to intervene in this unjust and illegal verdict. No matter what price they offered, André remained unmoved. Le Figaro, acting as André's mouthpiece in Paris, also maintained a biased neutrality in its reporting on the former king's trial.

In November of last year, when a reporter from The Times saw French textiles in a London market that were similar in price and quality to those from Manchester, he was greatly surprised. He expressed his concerns in the newspaper, vigorously claiming that the French textile industry had achieved great success. He warned that in three years, five years, or perhaps even less, French cotton textiles would threaten British trade exports.

Of course, those words were merely the alarmist rhetoric of a British journalist. Even if the number of spindles at the Châlons base continued to increase to five times its original amount within a year, it would still only be one-tenth of the yarn capacity of Manchester. The total amount of gauze produced could not yet meet half of the demand within France itself, let alone threaten Britain.

But the textile mills in the northern suburbs of Brussels were different; they possessed uniquely favorable conditions. The coal mines of Namur and the steam engines produced in Châlons provided a steady stream of power for the textile machinery. Regarding raw materials, there were many cotton plantations in the eastern Flanders plains and the central hilly regions. Furthermore, the presence of the Dutch—the "Carriers of the Sea"—meant that cotton and grain from Russia, Prussia, and Poland could be conveniently shipped via merchant vessels from the Baltic, around the Jutland Peninsula, and through the North Sea directly to the textile mills on the Senne River. Relying on the Dutch also ensured that Belgian cotton yarn products could be sent all over the world.

Drawing on the successful experience of the Châlons textile mills, steam-powered spinning frames and power looms independently developed and produced by the Châlons machinery plant—representing the most advanced level of the age—were sufficient to be deployed on a large scale in the Brussels industrial base. In the future, the maximum design capacity of the northern suburb textile base would be twenty times that of Châlons, or even higher.

To this end, the Ministry of Police and the military police jointly launched a large-scale cleanup of urban criminal organizations. One aspect was defining the organization and leadership of beggar gangs as an extremely serious crime, second only to armed rebellion. Those beggar leaders who refused to change their ways either faced the gallows in the city square for their long-accumulated felonies or were driven into the gloomy coal mines of Namur to serve fifteen to twenty years of hard labor; it was almost impossible for anyone to survive until the day of their release.

Naturally, those urban beggars who were incapable of making a living could remain in the shelters run by various churches. Children under the age of twelve could receive a free primary education in various church schools. As for those able-bodied but lazy beggars, if they were encountered by street patrols for three consecutive days, they would be forcibly sent to a job center for "three days of training," and then collectively sent to suburban construction sites to haul sand and stone for three months of punitive labor.

André knew that once the Brussels northern suburb textile base was successfully completed and its production capacity fully released, it would pose the greatest and most direct threat to the British textile industry. Whether it was King George III, Prime Minister William Pitt the Younger, or British machinery and textile merchants and their representatives in the House of Commons, they would all use publications like The Times and the London Press to inspire and incite the public, advocating for the next political, economic, and military war against the André faction.

…

The Grand-Duc Garden in the center of Brussels was originally the royal garden of the Governor of the Austrian Netherlands, Duc de Teschen. It was a French-style garden modeled after Versailles. Half a year ago, when the governor's palace became the administrative palace, this royal garden—complete with lawns, woods, fountains, statues, cafes, art galleries, and an open-air opera house, which had previously been enjoyed only by autocratic monarchs and feudal nobles—became a public park for the city. According to the park's regulations, it was open to all citizens for free every day between eight in the morning and five in the afternoon.

Therefore, for security reasons, André’s jogging time in the administrative palace park was usually at five-thirty in the afternoon, after the park had closed. Afterward, he would walk back to the North Wing of the administrative palace, which served as both his residence and office. Previously, Major Kellermann the Younger had accompanied the commander, but after the Major was sent on an assignment to Rotterdam, Scharnhorst stayed by André's side, becoming his running partner for one hour every evening.

In the early days of January 1793, André often contemplated religious matters. Meanwhile, negotiations with the secret envoy of the Roman Curia continued intermittently in the churches of Brussels.

During their jog, the tall bell tower of St. Michael’s Cathedral nearby chimed on the hour once again. At that moment, André suddenly stopped. He turned back, pointed his finger toward the towering bell tower of the church, and spoke to Major Scharnhorst, who was following closely behind: "Look, I walk or jog in this natural tranquility every day. The sound of the church bells shakes me before I even realize it, moving my heart profoundly."

He glanced at the staff officer. Scharnhorst nodded hastily, expressing his agreement with the commander's view. André continued: "And so I thought, such power must have a tremendous impact on a simple people who are inclined toward faith! Philosophers, thinkers, and politicians must take this into account!…

"Because of this, I strongly agree with the views of the Populist leader Vonck and the Archbishop of Brussels; we must encourage the people here to maintain their original religious beliefs. However, it must be pointed out that the power of religion is so formidable that it must be held in the hands of the government, not in the hands of the Pope in Rome or other Archbishops."

Scharnhorst listened intently by his side, bowing his head without offering any comment, for he was neither a philosopher, nor a thinker, nor a politician; he wasn't even a devout Christian. In recent months, Major Scharnhorst had visited the church less than half as many times as André. The Hanoverian had been given a task by the supreme commander: after becoming fully familiar with the French army’s combat system, he was to re-implement a brand-new general staff system.

André took a fur robe handed to him by an attendant, draped it casually over his shoulders, and continued speaking as they walked: "The clergy and the entire church system will exist forever. As long as there is a religious consciousness in the hearts of men, the clergy will exist, and this religious spirit is something they possess naturally… When we lead the people, we must take this into serious consideration. The chaos in Paris stems first from the loss of the old faith, while the new faith is not yet mature…"

At this point, André suddenly cut his speech short. He saw an old acquaintance standing in the grand hall of the North Wing, leaning against a corner with his arms crossed, watching him with a cheerful smile.

"Haha, André, you should have become a philosopher!" the newcomer said with a hearty laugh.