January 3rd, 891, holy calendar, Bourbon Palace.
Three days after the inauguration speech, Furina walked into this building, which symbolized the highest power of France, for the first time as Madam President.
Winter sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting mottled light and shadows on the floor, like a jar of aged honey that had been overturned.
She walked down the long corridor, her footsteps echoing in the empty space.
Clemenceau followed behind her, holding a thick stack of documents.
The old man’s pace was faster than usual, carrying an irrepressible sense of urgency.
“Madam President,” he lowered his voice, his breath condensing into white mist in the cold air.
“Do you really intend to propose those bills today?”
“Otherwise?”
Furina did not stop, her eyes fixed on the carved wooden door ahead.
“Mr.
Clemenceau, you know the current situation in France better than I do.
For every day we delay, how many people starve to death?
How many factories go bankrupt?
How many children lose their future?”
Clemenceau fell silent.
He knew the answer to this question very well.
Over the past twenty years, behind the ‘economic growth data’ published annually by the Conservative Party government, lay the shattered lives of countless families.
Paris’s slums expanded every year, farmland in the south lay fallow every year, and factories in the north laid off workers every year.
Those numbers were not statistics; they were the weight of corpses.
They walked into the National Assembly hall.
This was the heart of the French Republic, with five hundred seats surrounding the central podium.
The dome was painted with murals of the Seven Divine Envoys—Wind, Water, Earth, Thunder, Ice, Fire, and Grass—the glory of five hundred years ago, now reduced to faded pigments and cracked plaster.
Furina noticed that the mural of the envoy representing “Water” was the most severely peeled, as if echoing the reality of France’s declining magic.
Furina stepped onto the podium.
The hall below was packed with people, over five hundred members of the Republican Party, wearing all sorts of clothes.
Workers’ coarse coveralls were stained with machine oil, the farmers’ rough cloth coats carried the scent of soil, and the intellectuals’ old suits had patches on the elbows.
They came from every corner of France, bringing their own accents and demands, but at this moment, they all looked in the same direction.
“Fellow members, fellow countrymen, fellow members of the Republican Party.”
Furina spoke, her voice echoing under the dome.
She did not use a loudspeaker; magic allowed her voice to reach every corner clearly, like water seeping into cracks in stone.
“Three days ago, I stood on the steps of the Bourbon Palace and took the oath of office to all the citizens of France.
I said that I would declare war on those plunderers.
Today, I have come to fulfill that promise.
This is the common decision of all members of our Republican Party; we have gathered precisely for this unified goal.
Now, the people of France have granted us the right to reform, so we must fulfill the promises we made during the campaign.”
She signaled to Clemenceau.
The old man stepped forward and placed the first bill on the podium in front of her; the parchment made a dull sound.
“‘State Asset Bill’.”
Furina read the name word by word.
“According to this bill, banks, mines, railways, electricity, postal services, and telecommunications—all industries related to the lifeline of the nation—will be nationalized.
And Workers’ Committees will be established to participate in management.”
A low hum erupted from below, like a swarm of bees being disturbed.
The workers’ representatives had bright eyes, their rough palms rubbing against their thighs;
The farmers’ representatives whispered to each other, confirming things with thick southern accents;
Some representatives from the petty bourgeoisie frowned;
Bertrand raised his hand several times to speak, but put it down again.
These petty bourgeoisie—those small factory owners, small merchants, lawyers, teachers—their reactions were more complex than Furina had anticipated.
This was not just because of the specific terms of the bill, but because of their fear of an unknown order.
“Some will think this is too radical.
Some will think this is an infringement on private property.
Some will think this will cause France to return to the era of imperial power.”
Furina continued, pressing her hands on the podium, her body leaning slightly forward.
“But I want to ask you,”
She held up a newspaper, yesterday’s ‘Paris Daily’, with the headline ‘Lille Textile Factory Fire, Thirty-Seven Child Workers Killed’, and below the headline was a blurry photo, with charred corpses vaguely visible.
When their fingers were crushed, when their corpses were swallowed by flames, were those factory owners’ property rights heavier than thirty-seven human lives?”
She held up another document, a petition sent by the Agrarian Party, densely signed with thousands of names, some with blood-red handprints next to the signatures, like withered flowers.
“I want to ask you, when the grain grown by farmers is snatched away by landlords, and they themselves starve to death, where is the fairness of the free market?
When they sweat in the fields, yet cannot afford even a piece of bread, where exactly is the freedom in such a market?”
Her voice grew higher and higher, forming echoes under the dome.
“I want to ask you, when bankers take depositors’ money to speculate, then close shop and run away when they lose everything, leaving ordinary people’s life savings in ruins, where are the rights of capital?
When a widow’s pension becomes waste paper, when an old person’s funeral money disappears without a trace, should these bankers’ rights be protected?”
The hall was extremely quiet, with even breathing audible.
“France should not be someone’s France, it should not be the France of a certain class; it should be the France of all the French people!”
Furina’s voice exploded under the dome, causing the glass windows to tremble slightly.
“Those who hold the lifeline of the nation, they are not creating value; they are plundering value!
They are not running businesses; they are running privileges!
They sit in offices, counting gold coins earned with the blood and sweat of others, yet claim this is their ‘Talents’ right.
This kind of right, from today on, is over!”
She took a deep breath, letting her voice calm down, but every word sounded like an iron nail tempered in fire.
“Therefore, we must take back these lifelines.
The method is clear: it is redemption.
The state will acquire the shares of these enterprises at a reasonable price.
Original business owners can choose to accept state shares and become managers under the new system; they can also choose to take cash and leave.
But regardless, from now on, these industries that concern the interests of all the French people must be controlled by all the French people together.”
She opened the specific terms of the bill, the sound of turning pages exceptionally clear in the silence.
“The banking system will be integrated into the Bank of France.
All private banks must complete the handover within three months; those who exceed this deadline will be forcibly taken over.
The National Bank will uniformly regulate the money supply, provide funds for infrastructure construction, provide loans for small and medium-sized enterprises, and provide low-interest credit for farmers.
And what are the interest rates?
Three percent annual interest for farmers’ loans, four percent annual interest for workers’ home purchase loans.
Those vampires who used to practice usury can go home.”
“The railway system will be nationalized, with unified scheduling and unified freight rates.
From now on, agricultural products in the south will not rot in the fields due to high freight costs, and industrial goods in the north will not be overpriced due to transportation costs.
From Paris to Marseille, freight rates will be reduced by forty percent.”
“Mines, electricity, postal services, telecommunications—all industries with natural monopoly characteristics will follow the same principles.
Electricity prices will be reduced by twenty-five percent, and miners’ wages will be increased by thirty percent.”
Furina’s voice became even more impassioned; she raised her right hand, her fingers slightly spread.
“And the most important: land.”
She paused for a moment, casting her gaze toward the representatives of the Agrarian Party, those men with dark skin and thick knuckles.
“Those landlords who occupy hundreds of hectares of land but never farm, those parasites who suck the blood and sweat of farmers based on a title deed—their era is over!”
“‘State Asset Bill’ stipulates that all land exceeding fifty hectares will be forcibly redeemed by the state!
These lands will not remain in the hands of the state, nor will they become new privileges; they will be distributed to farmers with no or little land, allowing everyone who tills the land to become the master of the land!”
Valde, the leader of the Agrarian Party, stood up abruptly, tears streaming down his face.
He remembered when he was young, his father being driven off the land by the landlord because he couldn’t pay the rent, and his mother starving to death at the door of the relief center.
He thought of the countless farmers in the south, working hard all their lives but unable to eat their fill, while the landlords sat in castles, drinking the wine they brewed and eating the Wheat they grew.
“Madam President…”
His voice trembled like a withered leaf in the wind.
Furina nodded to him and then continued:
“The redeemed land will be distributed equally per capita.
Every family, as long as they are willing to farm, will be able to obtain at least five hectares of land!
The state will provide seeds, farm tools, and low-interest loans, and the harvest for the first three years will belong entirely to you!
After three years, the agricultural tax will only be ten percent of the harvest!”
She paused, her gaze sweeping across the audience.
“This is a necessary move to make France a country again.
This is a declaration for farmers to become free people!
This is justice that is five hundred years late!”
She signaled to Clemenceau.
The old man handed over the second bill, his hands trembling slightly.
“‘Anti-Monopoly Law’.”
Furina continued.
In those industries that do not require direct state operation, we must ensure fair competition.
Any enterprise, if it employs more than 2,000 people and its market share exceeds fifty percent in the province, must be split up.
Any enterprise that squeezes out competitors through unfair means will face huge fines or even forced dissolution.
We want to let the market belong to the millions of ordinary people, not to three or five giants!”
A sigh of relief came from below.
The threshold of 2,000 people and 50% provincial market share meant that the vast majority of small and medium-sized enterprises, even factory owners like Bertrand who employed hundreds of people, would not be directly affected.
This was the result of Furina and Clemenceau’s late-night deliberations: defeat the giant beasts first, then talk about other things.
“Over the past twenty years, we have seen too many such examples.
A certain financial group controlled the entire steel supply of a province, then raised prices at will, making farm tools more expensive than gold.
A certain group monopolized all coal sales channels in a region, then squeezed the miners, letting workers freeze to death in winter.
This is not business; this is extortion!
This is a crime!”
The third bill.
“‘Labor Protection Law’.”
This time, the workers’ representatives below sat up straight, their backs as stiff as steel plates.
“The bill stipulates a maximum daily working hour of ten hours.
A maximum weekly working hour of sixty hours.
A complete ban on hiring child labor under the age of fourteen, and working hours for teenagers aged fourteen to sixteen will be halved.
Establish a minimum wage standard, linked to the cost of living in each province, adjusted annually.
Enterprise layoffs must be notified three months in advance and must be negotiated with the union.
Enterprise wage cuts must be agreed upon by the union.
Violators will be fined twenty percent of their annual turnover!”
Furina’s voice became a little softer, but more firm.
“I know some business owners will say this will increase costs, reduce competitiveness, and lead to factory closures.
But I say!
If an enterprise can only survive by squeezing workers, then it does not deserve to survive!
For such an enterprise, closing down is a blessing to society!”
The fourth bill.
“‘Gender Equality Bill’.”
“From now on, women enjoy the same rights to property inheritance, education, and employment as men.
Any discrimination based on gender will be considered illegal.
Women’s wages must be the same as men’s for the same type of work.
Widows have the right to inherit the entire family estate, without being forced to remarry or end up on the streets!”
The fifth bill.
“‘Tax Reform Bill’.”
“Re-enact progressive tax rates.
For an annual income below two thousand francs, the tax rate is five percent, only a symbolic payment.
…
For an annual income exceeding one hundred thousand francs, the tax rate can be accumulated up to eighty-five percent.
All tax exemption policies will be cancelled, and all tax evasion behavior will be severely punished.
We want the rich to pay more taxes, the poor to pay less, and let social wealth flow, rather than stagnating in the vaults of a few!”
After finishing, Furina placed the five bills on the podium, as if putting down five giant stones.
“These bills will have their first reading today.”
“I ask all members to prioritize the future of France, to prioritize the interests of all the French people, and support these bills.”
She stepped off the podium and returned to her seat.
Clemenceau sat next to her, handed her a glass of water, and whispered:
“It will be very difficult from here on.
Do you see?
In the third row on the right, Bertrand and those people, their faces look very bad.”
Furina took a sip of water.
“I see them.
They are small factory owners, employing seventy-seven people.”
“We need them,” Clemenceau’s voice was like rubbing silk.
“Without them, even if the bills are passed, they will be disobeyed during execution.
Madam President, we need to talk.”
_____________________________________________________________________