He Became Napoleon’S Genius Son [EN]: Chapter 145

(145) The Russian Empire Learns of Napoleon

The land of frozen soil, untouched by the flames of revolution, still existed far to the east of France.

Saint Petersburg, a beautiful city facing the sea, remained a bastion of the old order.

In the southeastern part of this city, which froze solid in winter, stood a magnificent Western-style palace reminiscent of Versailles.

The palace’s owner, an elderly noblewoman, gazed out at the manicured garden and remarked, “Do you know that the one who built this palace shares the same title and rank as I do?”

The palace was called Tsarskoye Selo, meaning “Tsar’s Village” [the Emperor’s Village].

It was a tall, four-story building erected on the highest hill in the village center, rumored to have been adorned with a staggering 100 kilograms of gold.

French golden silk, lapis lazuli from Lake Baikal, and Qing Dynasty ceramics were prominently displayed throughout the palace, showcasing the empire’s vast reach and wealth.

Russia, a vast empire encompassing both East and West, held immense power.

The ruler of this empire, known as “Rossiya” [Russia] in their language, was currently a woman.

Born a daughter of a Prussian nobleman, she had risen to become the Empress of Russia and then ousted her husband to become the Emperor, a truly remarkable woman for her time.

Empress Catherine II, the Tsarina, walked through the palace with a cane, her steps measured and deliberate, and asked a question of her attendant.

An old general with snow-white hair, attending her from behind, smiled gently.

It was a surprisingly warm smile for those familiar with the old general’s cynical nature.

“Empress Catherine I built it, Your Majesty,” he replied. “But it wasn’t as grand as it is now.”

“Many renovations have been made, indeed. But I didn’t know this place would become my tomb, General.”

“You will recover, Your Majesty,” the general said with a reassuring tone.

Empress Catherine narrowed her dim eyes and shook her head slowly. “No, it’s over for me now. Perhaps the partition of Polska [Poland] will be my last significant achievement.”

Polska, that was what the Polish people called their country.

It was now a name fading from the map, a nation swallowed by its neighbors.

Three monarchs had plotted against Poland, and three countries had partitioned it.

Frederick of Prussia, Maria Theresa of Austria, and Catherine of Russia had each taken their share.

This was also the reason why nobles like Suukovski had been forced to leave their homeland, Poland, seeking refuge elsewhere.

In particular, Russia, despite being an underdeveloped region in many ways, had gained enormous military advantages by occupying the northeastern part of Poland.

They were now able to defend all routes into the Russian capital region from Eastern Europe, bolstering their security.

However, the proud Polish people, who had maintained their independence for so long, repeatedly revolted against their occupiers.

The most recent revolt had occurred in 1794.

Marshal Suvorov, standing silently behind Catherine, was the one who had ruthlessly suppressed that revolt.

How had Suvorov suppressed the Polish uprising, which had been deemed a major rebellion?

Massacre.

Alexander Vasilyevich Suvorov, a man known for his warmth towards his sovereign but his coldness towards his enemies, stated simply, “The people of Polska will never revolt again, Your Majesty.”

“I made you do something terrible,” Catherine said, a hint of regret in her voice.

“God allows anything that the Empire, the Emperor, and the Church desire. It was my duty. No, not just me, but every soldier in the Rossiya Empire would have done the same. Wouldn’t you agree, Field Marshal Kutuzov?”

A rather plump middle-aged man, who had been wiping away sweat, hurriedly stood at attention, straightening his uniform.

“Of course, Commander-in-Chief. And Your Majesty.”

Suvorov and Kutuzov.

The two pillars currently supporting the Russian Imperial Army, their reputations forged in battle.

As demonstrated in the battles against the Turks and Poles, they were formidable commanders.

However, there was something noticeably strange about the face of the middle-aged Mikhail Illarionovich Kutuzov.

His right eye was severely misaligned, almost crossed, a permanent reminder of a past injury.

Contrary to his grotesque appearance, there was a glorious story behind this disfigurement.

About 20 years prior, during the Turkish War, a bullet had pierced his head, a testament to his bravery.

He was truly a veteran general who had achieved great feats while overcoming life-threatening situations, earning the respect of his peers.

Still, he was just a young one in front of the Emperor and the old general, aware of his place in the hierarchy.

Catherine smiled contentedly and then her expression hardened, her eyes narrowing.

“The Great Rebellion in France is bringing a bad wind our way.”

“What do you mean, Your Majesty?” Suvorov asked, his brow furrowing.

“The army is perhaps a small problem. The real issue is the serfs at the bottom of our empire, the simmering discontent that could boil over at any moment.”

Catherine said, staring intently at the meticulously maintained garden in front of the detached palace.

“Do you remember Pugachev’s Rebellion? It seemed like nothing at the time, a minor disturbance, but it turned into a major rebellion that shook the entire empire. France is the same. They killed the king, commoners seized power, and then they destroyed the entire aristocracy.”

In the year 1773, when Kutuzov was shot in the Crimea, Russia had faced a significant internal rebellion.

The nomadic Cossacks, who had originally guarded the Russian steppes, had launched a major revolt against the empire.

The one who led the rebellion at the time was a charismatic Cossack named Pugachev.

This rebellion, which had once swept through southern Russia, remained a chilling memory for the Empress, a reminder of the fragility of her rule.

Since then, the oppression of serfs had been further strengthened, and the empire’s rule had become even more authoritarian, seeking to prevent any future uprisings.

But an even greater event had occurred in the west, in France, threatening to destabilize the entire continent.

It was an event that had abolished the monarchy, going far beyond a simple rebellion, challenging the very foundations of European power.

The Emperor, Catherine, gritted her teeth and said to Suvorov, her voice laced with concern.

“I had to completely change my life as an enlightened monarch because of Pugachev’s Rebellion. But now, the winds of a great rebellion are blowing again from the west, threatening to undo everything I’ve built!”

“No one doubts Your Majesty’s sincerity. All the people are grateful to you for your leadership and vision.”

“Nonsense! They are all just waiting for me to die, eager to see what comes next. Especially even my own son!”

Suddenly, Catherine stared intently at Suvorov, her gaze piercing.

“Pavel is hopeless,” she declared, her voice filled with disappointment.

“Your Majesty,” Suvorov protested gently.

“He won’t last long as Emperor. So, I ask you to take care of my grandson then. Alexander?”

At that moment, a pale-faced boy appeared from inside the detached palace, his presence almost hesitant.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he responded, his voice soft.

A man on the border between youth and adulthood, now 19 years old, stood before them.

He still had a fragile appearance, but there was an unusual light in his eyes, a spark of ambition.

Sometimes it looked like brilliance, but it was often closer to instability, a hint of the challenges to come.

Alexander, Catherine’s grandson, who was being groomed to inherit the Romanov family’s legacy, stood ready.

He was also the son of Pavel, who was currently appointed as the Crown Prince, next in line for the throne.

However, Catherine was only concerned about her grandson, having seemingly given up on her own son, Pavel, deeming him unfit to rule.

Why?

Catherine had a valid reason, in her mind.

Pavel was incompetent and too much like his father, Peter III, Catherine’s deceased husband, a man she had overthrown.

He was suspicious, cruel, and lacked sound judgment, making him a dangerous choice for Emperor.

On the other hand, her grandson Alexander was quite intelligent and seemed to possess the qualities of a good leader.

Even if he was not a remarkable monarch, he was at least a normal one, capable of maintaining the empire’s stability.

Catherine grabbed Alexander with her wrinkled hand and introduced him to Suvorov, her grip surprisingly firm.

“This child is the true next Emperor of Rossiya. Alexander, look at them. They are soldiers who will be loyal to you, men who will defend your right to rule.”

“Y-Your Majesty,” Alexander stammered, surprised by the sudden declaration.

“Your Majesty, this is too heavy a burden for us junior officers to bear,” one of the generals protested, shifting uncomfortably.

The leaders of the Polish occupation forces, including Suvorov, Kutuzov, and Korsakov, stood in nervous attention.

They had only come to report to the Empress that the conquest of Poland was complete, a moment of triumph turned into a moment of anxiety.

But the Empress had entrusted the generals with too great a task, a dangerous proposition that could have far-reaching consequences.

An implication to overthrow Pavel in an emergency and seat Alexander on the throne, a blatant disregard for the established line of succession.

Catherine looked back at Alexander, her eyes filled with expectation.

“Remember. If Pavel goes down the wrong path, then you must make a decision, a difficult choice that will determine the fate of Russia.”

Alexander nodded with a pale face, understanding the weight of her words.

The generals, who had been hesitating, eventually paid their respects to Alexander when Catherine stared at them, her gaze unwavering.

They judged that a grandson who seemed normal was better than an incompetent and violent Crown Prince, a pragmatic decision driven by self-preservation.

Only then did Catherine let out a sigh of relief and asked again, changing the subject abruptly.

“Hmph, I feel like I’ve finished my will now. But, Bonaparte? The one who dissolved the Holy Roman Empire?”

“Yes, that’s right, Your Majesty,” Suvorov confirmed.

“What do you think, can we win against him? General Suvorov?” Catherine asked, her voice filled with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

Suvorov pondered the information he had heard about Napoleon for a moment, carefully considering the implications, and then said with conviction, “We can win.”

“How?” Catherine pressed, eager to hear his strategy.

“We just need to pour in the resources, commit fully to the fight. Austria lost something bigger because they conserved their resources, holding back when they should have gone all in.”

It was a very simple principle, but one that held profound truth.

But it also accurately captured one of the reasons why Austria was defeated by Napoleon, their hesitation and lack of commitment proving costly.

The fact that they failed to exert all their strength in a wartime situation was one of Austria’s causes of defeat, a lesson Russia could learn from.

The Empress gazed at Suvorov for a moment, her expression unreadable, and then smiled, a hint of relief in her eyes.

“I’m relieved, General. I leave the future in your capable hands, trusting that you will guide Russia to victory.”

Bright flowers in the spring detached palace greeted the Empress, a symbol of hope amidst the looming threat.

***

South of Tsarskoye Selo, there was another palace said to have been built by a former Swedish nobleman, a stark contrast to the opulence of the imperial residence.

– Chuck, chuck, chuck!

The palace was called Gatchina, once owned by Count Orlov, who had been Empress Catherine’s lover, a reminder of her past indiscretions.

Back then, it was famous as a neat and beautiful palace with the introduction of an English-style garden, a peaceful retreat from the pressures of court.

But now, soldiers in bleak green uniforms roamed this palace, their presence a sign of the changing times and the growing militarization of Russia.

A young man with a violent face shouted at the soldiers who were practicing marching with bayonets, his voice harsh and demanding.

“Gatchina Company, prepare for simultaneous firing!”

The marching soldiers suddenly snapped into firing positions, their movements precise and well-rehearsed.

The reloading speed was comparable to that of Austria’s elite troops or Napoleon’s legions, a testament to their rigorous training.

Just as the reloading was quickly completed, the man gave a sharp order.

“Commence firing!”

The soldiers in green uniforms simultaneously opened fire on the front, unleashing a volley of deadly projectiles.

– Bang! Bang! Bang!

At the same time, blood splattered in front, staining the ground a gruesome red.

“Aaaagh!”

It was people.

Those who were tied to poles and unable to escape were mercilessly shot and killed, their screams echoing through the palace grounds.

Behind them, poles set up in 10 rows stood with people tied to them, awaiting their turn to face the firing squad.

Everyone was trembling and only looking at the bullets, their faces etched with terror.

Suddenly, the young man with the violent face raised his hand with satisfaction and turned his gaze towards a figure standing nearby.

“What do you think, Your Highness the Grand Duke?”

Grand Duke, or Veliky Knyaz [Grand Prince].

The Russian Empire tended to overuse titles, but even so, the title of Grand Duke was only bestowed upon direct imperial family members, signifying their high status.

Pavel, a middle-aged man with drooping eyes and blond hair, quietly looked at the soldiers and nodded, his expression impassive.

“Good, the accuracy has improved. It’s a pity we couldn’t kill the prisoners all at once, a waste of ammunition.”

He was Pavel, the only male member of the Romanov family among Empress Catherine’s children, the heir apparent to the throne.

However, Pavel was always anxious about the issue of succession to the throne, plagued by doubts and insecurities.

Why?

There was a rumor circulating in the palace, a whisper that cast a shadow over his legitimacy.

The story that the former Emperor, Peter III, was impotent, unable to father children.

Therefore, there was a rumor that Pavel was also a child born from Catherine’s affair with another nobleman, questioning his true parentage.

No one knew the truth for certain, the secret carefully guarded within the walls of the palace.

Only Catherine knew the truth, the burden of knowledge weighing heavily on her.

One thing was certain.

When Catherine ousted Peter III in a palace coup, Pavel was also kicked out and rarely saw his mother’s face, creating a deep rift between them.

Pavel was relieving that anxiety in this way, through displays of power and control.

With very cruel military training, he sought to prove his strength and assert his authority.

As a result, an elite small unit was formed that was not inferior to the Western armies, a force to be reckoned with.

Of course, thanks to this, the prisoners were dying, their lives sacrificed in the name of military excellence.

Pavel looked back at the violent young man, Count Alexei Arakcheyev, his trusted advisor and enforcer.

“The Holy Roman Empire has been dissolved?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Yes, Your Highness the Grand Duke. The rebel army of France has finally won, dismantling the old order.”

“Damn it, it’s a truly dangerous thing, a threat to everything we hold dear. But, Mother is just leaving it alone! I don’t know when that Bonaparte will come here, knocking on our door!”

Suddenly, Pavel, who had been calmly watching the soldiers until then, became furious and shouted, his composure shattered.

“In order to stop that rebellion, we shouldn’t have occupied Poland. We need to control the nobles even more, and strengthen military discipline. Reduce the burden on the serfs to reduce the possibility of rebellion! We need far more elite troops! Not just company-sized!”

He was the Crown Prince whom everyone thought was incompetent, a man dismissed as unfit to rule.

But surprisingly, there were points where his judgment was accurate, his insights revealing a keen understanding of Russia’s vulnerabilities.

Russia, which looked like a huge empire, had several weaknesses that could be exploited by its enemies.

Too strong aristocratic groups, too many serfs, too vast a territory, all contributing to instability.

The nobles weakened the central power, the existence of serfs weakened national productivity, and the vast territory weakened the defense line, making it difficult to protect.

Even Poland, which Catherine boasted as an achievement, was a problem, a potential liability.

If Poland had remained independent, it could have been made a buffer zone to block the French army that would come from the west, providing a crucial layer of defense.

Of course, the Empress, Catherine, didn’t seem to think that the French army would come to distant Russia, dismissing the threat as unlikely.

However, there was a reason why the nobles, soldiers, and the Empress had given up on the Crown Prince who judged so accurately, his erratic behavior and volatile temperament overshadowing his insights.

“This kind of force is not enough!”

In an instant, Pavel, who was excited, ran and snatched a gun from the soldiers, his actions impulsive and unpredictable.

The soldiers were embarrassed, but they dared not touch their lord, fearing his wrath.

The commander Arakcheyev was the same, hesitant to intervene.

It was then.

“Count, can’t you stop my father?” a voice called out, breaking the tense silence.

Arakcheyev was surprised, turned his body, and bowed his head respectfully.

“Your Highness the Grand Duke. What brings you here?”

“I came to see my mother. I came to see how my father was doing, but it’s a mess, as always,” the Grand Duke replied, his voice filled with resignation.

“T-That’s because he heard the news of the rebel army in France, it has agitated him greatly,” Arakcheyev stammered, trying to explain Pavel’s behavior.

Pavel’s son, Catherine’s grandson, the Grand Duke of Russia, stood before them.

Alexander stared intently from behind at the sight of his father wielding a bayonet, his expression a mixture of concern and disappointment.

Although his grandmother had given up on his father, Alexander still didn’t want to give up, clinging to a sliver of hope.

But whenever he saw such a sight, Alexander also wanted to turn away, unable to bear witness to his father’s cruelty and instability.

“When it’s over, clean it up properly. It shouldn’t leak outside, we can’t afford another scandal,” Alexander instructed, his voice weary.

Alexander turned his body and walked away, unable to watch any longer.

The screams of the prisoners echoed from behind, a haunting reminder of the brutality taking place.

It was a bloodbath being waged by Pavel, the next successor to the Russian Empire, a glimpse into the potential future of Russia.

***

For these reasons, neither the Emperor nor the Crown Prince was actually in the capital of the Russian Empire, leaving a power vacuum in their absence.

This was because the Emperor was in the detached palace, tending to her failing health, and the Crown Prince was confined to his territory, indulging in his military obsessions.

So, it was strangely the Emperor’s grandson who was guarding the capital, responsible for maintaining order and stability.

Alexander, the Crown Prince’s grandson, and Pavel’s children, including his younger brother Constantine, guarded Saint Petersburg, a city on the brink of change.

Today, with a tired body, Alexander returned to his imperial palace residence in Saint Petersburg, seeking respite from the day’s events.

“Alexander, how is Grand Duke Pavel?” a voice asked, greeting him upon his arrival.

As soon as he arrived, Alexander was greeted by the Crown Prince’s Grand Duchess, Elizaveta, his wife.

“He’s the same as ever. He’s playing soldier, lost in his own world,” Alexander replied, his voice laced with weariness.

“Your mother must be worried. Why don’t you move your residence from Katchina? All your other younger siblings have already come to Petersburg, haven’t they?” Elizaveta suggested, her concern evident.

“No way,” Alexander said firmly.

Alexander shook his head at Elizaveta with a tired face, dismissing the idea.

“Because His Majesty the Emperor will pass away soon, and everything will change,” he explained, his tone somber.

The Emperor, Catherine’s illness was critical, her life hanging by a thread.

So, Pavel was the next Tsar unless there was a special problem, a disruption to the established order.

The position of Tsar would not be shaken by killing prisoners, his actions deemed irrelevant in the grand scheme of succession.

Above all, Alexander himself did not want to abandon his father, despite his flaws and shortcomings.

Unlike Catherine’s expectations, Alexander still held a sense of filial duty.

At that time, a girl who had visited the Crown Prince’s palace to chat with Elizaveta asked a question, her voice filled with innocence.

“Brother, then what will happen to us?” she inquired, seeking reassurance.

Alexander had six younger sisters, all dependent on his protection.

The second younger sister, 12-year-old Elena, was particularly close to him.

She was also the most favored child of her grandmother, Catherine, who said she was the prettiest of her younger sisters, showering her with affection.

Alexander also cherished this sister the most, holding her in high regard.

Even more than his wife, with whom he had recently begun to grow apart, their relationship strained by the pressures of court and the uncertainties of the future.

Suddenly, Alexander smiled at Elena, his expression softening.

“Don’t worry. I will protect you, and our family, no matter what happens,” he vowed, his voice filled with determination.

Lightly lifting Elena, Alexander’s eyes flashed with a steely resolve.

“No matter what it takes. From the revolution, from Father. Even if someone called Bonaparte really comes to Rossiya, we will stand strong,” he declared, his gaze unwavering.

Alexander’s gaze was directed towards the map beyond the wall of the Crown Prince’s palace, a symbol of Russia’s vast power and reach.

A vast empire spanning Europe and Asia, a land of immense resources and potential.

A map depicting the territory of Russia, the largest country on earth, stretching across continents.

“Absolutely, no one can defeat our empire,” he proclaimed, his voice filled with conviction.

In 1796, Russia was still in hibernation, unaware of the storm brewing on the horizon.

But when this sleep broke, Napoleon would face a more terrifying enemy than anyone else, a force that would test his limits.

Eugene too, would be drawn into this conflict, his fate intertwined with the destiny of Russia.