He Became Napoleon’S Genius Son [EN]: Chapter 504

(504) The Café Returns to Paris

Paris was now truly teeming with anti-Bonaparte sentiment.

“Drive out Bonaparte and end the war!”

The National Guard marched through the streets, their shouts echoing, while the citizens watched with a detached indifference.

In truth, they had little choice. The economic situation had deteriorated even further since the National Guard’s uprising.

Only the emergency relief supplies arriving from the British-seized northern ports had prevented the Paris [Neo-Jacobin: a radical political faction] government from collapsing long ago.

This was why they could still sip Jamaican coffee from British colonies in the cafés of Paris.

Perrier, the former director of the French Central Bank, grimaced at the coffee’s bitter taste and spoke, “I heard the Emperor was victorious, Monsieur Perego.”

“Have you noticed the tone of [Le Moniteur: an official French newspaper] lately? It’s practically a hymn to the Emperor, Monsieur Perrier.”

“It’s always been that way. Nothing surprising about it.”

Perrier gestured towards the other side of the café with his chin.

“Besides, the pro-Emperor Jacobins who remained in Paris are becoming restless.”

The square wasn’t solely occupied by the National Guard; other citizens were also marching and shouting.

Suddenly, the voice of the man leading one of the lines rang out, “The fake Jacobins must step down! The real Jacobins demand governance by the constitution!”

However, the constitution could only be established through popular vote or parliament.

Currently, popular votes were impossible in France, and parliament remained suspended.

Therefore, the call for constitutional governance could only signify a return to citizen legislation.
Perego whistled as he watched Desmoulins, the audacious figure marching through the Neo-Jacobin-controlled streets.

“Why isn’t he being arrested?”

“Desmoulins is a symbolic figure, isn’t he? The man who ignited the revolution, a critic of the Emperor, and never even accepted a noble title. No matter how unruly Babeuf becomes, they can’t simply eliminate him.”

“Sieyès must be keeping him alive, tsk. When will the invasion of Paris commence?”

Perego shrugged at Perrier’s question.

“Sérurier can’t invade Paris, nor can the Empress. Only the Emperor’s return can make it possible.”

Perego specifically directed his question to Perrier for a reason.

Both Josephine and Napoleon’s mother, Letizia, had close ties to bankers.

Josephine, due to her extravagant spending, and Letizia, because of her investments.

Among them, Perrier was the banker who discreetly covered Josephine’s excessive spending from Eugene.

However, Perrier still couldn’t provide any definitive news.

“When will the Emperor return?”

“Why are you so curious about that?”

“Do you even need to ask? Jacques ‘Rothschild’ is frequently seen in Paris, buying up stocks and bonds whenever they’re offered cheaply.”

As Perego revealed this information, Perrier’s eyes widened.

“Wasn’t he in Spain? Why has he come to Paris?”

Jacques Rothschild, the youngest member of the Rothschild family.

After the Rothschild family was apprehended by Eugene during the Russian coup, Jacques was sent as a hostage.

Since then, he had been responsible for facilitating French loans to the Kingdom of Spain.

But his sudden appearance in Paris, amidst the Empire’s civil war, was unexpected.

Perego, maintaining an unsurprised demeanor, explained, “Oh, you’re unaware. The Rothschild family has interests in every country. Two banks are funding the British army this time: Barings Bank and Rothschild.”

“No, I’m aware. I heard that Nathan, or Natan, is involved. I’m asking why Eugene’s royal finance officer has come to Paris?”

“Isn’t it obvious? There’s money to be made.”

Perego lowered his voice to avoid being overheard.

“The stakes are high, depending on whether the Emperor or the British emerge victorious.”

The Rothschild family had profited immensely from the Napoleonic Wars in the past.

Notably, during the final battle, they obtained news of the British victory slightly ahead of time, enabling a form of stock price manipulation.

Before other brokers received the information, they spread rumors of a defeat, causing bond prices to plummet.

They bought the bonds before the real news broke and then sold them when the prices soared with the announcement of victory.

Jacques was secretly entering and leaving Paris, hoping to replicate that success.

Of course, he risked death if caught.

Unlike Nathan Rothschild, who had established himself in England, Jacques Rothschild was undeniably Eugene’s finance officer.

Perrier clicked his tongue, observing Perego, another individual seeking to capitalize on the situation.

“Perego, you truly are a businessman.”

“You speak as if you aren’t.”

“Regardless, I’m uncertain when the Emperor will return. I’ve been providing funds to the Empress longer than you, but I’ve heard they don’t even know in Fontainebleau.”

Perrier grumbled as he sipped his coffee.

“Actually, doesn’t the Emperor himself remain uncertain?”

The Emperor’s return hinges on his victory.

This uncertainty lies at the heart of the turmoil in Europe.

Napoleon is wagering everything on achieving victory.

Perego clicked his tongue.

“Then, we’ll have to continue watching this spectacle for a while longer.”

Suddenly, a shout erupted from the square.

“We are the true Jacobins!”

Paris was filled with the clamor of the original Jacobin debate.

***

Of course, for those involved, it was a matter of life and death.

“That idiot Karl lost! Now, our only hope lies with England, but there’s still no news! Spy Master!”

Barras was shouting in the Louvre, once the royal palace.

If Karl had won, the entire French territory would now be under the control of Barras and the Neo-Jacobins.

But Napoleon’s victory at Leipzig had sealed their fate.

Now, the Neo-Jacobins’ lives hung precariously, like Paris itself.

Philip d’Auvergne de Bouillon, the British spy master sitting across from Barras, clicked his tongue.

“Listen, Mr. Barras. Didn’t I inform you? Our esteemed Royal British Army is already in Holland.”

“Paris! When will they arrive in Paris!”

“Well, they can’t advance until they’ve fully secured Holland. Besides, how will you confront Napoleon upon your return to Paris? Tsk, tsk, haven’t you participated in a revolution before?”

D’Auvergne’s words were logical.

Although the Netherlands had been nominally [liberated], its stability remained uncertain.

Furthermore, with Napoleon positioned east of the Rhine, they needed to maintain a watchful eye from the Netherlands.

But for the Neo-Jacobins trapped in Paris, it was all meaningless.

Barras lunged towards d’Auvergne, as if to strike him, and shouted, “Listen, Monsieur d’Auvergne! If you truly aspire to become the Duke of Bouillon, you must exert more effort. Even as we sit here idly, Napoleon is approaching the Rhine border!”

D’Auvergne stared at Barras and frowned.

“Based on your recent actions, I believe it would be more prudent to align with Napoleon.”

“What?”

“Isn’t that so? You couldn’t even capture a single woman in Fontainebleau, and you’ve created this mess.”

Barras was rendered speechless.

D’Auvergne’s assessment was accurate.

The original plan involved initiating an uprising in Paris and capturing the entire imperial family.

However, they failed to capture even one minister, and the situation had devolved into a civil war.

Even Dumouriez, recruited as a commander, had been unable to avert the crisis.

“But fear not. Our great British have prepared a card to compensate for your French shortcomings.”

At that moment, a man who had remained silent in the corner spoke, “Arrogant spy master. What have you prepared?”

“It’s simple, Mr. Sieyès. An army composed of Frenchmen.”

“What, an army? Where? Has the Vendée region risen again?”

Even at Sieyès’ sarcastic remark, d’Auvergne replied calmly, with a smile.

“Isn’t that region now entirely pro-Emperor? It seems they’ve sent all the subversive elements to the New World. The exiled French Royalist army will arrive. In Calais, no less.”

The Vendée’s pro-Emperor stance was a result of Eugene’s New World policy and Napoleon’s [industrialization: the process of transforming an agricultural society into one based on manufacturing] initiatives.

Originally an agricultural area, Vendée had transformed into France’s leading industrial zone, shrouded in smog.

Furthermore, one million subversive individuals had departed for the New World, some voluntarily, others involuntarily.

But in their place, the [Royalists: supporters of the monarchy] were arriving.

To Calais, not Vendée.

Meaning they were marching from England.

Sieyès, initially perplexed, widened his eyes.

“Calais! And a Royalist army? The citizens of Paris will be in an uproar!”

“Why? Aren’t they anti-Emperor forces? They should unite.”

“Monsieur d’Auvergne! You’re insane. We rose up united by the cause of the revolution. The National Guard revolted because the Emperor betrayed the revolution. But a Royalist army!”

Barras also blinked in confusion and then glared.

“Wait, are you referring to that army led by exiled royalty?”

It was the army of exiled nobles led by the Bourbon royal family.

Surprisingly, it was quite substantial, numbering close to a division.

It also highlighted the sheer number of nobles in the old French system.

Statistics indicated that nobles comprised 2% of the population.

But these exiled Royalist armies posed a significant problem for the Neo-Jacobins.

They were the direct opponents of the revolution.

But d’Auvergne and England were indifferent.

“Sieyès, decline if you don’t require England’s assistance. Then, it will end simply. I’ll simply return home. But…”

D’Auvergne stood up and declared, “If you require the assistance of our great England, comply quietly. It’s the only way you’ll survive.”

Sieyès and Barras were forced to acknowledge the grim reality.

The price of enlisting foreign powers was steep.

***

However, the puppets of another foreign power were marching with great pride.

-Thud, thud, thud.

Outside Paris, in a location overlooking the Seine River, an army clad in pristine white uniforms halted.

It was the uniform of the French Royal Army, unseen since the revolution.

White, the symbolic color of the Royalists.

The corpulent man on horseback at the head, the Count of Provence, who styled himself Louis XVII, exclaimed, “Finally, I have returned to Paris!”

Beside him stood Charles, the Count of Artois, a gaunt and twisted figure.

Charles glared at Paris with fierce eyes.

He was finally home, returning after more than twenty years.

“Brother, the time has come for you to ascend the throne once more.”

“England will truly defeat the ruthless pretender, correct, Charles?”

“Of course. They claim to have assembled soldiers from all corners of the world.”

Charles drew his sword and brandished it, his eyes gleaming.

“Now, our first objective is to seize Paris.”

The time for retribution had arrived.

They would overthrow the ruthless regime that had driven out the king and been seized by commoners.

They would re-establish the rightful divine kingship.

The portly self-proclaimed Louis XVII nodded and shouted, “All troops, advance! Liberate Paris!”

Soon after, the White Royalist Exile Division advanced.

“For the King! God save the King! Viva Bourbon!”

July 1810.

Paris before Napoleon’s return.

It was a farce unfolding on the road to Berlin.