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The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 236
🕑 Added 2025-06-01 19:06:01 +0000 UTCChapter 236: Opportunity in a Crisis
Joseph emerged from the White Maple Grove Manor with newfound confidence.
The Archbishop of Paris and the bishops of Valois and three other districts had agreed to a “grain-for-shares” deal. With Talleyrand from the Autun district and Brienne from Toulouse also on board, nearly half of the most influential clergy in the French Church were now involved.
The next step would be persuading the southern dioceses to join the agreement.
Based on Archbishop Beaumont’s earlier disclosures, the Church’s private grain reserves were substantial—enough to partially alleviate France’s food shortages.
This plan, however, would mean abandoning the historical reliance on the Church’s cellars during the freezing disaster of 1792. Joseph, however, was confident that the ongoing development of Tunis would yield enough surplus grain within two years to weather any brief springtime famine.
After all, Tunis alone had arable land equal to one-third of France’s farmland and a population of only 1.8 million to sustain.
To ensure Beaumont and his peers would act with maximum efficiency, Joseph dangled the ultimate carrot before them—the papal throne.
Though the Papacy was currently dominated by Italians, in the 14th century, the Holy See had been based in Avignon, France. It wasn’t until nearly a century later that Pope Gregory XI moved it back to Rome.
France’s southeastern region still contained Avignon, a remnant of the Papal States.
Even though the French Catholic Church had become largely autonomous, it was inconceivable that high-ranking clergy wouldn’t harbor ambitions for the papal throne.
Thus, at the White Maple Grove Manor, Joseph shared his grand vision of relocating the Papacy back to Avignon.
Should the Papacy return to French soil, the next Pope would undoubtedly emerge from among them or Brienne.
Beaumont and his colleagues were exhilarated. Such a declaration from the Crown Prince himself could only be interpreted as reflecting royal intentions—proof that the French monarchy had set its sights on leading Christendom.
Of course, Joseph harbored no immediate plans for such a strategic move. His promise was mere rhetoric.
Still, should the day come when French forces reached the gates of Rome, he wouldn’t hesitate to leverage the Papacy’s political capital—controlling the Pope to command the faithful. With that advantage, France’s military campaigns could all be framed as crusades, an irresistible prospect.
Joseph vowed not to repeat Napoleon’s mistake of alienating the Papacy over minor financial disputes, forfeiting immense political gains.
The archbishops, meanwhile, resolved to distinguish themselves in the grain distribution efforts, hoping to bolster their future papal aspirations.
Before heading to Montmartre, Joseph finalized his broader plans. Upon returning to Paris, his first stop was the headquarters of the Intelligence Office.
Fouché, upon hearing Joseph’s strategy, was overcome with manic excitement:
“Your Highness, I can hardly express my admiration. To uncover opportunity in such dire circumstances is nothing short of genius!”
Just imagining the grand scale of the Crown Prince’s designs made Fouché’s blood boil with enthusiasm.
Joseph interrupted his flattery with another promise:
“The Intelligence Office performed admirably in North Africa. If you succeed this time as well, I believe it may be time to elevate your status—to a Ministry of Intelligence. Or perhaps ‘National Intelligence Agency’ has a better ring to it.”
Dangling this promotion in front of his subordinates ensured their continued diligence.
Fouché and his team were electrified by the prospect. A direct upgrade to a Ministry of Intelligence meant its director might enter the Cabinet as the Minister of Intelligence. Lower-level administrators would also benefit from the upward shift.
The Intelligence Office staff immediately rolled up their sleeves, eager to head to the southern provinces and commence their assignments.
With that matter settled, Joseph went directly to the Paris Military Academy.
All of his schemes relied on a robust military foundation to succeed.
The Berthier Corps and Moulin Corps had already been ordered to assemble at the academy’s new campus.
The new campus, a manor gifted to Joseph by Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette, spanned over ten hectares. Although unsuitable for farming, it could easily accommodate 30,000 to 50,000 troops.
Pre-battle preparations followed the usual script: Joseph delivered a stirring speech, reminding the soldiers of their pivotal role in France’s transformation and the glory they would earn. This was followed by a parade showcasing formations.
The practical highlight, however, was the re-equipping of the Moulin Corps with Auguste fire cap guns. While their performance in Tunis had been average, their unwavering loyalty to the Crown Prince had earned them access to the latest weaponry.
Joseph, ever the spendthrift, instructed André to allocate each soldier twenty rounds of live ammunition for daily shooting practice until deployment.
The fire cap gun functioned similarly to the older flintlock musket, requiring only slight adjustments in loading techniques. A hundred rounds’ worth of practice would ensure proficiency.
It was worth noting that many old soldiers in France’s pre-revolutionary armies hadn’t fired even one hundred shots during their entire service.
Additionally, the Guards Corps was upgraded to 12-pounder cannons. After observing the shortcomings of 8-pounders during the Tunisian campaign, Joseph adopted Napoleon’s later model, standardizing the army’s artillery with 12-pounders for heavy firepower and 6-pounders for mobility.
For now, without a mounted artillery division, the weight of 12-pounders posed no major issue—more draft horses could always be added.
After addressing hardware improvements, Joseph summoned Berthier, Froyent, and other officers to discuss measures for improving troop morale.
When Joseph outlined his vision, Berthier grimaced.
“Your Highness, establishing a ‘Department of Military Affairs’ would involve so many tasks that we can’t hope to implement it quickly.”
André nodded in agreement:
“Indeed, Your Highness. Staffing alone is a major hurdle. To meet your requirements, we’d need at least 200 personnel just to handle Paris. Expanding to cover provincial soldiers’ families would require even more manpower.”
Joseph smiled reassuringly:
“That won’t be a problem. You can source the necessary personnel from the Hôtel des Invalides. We’ll only need to assign a few clerks to oversee them. Oh, and try to have the Hôtel des Invalides cover the costs as well.”
The Hôtel des Invalides, once a haven for disabled soldiers under Louis XIV, had since devolved into a retirement home for officers, inaccessible to regular soldiers.
With the military’s senior leadership out of Paris, Joseph saw an opportunity to repurpose its resources.
Berthier and the others exchanged knowing smiles, recognizing the brilliance of the plan.
Joseph then moved among the Guards Corps soldiers, personally encouraging each one. By the following noon, he returned, utterly exhausted, to Versailles.
With all preparations in place, it was time to reap the rewards.
...
In the Saint-Antoine District of Paris, on Auray Street
A melodic bugle call accompanied by rhythmic drumbeats echoed from the southern end of the street, drawing the curious gazes of residents peering in that direction.
Soon, a group of about 20 soldiers dressed in striking ceremonial uniforms marched forward in two straight columns, their steps perfectly synchronized.
An old fishmonger frowned and whispered to a middle-aged man beside him:
“What’s happened here? Why send so many soldiers to arrest someone?”
The middle-aged man shook his head.
“Why make such a show of it if they’re here to make an arrest? Don’t they want to avoid scaring the target away?”
Behind them, a young journalist leaned in and explained:
“That’s the newly established Department of Military Affairs. I heard it’s meant to serve the Berthier Corps and the Combat Police units.”
The old fishmonger scratched his head in confusion.
“There aren’t any high-ranking officers around here, are there?”
In his habitual way of thinking, any department “serving the military” would naturally prioritize officers over enlisted soldiers.
The procession stopped in front of an unremarkable residence. The troops turned and lined up on either side of the door.
A few soldiers stepped forward to confirm the address, then began adorning the door with red and blue ribbons, arranging several flower baskets in front of it.
At the commanding officer’s order, two soldiers unfurled a half-meter-wide banner. Bold letters read:
The Light of France’s Glory! Congratulations to Corporal Adrien on receiving the Medal of Courage!
Beneath it was a smaller inscription:
Heroic deeds bring honor to all. One soldier’s achievement is a family’s pride.
In the Guards Corps’ system of honors, the Medal of Courage ranked just below the Bronze Fleur-de-Lis, marking a fourth-class distinction. Only 23 soldiers had been awarded this medal for their valor in the Tunisian campaign.
The crowd quickly gathered around the Adrien household, leaving no room to move, as they buzzed with curiosity.
“Wasn’t Adrien attending the police academy? How did he end up getting a medal?”
“I heard he went to North Africa. Must’ve earned it there.”
“With such fanfare, Adrien’s certainly in the limelight now!”
“He’s just a corporal. Why is the military going to such lengths to celebrate him?”
As the officer stepped forward to knock on the door, Adrien’s parents and younger sister emerged, startled.
Old Mr. Adrien nervously scanned the surroundings before bowing respectfully to the officer, speaking in a low voice:
“Sir, what brings you here…?”
The officer quickly helped him up, returned the gesture with a respectful tip of his hat, and announced loudly:
“Good morning! You must be Mr. Adrien. Your son displayed exceptional bravery in the battle to repel Algerian forces from Tunis, earning the Medal of Courage. I am here on behalf of the Paris Military Academy to deliver this joyous news.”
Adrien’s family stood frozen in shock, unable to respond.
The officer stepped forward, handing over a certificate of commendation and 200 silver livres to Mr. Adrien, his tone warm and enthusiastic:
“Here is Corporal Adrien’s medal certificate and bonus. His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince, asked me to personally thank your family for supporting him. Your family has contributed to France’s great victory. Oh, please sign here so I can complete the report.”
Still in disbelief, the family accepted the news as if in a dream. Their son had apparently achieved something remarkable, so much so that an officer had come with an entourage to celebrate—and with 200 livres in bonus money no less!
Mr. Adrien finally regained his composure and called to his wife to bring water and food to entertain the soldiers. He then invited the officers inside.
Before entering, the officer turned to the crowd and recounted Adrien’s heroics, reading from a clearly polished script. The audience listened with bated breath as he vividly described Adrien’s brave stand, sealing a breach created by Algerian cavalry and saving the integrity of the French formation in a critical moment.
The officer continued, elaborating on the benefits extended to families of decorated soldiers: priority assistance from law enforcement in emergencies, opportunities for family members to secure military-related jobs, and direct intervention from the Department of Military Affairs for any issues they might face.
It was clear that Adrien’s family would now hold a position of prestige on their street.
The bystanders murmured enviously among themselves:
“Who would’ve thought attending the police academy could lead to such success?”
“Dear God! A 200-livre bonus!”
“Did you hear? If they have any trouble, they can go straight to that officer for help.”
“My youngest wanted to go to the police academy, but I didn’t let him. Now I regret it so much!”
Even a young man who had previously rejected Adrien’s sister’s affections shamelessly sidled up to her, trying to win her favor.
Across Paris, the Department of Military Affairs bustled with activity. The valor of the Guards Corps soldiers became the talk of the city, with newspapers like Le Journal de Paris dedicating extensive coverage to their exploits. Even news of unrest in the southern provinces was overshadowed by their heroics.
Families and friends of decorated soldiers eagerly wrote letters to their loved ones, encouraging them to fight bravely and aim for further recognition.
Joseph’s strategy of elevating the Guards Corps’ status and fostering a sense of honor and belonging had long been on his agenda.
Previously, he had refrained from overt measures to avoid provoking the military aristocracy.
But now that the military nobles had openly opposed the Crown, there was no reason to hold back.
In contrast to the old-fashioned military, where soldiers were treated as expendable lower-class laborers, members of the Guards Corps were exalted as France’s finest—proud warriors embodying the nation’s glory.
In a head-to-head confrontation, even discounting differences in combat effectiveness, the Guards Corps’ morale alone would crush their opponents.
Joseph’s initiative, however, left the Paris Military Academy and the Berthier Corps swamped with new recruits eager to enlist or join the academy.
No sooner had Joseph returned to Versailles than Archbishop Brienne arrived, visibly anxious.
The archbishop quickly saluted, waving a document in his hand.
“Your Highness, you’ve finally returned! The riots are spreading rapidly, and the Queen has repeatedly asked for your response…”
Joseph smiled, inviting him to sit down. In an unhurried tone, he replied:
“I was just about to seek you out. Archbishop, please issue a royal decree in the King’s name, ordering all mid- and high-ranking officers from the southern provinces to report to Versailles immediately. Any who fail to arrive within a week will be charged with treason.”
Brienne’s face paled, and he shot to his feet.
“Your Highness, how can this be? If the officers are summoned to Paris, who will command the troops to quell the riots?”
Joseph chuckled.
“Rest assured, Archbishop. The Church will help me handle the unrest.”
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