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The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 217
🕑 Added 2025-05-23 19:07:01 +0000 UTCChapter 217: The Province and the Colony
The Tunisian Janissaries retreated, leaving behind a field strewn with corpses. Under the command of the French officers, the rebels swiftly launched a counterattack.
Jamil drew his scimitar, charged onto the battlefield, and led his soldiers with a loud battle cry, pursuing the fleeing Ottomans.
Though tens of thousands of rebels surged forward in chaos without any semblance of formation, the Janissaries had entirely lost their will to fight. They focused only on escaping, turning the battle into a one-sided slaughter.
After more than two hours, nearly all the Tunisian Janissaries were driven into a small northern section of the city. Seeing the situation was hopeless, Koja ordered his men to lay down their weapons and surrender.
The rebel soldiers, their eyes bloodshot with rage, showed no mercy to the Janissaries who were shouting "surrender." It was only when Jamil personally intervened and restrained them that the slaughter finally ceased.
By then, over ten thousand Janissaries had been reduced to just about seven thousand. Koja and several senior officers were hacked to death in the chaos.
Leaving some soldiers to guard the prisoners, Jamil led his army into Tunis.
The bustling capital of Tunis quickly fell under the rebels’ control. The Janissaries stationed in the city had long since fled. The local residents poured into the streets, cheering and celebrating the rebels' victory.
Before long, thousands of rebel soldiers surrounded the Kahil Palace. Jamil, accompanied by officers and leaders of the local tribes, charged straight in.
Hajji, trembling under the protection of Pruspour and other intelligence agents, cautiously approached the palace gates. Before he could utter a word, waves of angry cries from the rebel soldiers erupted around him:
“Execute him!”
“Kill this Ottoman!”
“Kill him—he’s one of the Janissaries!”
“Off with his head…”
Hajji turned deathly pale. He had never expected that he would face execution so soon after barely settling into his position as Bey.
Jamil exchanged silent glances with the tribal leaders beside him, and they all nodded slightly.
Drawing his scimitar, Jamil adjusted his turban and strode toward Hajji.
“You Ottoman dog! You must pay in blood for the sins you have committed!”
Hajji, terrified, stumbled backward, his eyes fixed on the bloodstained blade. But Jamil quickly closed the distance and raised the scimitar high.
At the critical moment, a shout came from the back of the crowd:
“Spare him!”
Jamil and the others turned to see Consul Joan, the French representative in Tunis, approaching with Elder Aray, scholar Hirrada, and a few French officers. They pushed past the tribal soldiers and stepped forward.
Jamil and the tribal leaders immediately bowed respectfully to the group. Joan, speaking fluent Arabic, addressed Jamil:
“Honorable General Jamil, I believe you may have misunderstood.”
“Misunderstood? What do you mean?”
Joan gestured politely toward Hajji.
“The Bey is the Bey. He is neither a Janissary nor an Ottoman.”
The tribal leaders exchanged puzzled glances. They thought: Wasn’t the first Bey, Hussein, an officer of the Ottoman Janissaries who expelled the previous Janissary leader to seize power in Tunis?
How could the Bey not be Ottoman?
Following the Crown Prince's instructions, Joan explained further:
“The Bey is the ruler of Tunis. He belongs solely to Tunis, not to the Ottomans. In fact, it was the Janissaries who betrayed him, secretly colluding with the Ottomans and persecuting the Roman descendants in Tunis!”
Joan motioned toward Hajji again.
“Hajji Bey’s grandmother was Genoese, and his mother was from Touggourt. Even if he has a trace of Ottoman blood, it is so diluted as to be negligible.”
Hajji, hearing this, discreetly wiped the sweat from his brow, grateful that his grandfather and father’s indulgence in beauty had saved him from adhering strictly to Janissary traditions.
Joan then turned to Hajji and declared loudly:
“Isn’t that right, honorable Bey?”
Hajji, jolted awake by the question, seized the opportunity to nod vigorously.
“Yes, yes! I am forever a Tunisian—a proud descendant of Rome! I have nothing to do with those damned Ottomans!”
A tribal leader frowned and raised an objection:
“But the Bey is also a Pasha appointed by the Ottomans.”
Joan immediately waved his hand dismissively.
“That was only due to Ottoman threats. Hajji Bey has never truly accepted their appointment.”
Hajji quickly echoed:
“Yes, yes! I will never be an Ottoman Pasha!”
Jamil and the tribal leaders exchanged more uncertain looks. Sensing their hesitation, Joan discreetly signaled to Elder Aray.
The elder stepped forward and, in a resonant and melodic tone, addressed the group:
“My friends, the Bey is a ruler recognized and served by all the tribes. He is not an Ottoman, nor should he be betrayed by you.”
At that moment, Ishak emerged from behind Jamil, bowed to Hajji, and pledged:
“I will forever be loyal to you, great Bey.”
Seeing the rebel leader take the lead, the tribal leaders quickly followed suit, bowing to Hajji one after another, as did the officers.
In the end, all the thousands of tribal soldiers present, including Jamil, lowered their heads to Hajji. Relieved, Hajji took a deep breath and looked gratefully at Joan and the others who had saved his life.
...
In southern Bizerte, within a villa heavily guarded by Swiss Guards in red uniforms, Joseph yawned, moved his "knight" piece, and captured a black "pawn" on the chessboard.
Having promised the Queen to “stay on the ship,” he was confined to the villa's “wooden ship” and could only pass the time by playing chess.
Across the board, Berthier advanced his "rook" three squares and hesitated before voicing his curiosity:
“Your Highness, why do you care so much about that Tunisian Bey? I mean, perhaps letting those rebels vent their anger on him wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”
Joseph moved his "queen" to protect his "knight":
"Hajji has worked with us before. Although his motives were revenge and reclaiming his beloved, we cannot abandon him on moral grounds. Moreover, while he holds little actual power, he is still a symbolic figure for Tunis. His name lends authority to proclamations issued from Kahil Palace, ensuring they are executed more efficiently. If he dies, it will take an untold amount of time for the locals to balance their interests and establish a government."
What Joseph didn't say was that Hajji's lack of capability made him easier to manage. If a shrewd and resourceful Tunisian tribal leader were to come to power, it might complicate matters.
Berthier, fiddling with a chess piece, nodded repeatedly:
"Your Highness, your concerns are indeed necessary. I had oversimplified the situation."
Joseph smiled and added:
"Moreover, retaining a Bey avoids the risk of military dictatorship and facilitates the eventual integration of Tunis into France."
Berthier looked surprised:
"Are you saying that Tunis won't be treated as a colony but rather... as a province?"
"That is my plan. From the start, I've sought to instill a sense of identification with France here."
"But, Your Highness," Berthier hesitated, "wouldn't the cost be too high?"
Later generations often envisioned colonies as oppressive regimes rife with bloodshed, sky-high taxes, and widespread suffering. In reality, most colonies faced trade restrictions, such as prohibitions on buying from or selling to specific nations, while tax rates were often not excessively high. For instance, pre-independence America's tax rates were lower than those in Britain itself.
The key difference between colonies and provinces lay in investment. Regardless of how low the taxes were, colonial revenues ultimately went to the metropole, leaving colonies with no funds for development or disaster relief, inevitably breeding resentment.
In contrast, provinces required substantial investment. The cost of establishing a province was far higher than maintaining a colony.
Joseph examined the chessboard, reluctantly using his "rook" to exchange for the opposing "knight" and "pawn," then nodded:
"You are correct. This means significant upfront investment in Tunis, especially in the early stages." He paused, then continued, "But it will be worth it. Tunis is rich in resources, fertile land, and strategically located ports. If properly developed, it will quickly recoup the initial investment and may even become a critical economic pillar for France in the future!"
He was well aware of North Africa's importance to France in later centuries. Even with minimal development, North Africa had once been the foundation of France's status as a global power.
In the 20th century, the last truly notable French president, Jacques Chirac, had remarked, "Without Africa, France would become a third-rate country."
At present, for France to compete with Britain, it could not merely exploit North Africa for resources. After all, the region was nowhere near as vast as Britain's colonies in the Americas or India.
Since France couldn't match Britain's colonial volume, it had to surpass it in quality.
By developing Tunis into a core region for France, with productivity on par with European territories, it could contribute to national strength in a way far beyond what the Americas or the Far East could achieve.
Joseph turned to Berthier and continued:
"Do you know what makes North Africa incomparable to Britain's or Spain's colonies? Its proximity to us. Marseille and Bizerte are separated by only a narrow stretch of the Mediterranean. Even from Corsica, a slow ship can reach Tunis in three days—less time than it takes to travel from Lyon to Paris.
"The British were destined to lose America because it took over forty days for orders from London to reach Philadelphia. Similarly, any trouble there would take the British a month and a half to learn of.
"You'll see—India will one day leave British control for the same reason: it is far too distant.
"Tunis is different. Once we establish a foothold here, no one can take it away from France."
He silently added: unless a wave of national consciousness arises, leading to an internal push for independence. Therefore, before the storm of nationalism spreads across Europe, it was crucial to cultivate a sense of shared identity between France and Tunis. That would ensure their unity for generations.
Beyond fostering cultural ties, encouraging more French migration to Tunis would be the most reliable solution.
After all, Tunis currently had a population of less than 1.8 million, including over 100,000 Europeans. With appropriate immigration policies, it wouldn't take many years for the population to become "ethnically unified" in a physical sense.
Berthier had always been impressed by the Crown Prince's extraordinary military and strategic vision, as well as his political acumen. Now, he realized Joseph also had a profound understanding of international dynamics. The words "Son of God" once again came to Berthier's mind.
He couldn't imagine any other explanation for how the young Crown Prince could possess such advanced insights and strategies.
Lost in thought, Berthier moved his "queen" forward a few spaces and softly said:
"Your Highness, checkmate."
Joseph studied the chessboard and smiled helplessly:
"It seems I've lost. Your skill is remarkable."
"You flatter me," Berthier replied, tidying up the pieces. Offhandedly, he added, "Speaking of chess, a Hungarian named Kempelen invented a machine called 'The Turk.' It's a chess-playing automaton. I once played against it and lost in just fourteen moves."
So impressive? Joseph's first thought was of "AlphaGo," but he quickly dismissed it. This era hadn't even perfected the steam engine—artificial intelligence was out of the question.
He then recalled reading about this on a forum before; it was ultimately proven to be a hoax. Someone would hide inside the machine and use magnets to manipulate the chess pieces.
With a sly grin, he winked at Berthier:
"Lieutenant Colonel Berthier, I can teach you a trick to easily beat that 'Turk.'"
As they spoke, Perna knocked and entered. After greeting them, she nervously fidgeted with her dress and said:
"Your Highness, Commander, I've heard that many soldiers in the corps have contracted dysentery recently. Perhaps I can help."
At this time, women doctors were entirely unaccepted. Perna could only practice under the enlightened protection of Joseph. Feeling useless during the journey due to seasickness, she was eager to prove her worth.
Joseph nodded:
"On behalf of the soldiers, thank you, Doctor Perna. But you'll need to dress as a man."
"Of course! Thank you, Your Highness!"
...
Paris.
In the Palais-Royal, the Duke of Orléans leisurely read the latest Paris News by the window's sunlight. It reported on events in Tunis, though details were unclear. Word had it the region was in chaos, with war raging everywhere.
Clearly, the inexperienced Crown Prince had failed!
Humming a cheerful tune, he glanced outside and spotted his son passing by the window.
Something seemed off about Philippe. The Duke rubbed his eyes and called him over for a closer look.
In the bright sunlight, Philippe's neck was covered in red rashes, and his left eye was severely bloodshot.
The Duke of Orléans frowned deeply and asked with concern:
"Philippe, are you unwell?"
The Duke of Chartres smiled nonchalantly:
"Nothing serious, Father. Just a touch of the romantic god’s illness."
The Duke froze, thunderstruck. Among the nobility, "the romantic god's illness" was a euphemism for syphilis.
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