"General Saint Arno, the army’s duty is to defend the Republic from enemy invasions, not to perform tasks that are not your own!"
Speaker Malaste rcilessly rebuked General Saint Arno to uphold the opportunity of the Republic in order to warn Jero Bonaparte behind Saint Arno to maintain respect for the parliant.
"Citizen Speaker, I am a soldier and do not understand what it truly ans to defend the Republic! I only know one thing, which is to crush those bugs destroying Paris! Do you know the expressions of those guys when we executed them? That helplessness and despair..." General Saint Arno coldly replied to Malaste.
Saint Arno had no fear of this so-called highest organ of power before him, instead, his body exuded an inexplicable excitent.
If you want to fight us, then try!
"Clap, clap, clap"
Malaste knocked on the wooden gavel, trying to vent his dissatisfaction in this way.
Saint Arno quietly watched Malaste on the stage and started to recite the pre-discussed parade proposal to all the mbers present.
The mbers were extrely unhappy with Saint Arno’s blatant disregard for the parliant.
However, despite their disdain for Saint Arno, they had to pass the proposal in his hands.
Otherwise, the state of martial law could not be completely lifted.
After Saint Arno finished presenting the proposal, a calr Malaste spoke, "Let’s begin the vote now!"
parliant mbers voted simultaneously. As the Republican Faction and the Order Party had reached an agreent on lifting the martial law, the vote resulted in a landslide victory of 450 to 100.
The Legislative Assembly would bear all the costs of the parade.
Under the resentful gaze of Speaker Malaste, Saint Arno left with his head held high.
...
January 15, 1850.
It was an unprecedented Sunday morning in Paris. Since December began, the Near Paris Satory Region hadn’t enjoyed such sunny weather.
The azure sky was dotted with clouds, perhaps due to the prior snowfall, the fields were covered with a thin white blanket, and the pine trees by the roadside were adorned with "crystal shards," gleaming brightly. The Satory Region seed bathed in light.
Amidst this bright world, an unprecedented commotion unfolded in this region; the originally silent suburban area beca noisy in an instant, countless soldiers, officers, and generals gathered here from the Temple Suburb, Saint Martin Suburb, and Montelte Suburb, with the sounds of commotion and restlessness echoing in this wilderness.
Soldiers dressed in new uniforms, shiny buttons, dals, and armor lined up neatly under the guidance of officers, waiting for Jero Bonaparte’s inspection. The armor sparkled dazzlingly under the sunlight, piercing into everyone’s eyes.
Amid these dazzling lights and the continuous cheers rising like tides, every soldier and officer displayed heartfelt pride as the entire army was imrsed in a mood of invincibility.
The spirits of the Imperial Army, which once swept across the European continent, seed to have resurrected within them.
As ti passed, President of the French Republic, Jero Bonaparte, entered the scene. The army instantly erupted into even more fervent cheers. At this mont, he wore a specially tailored Lev’s formal suit, topped with a Napoleon Hat (also called a bicorne), and the Grand Cross dal on his chest sparkled under the sunlight. This cosplay-like attire, emulating his uncle Emperor Napoleon, made him look significantly more dignified.
Due to the snow-covered ground, Jero Bonaparte did not choose to ride the white horse similar to the one his uncle rode when crossing the Alps, but instead walked through the formations. Behind him were Minister of War Renio, Secretary of State Saint Arno, Commander of Paris Defense Changarnier, Pri Minister Oppel, and so high-ranking generals from Paris. They accompanied Jero Bonaparte in the troop review.
"Long live the Emperor!"
The soldiers in formation cheered for Jero Bonaparte.
To those who experienced the Paris martial law, the na Jero Bonaparte no longer just represented the army’s glory but also signified wealth.
The martial law had generally doubled the wealth of the soldiers in the Near Paris area, so why wouldn’t they support soone who could bring them fortune?
As Jero Bonaparte passed through each formation, he could hear the cheers from the soldiers within, and he also smiled and waved to them, shaking hands warmly with the formation officers, calling their nas and giving encouraging words. The formation officers showed an emotional expression because the President rembered their nas, and they cheered, "Long live Bonaparte," which often prompted even greater cheers from the formation.
"Mr. President still loves to put on a show!"
In the group of high-ranking generals, Changarnier whispered to General De Castelana beside him.
"Isn’t this good?" De Castelana glanced at Changarnier and said calmly, "This way, we have soone who can speak for us!"
"But I’m worried that the President will clash with the parliant!" Changarnier’s expression grew sowhat unnatural. Although he had sided with Jero Bonaparte, it didn’t an he had completely severed ties with the Royalist Faction.
Moreover, not long ago, Thiers had quietly co to his ho and offered him certain promises.
Once the President and the Royalists were in complete conflict, he might find himself in a dilemma.
"The parliant?" De Castelana snorted, his eyes showing disdain.
The weakness of the Legislative Assembly was evident to De Castelana. He asserted that the Legislative Assembly would never defeat the President.
However, Changarnier’s indecisiveness was indeed beyond his expectation. He had thought Changarnier had already sided with the President.
"We must at least show so respect for the parliant’s power!" Changarnier responded quietly.
De Castelana said nothing more, his heart also sentencing Changarnier to a "death penalty."
No force would accept a double-dealer’s allegiance, not to ntion the increasing support within the army for the President, indicating the President’s prestige in the military was enough to suppress Changarnier.
It wouldn’t be long before Changarnier might just have the title of a commander without any actual power, and he might even be dismissed by the President.
"Well, you’re right!" De Castelana perfunctorily replied, subconsciously distancing himself a bit from Changarnier. He didn’t want to be caught in the crossfire when Changarnier fell from power.
The whispers between Changarnier and De Castelana did not reach the ears of a third person; Jero Bonaparte, walking at the front, did not hear them either.
After encouragingly shaking hands with the last array commander, he slowly walked down a long corridor, at the other end of which was a 3-ter-high reviewing stand where Jero Bonaparte would inspect the troops.
At this ti, the reviewing stand was already filled with people, including gentlen of Parisian high society, representatives of the National Guard (due to the problems with the National Guard itself, Jero Bonaparte did not let them participate in the parade, but allowed representatives from each legion to attend), and various foreign envoys.
Jero Bonaparte slowly reached the end of the corridor and ascended the reviewing stand with the high-ranking generals.
Imdiately, a loud military band played beautiful music, with the sounds of drums, violins, and saxophones weaving together to create a wonderful lody.
The soldiers, hearing the military band, beca even more excited.
"Raise the flag!"
Jero Bonaparte commanded solemnly.
Below the reviewing stand, the cuirassier battalion led by Edgar Ney shouted loudly, "Raise the flag!"
From a makeshift flagpole not far from the parade formation, the tricolor flag symbolizing the French Republic was taken from a bright red box, and in the cold wind, it slowly rose.
At the sa ti, the military band changed tunes, and the "Song of Departure," symbolizing the First Empire, began to play.
The French soldiers beca even more fervently patriotic, while the envoys watching displayed expressions of solemnity, fear, and embarrassnt.
"God! Do they intend to restore the Empire?" the Russian Empire’s ambassador whispered to the Austrian ambassador beside him.
Baron Hubert shook his head, trying to find a suitable excuse for Jero Bonaparte’s actions. He understood the Russian Empire’s ambassadors too well. Like their Tsar, they were warmongers. Baron Hubert did not want his country to fall into that damned war from decades ago again, which Austria still hadn’t fully recovered from: "Perhaps it’s just nostalgia!"
"Look at...look at his proud deanor! Just a few years ago, he was hiding in Italy like a stray dog, and now he’s wearing his uncle’s clothes. Does he really think that just by wearing that man’s clothes, he can beco him? Don’t be ridiculous!" The Russian Empire’s ambassador continued to criticize Jero Bonaparte, describing him as a buffoon in his words.
"Ambassador, I don’t like to gossip behind people’s backs! A gentleman does not engage in idle chatter behind others!" Baron Hubert said, his furrowed brow revealing a sense of distance.
"Baron, my point is..." The Russian Empire’s ambassador said, revealing his true intentions, "If that clown truly restores the Empire, would the Austrian Empire be willing to fight for the sacred order?"
"I am just an ordinary envoy; whether to declare war on France depends on the Emperor and the Pri Minister’s decisions!"
Reviews
All reviews (0)