Chapter 547: Disciplining Napoleon
Half a month later.
Napoleon's 17-year-old younger brother, Lucien Buonaparte, returned to Corsica from Paris to participate in the by-elections for the Corsican Assembly. With 14 vacant seats suddenly available, new representatives needed to be elected.
Unsurprisingly, Lucien Buonaparte was overwhelmingly elected as the representative for Sotta district, despite hardly ever setting foot there. Thanks to his elder brother's strategic maneuvering and the support of Governor Buttafuoco, his victory was a foregone conclusion.
In fact, nearly all 14 vacant seats ended up being filled by individuals handpicked by Napoleon and the Governor.
…
On the second floor of the Tuileries Palace, Joseph reviewed the latest report on Corsica's situation, just delivered by Brienne. Rubbing his temples in exasperation, he sighed.
He knew Napoleon was bold and daring, which was why he entrusted him with handling Corsica's issues. But Napoleon's actions had nearly caused a political earthquake.
Napoleon's moves were nothing short of a warlord's blatant disregard for the rule of law! Giving him slightly more authority than he historically had resulted in far greater upheaval.
Although his actions had indeed curbed Corsican separatist tendencies to some extent, they had also damaged the French government's image in the region.
Joseph sighed and instructed Brienne:
"Draft a formal reprimand—Lieutenant Colonel Buonaparte acted in an exceedingly inappropriate manner by besieging the Assembly Hall. He must be disciplined. Revoke his position as acting commander of Corsican forces. However, as there is no suitable replacement for now, he will continue overseeing the garrison."
"As you wish, Your Highness."
Joseph chuckled to himself after giving the order. He might just be the first person in history to officially discipline "Emperor Napoleon." This was something unimaginable in any other timeline.
He hoped this would temper Napoleon's arrogance and audacity, sharpening him into a more effective tool for France's future.
Joseph's thoughts shifted back to Corsica's current state. With the old order dismantled, it was time to begin reconstruction. Without Paoli stirring the pot, the Corsican people might settle for peace if their lives improved.
But Corsica lacked resources, agriculture, or any obvious advantages. Development wouldn't be easy.
After some thought, Joseph recalled a certain small island's success in the future and realized its model could be applied here.
Turning to Brienne, he said, "Your Grace, I'm thinking of transforming Corsica into a tourist destination. What's your take on that?"
The Archbishop considered this and nodded. "I believe it's worth a try, Your Highness. I've been there; the sunshine is delightful, and the seafood and ham are quite delicious. However, the locals seem somewhat less... refined."
"That's where the Church comes in—to teach them better manners," Joseph replied with a smile. "When you return, coordinate with Monsieur Bailly to draft a plan. Include establishing regular ferry routes between Marseille and Calvi, with government-subsidized tickets to attract visitors.
"We should also build a range of facilities—restaurants, massage parlors, amusement parks…"
Brienne quickly added, "And brothels, Your Highness."
"Er… I'll leave that to your discretion."
…
Thames Estuary
London Port
Before the Marquis of Wellesley even disembarked, he saw a bustling crowd waiting to welcome him. At the forefront stood the Royal Band in pristine red uniforms.
At the center of the official entourage stood a young man in his prime—none other than the current British Prime Minister, William Pitt the Younger.
As the Martha ferry docked, a gangplank was lowered, and Wellesley stepped ashore amidst raucous cheers and music. He strode briskly toward Pitt, who approached him with a warm smile.
Before Wellesley could bow, Pitt embraced him enthusiastically and exclaimed:
"Arthur, you wouldn't believe it—London is abuzz with tales of your brilliant victories in the East. Your leadership and bravery have steadied the very foundation of our nation!"
Wellesley showed no trace of pride at the praise. Instead, a flicker of embarrassment crossed his face.
Patting his friend's back, he stepped back and, adhering to protocol, offered a proper bow.
"Thank you for meeting me. It's a pleasure to see you again."
Glancing around at the grand reception, he forced a dry laugh. "I didn't expect… such fanfare."
"How could you not?" Pitt grinned. "You're a victorious general—a hero!"
Seeing Wellesley bow his head as though deep in thought, Pitt gestured to the crowd and skipped the planned speeches, instead ushering him into a waiting carriage.
"Is it that damned malaria still bothering you?" Pitt asked with concern. "You don't look well."
Wellesley shook his head gloomily. "You know as well as I do—there was no triumph. I didn't defeat that Indian chieftain."
"You did," Pitt corrected firmly. "Your victory is critical for Britain. The public doesn't care for cold truths."
"Three million pounds and nearly a thousand lives," Wellesley muttered, shaking his head. "All for a sliver of land and Mysore's mockery."
Pitt sighed, patting his shoulder. "Look on the bright side. At least you've secured our foothold in the East."
"Damn the French!" Wellesley suddenly snapped, bloodshot eyes blazing. "It's all because of them!
"The Mysorean soldiers I captured said they were trained by Lafayette himself. That scoundrel even drew up Tipu's entire battle plan.
"And those finely crafted cannons Tipu used—I'd bet my life they came from France!"
Clenching his fists, he growled, "If not for the French, I could have crushed Mysore, captured Seringapatam, and demanded millions in ransom. The entire Indian subcontinent would have trembled before us, offering everything we wanted!
"We must make those damned French dogs pay!"
Pitt nodded slowly, his expression darkening. "Your instincts remain as sharp as ever. In fact, the entire Cabinet shares your view. I plan to make this the cornerstone of our future national strategy and present it to His Majesty soon."
Wellesley blinked in surprise. "You mean 'entirely aligned' in what sense?"
"Regarding France," Pitt said, his gaze steely. "Do you know their trade volume last year? It's surpassed ours.
"Over a million pounds were siphoned directly from us—thanks to that damned Eden Treaty! We've been duped.
"In just two years, the French have caught up to us in numerous industries. Meanwhile, we're shackled by low tariffs under the treaty, watching French goods flood our markets."
(To be continued…)
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