by Tom Anderson
“Was?” Aumont said, then added: “So it has passed. Good.”
“The mob is not a tide to subside by itself!” Bonaparte said harshly. “I crushed it with my own hands, and may I be damned if those faces don’t haunt my dreams ever after, but I damn well did it. And you? What do you have under control?”
“The Dauphin is safe,” Aumont said stiffly, “that is all that truly matters.”
“Ah,” said Bonaparte. “To hold the heart is to hold the nation. How Jacobin of you.”
Aumont started in disgust. “Be careful with that pretty mouth of yours, Monsieur,” he warned. “This is no time for your games.”
“No,” Bonaparte agreed, “but perhaps you would be so good as to let me know just how you located the Royal Family.”
“Ah,” Aumont said, “now that is an interesting tale…”
It was said to be one of the few times Bonaparte was ever taken aback. The curtain parted and Barras came in, not meeting his friend’s gaze.
There was a moment of silence, and then Bonaparte spoke, two words. “Paul. Pourquoi?”
Barras did not answer for another long moment; then, just as Aumont was about to intervene, he spoke. “I know what you did, Leo. You saved the city. I knew you would, even though we haven’t heard anything here, but I can guess. You took up some Tortues and drove them through the streets, didn’t you?”
“You know me well, old friend,” Bonaparte said tightly.
“Yes… I have indeed been your friend, and always shall be, Leo, which made what I had to do all the harder.” Barras finally met his gaze. “France cannot afford another Lisieux.”
Bonaparte recoiled. “Surely you cannot mean–”
“You have good intentions. So did the Jacobins–” Aumont’s lip curled at that “–and so did Marlborough. It makes no difference. If one man has that much power–”
“Not for my own sake. Because it is needed to save the country.”
“And when will you give it up and go to retire like Cincinnatus?”
Bonaparte paused. “When the country is secure.”
“Merde. You know all too well that a country can never be truly secure. I won’t allow you to become a Dictateur, Leo. With His Most Christian Majesty dead and Dauphin Charles a minor, we will need a Regent. I don’t want you to be France’s Marlborough.”
Bonaparte clenched his fists, then unclenched them. “If I were Marlborough, I would not have come here alone and unarmed,” he said softly. “So what now?”
“Now we strike a deal–” Barras began.
“Yes,” Aumont interrupted, “a deal which will end in you walking off in disgust, then turning to shoot with a concealed pistol, but fortuitously my brave men will take you down before you can fire.”
The tirailleurs’ rifles lifted, all pointed at Bonaparte’s chest.
There was a moment of dead silence as Barras stared at Aumont in horror. Then Bonaparte burst out laughing.
He laughed loud and long, as Aumont looked at him in irritation. “Do not think my threat idle,” the Duc said. “I regret it deeply, for I respect you for everything you have done for France, regardless of your foreign birth – but Monsieur Barras is right about you grubbing power for yourself.”
“And what would you do, Your Grace?” Bonaparte said sarcastically.
“I would not compromise with the Jacobin scum who murdered my family,” Aumont said acidly.
“I see,” Bonaparte said. “Well, there is one thing you have overlooked, Your Grace.”
“Yes?” Aumont said impatiently. Barras’ eyes widened, then he covered them.
“It is a fine piece of entrapment indeed you have placed me in. But you neglect to realise that while you have been here cowering and plotting to take over the burnt-out wreck of the France you care so little for – while the homes of the common folk have been in flames – I have been saving this city. In particular I was there when we retook Le Marais… the Rue des Épiciers to be specific.[260] Do you know, Your Grace, that the inhabitants had barricaded themselves in their homes? So many of their men, you see, happen to work in a particular trade which requires them to be away from home, and so the wives and children were alone and defenceless before that raging mob. Had we not come to break up that mob with our steam and steel, they would have died… but not quickly. Raped, throat slit, jewellery torn from their bodies–”
“Yes, yes,” Aumont said. “Enough of your disgusting tales. The common folk will always suffer in these crises. It is their lot, and it is their own fault for rallying to these insane mobs. The husbands of those women were probably out doing a bit of raping of their own, just like in the Revolution! I do not care to consider the morals of such a lowly crew.”
“I see,” Bonaparte. “Then I would give you one piece of free advice, Aumont–” The Duc bristled at such familiar talk, “–and that is if one is to attempt to entrap Napoleone Buonaparte, Leo Bone, Napoleon Bonaparte, the one thing you should never do–”
Bonaparte gave a simple hand signal, and the six soldiers turned as one, with precise military drill, and suddenly the six Tirailleur rifles were aimed at Aumont and his cronies.
“What is this–” Aumont began, outraged.
“–is try to trap him with warriors,” Bonaparte said contemptuously. “Next time try some hired thugs, Aumont. No morals, no loyalties. Some of those you were so dismissive of. Here is another piece of free advice: do not confuse them with the fine, elite Tirailleurs of the Eleventh Division, the men I was so proud to fight alongside at the Battle of Paris. The men who happen to be recruited from the streets around the Rue des Épiciers in the district of Le Marais. The men whose wives I was proud to save, to repay my debt for when they saved my life on that battlefield.”
Aumont’s eyes widened, but as he opened his mouth to reply, those eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped. Behind him stood Barras with a copy of the Holy Bible bound in leather with lead clasps. He wordlessly looked at Bonaparte, and nodded.
Few words had to pass between those men. “You know why? You know why I did it? Both this and… before?”
“I will always remember. But this cannot stand. You must go.”
Barras nodded. “Where?”
“The same place as Aumont.” Barras paled, Bonaparte smiled. “No, no. Aumont is a bile-filled arrogant enculé but in his heart he does want to serve France. He’d just be better serving it in a place far away from any Jacobins. A place that never had any Jacobins.”
Barras nodded again. “I see. So this is your solution to the matter we discussed–”
“In England they have a saying; to kill two birds with one stone. You will have certain compensations, as will Aumont. But do not try to flee or double-cross me again, or I swear to God I will tell the Dauphin to bring the phlogisticateur out again and I will see you burn.”
Barras paled again. In that moment (saith L’Os) he knew that he had been right, that Bonaparte could be more than Richelieu, than Louis XIV, than Charlemagne himself – and he also knew that nothing he could have done could have prevented it. He was lucky indeed to have escaped with his life, even if it was to such a distant and miserable place as…
*
From: “The Exiliad: A Brief History of the Empire of New Spain” by Pavel Matin (1969)—
The Spanish had always been concerned at the way that French Louisiana had repeatedly encroached westwards along the Gulf coast. This was partly due to territorial losses to the Empire of North America and her Cherokee allies, but mostly due to the fact that the French colony’s population had swelled from the influx of Canajuns from Quebec. This had accelerated further with some French Royalists fleeing there from the Revolution later on, with the result that by default Louisiana had almost swallowed the Viceroyalty of New Spain’s old Province of Texas. Viceroy Martín de Gálvez fumed and war might have broken out, had not the fall of Spain, the establishment of the Empire of the Indies and the Third Platinean War intervened.
By the time that
was all over, the Empire was too weak to consider such a conflict and the French were too firmly ensconced. In 1814 insult was added to injury when the new French government led by Regent Napoleon Bonaparte issued a royal proclamation taking the extraordinary step of making the colony of Louisiana a Grand Duchy. The unusually high rank, it became clear, was because its assigned Grand Duke was the celebrated Louis Henri d’Aumont and only an elevation to Grand Duke would have been appropriate. With him came Paul Barras, former Comptroller-General of France but apparently no longer the flavour of the month. Between them they set out to reform the colony that had been led fairly well through the Jacobin Wars by Charles-Michéle Ledoux (who had conveniently died two weeks before Aumont arrived, avoiding any awkwardness). Aumont and Barras sought to ensure Louisiana could stand against any attack by the Empire of New Spain or the Empire of North America (particularly Carolinian or Cherokee freebooters.[261]
Facing this move, rather than attempting to reclaim the Texan land, Emperor Charles decided to consider the root causes that had led to the French being able to plant themselves there and then take action to prevent further losses. It became clear that the colonisation of Texas had begun to slacken off in the latter half of the eighteenth century and had not been appropriately maintained.[262] This meant that the French had been able to start settling across the debatable border in the almost deserted province – and before the Spanish could react, the coastline was effectively lost and the interior with it.
Charles had already begun programmes to colonise New California and Far California to ensure a presence in the Oregon region disputed with the Russians and Americans, but now realised that more colonists should be directed to the western remnant of the Texas province (which was eventually, quietly split between New Mexico, Coahuila and New Santander provinces). The problem arose because the western Texan land was not particularly desirable and New Spain had strict rules about only allowing Catholic settlement. Fortunately for Charles, though tragically for so many, an event a few years later served to help him out in that regard…
*
From: “A History of the British Isles”, by John Kligenheim-Smith (1971)—
The exact causes behind the Great Famine of 1822 are still debated, and are confused by the fact that it came relatively soon after other disasters such as the Year Without A Summer and the resulting crop failures. However the Great Famine was unlike that incident and the food shortages of the 1740s, both of which were caused by climatic conditions. The primary cause appears to have been a new strain of potato blight which (rather ironically given its later effects) appears to have originated in the Vale of Mexico in the 1810s before spreading to the Empire of North America. Here in particular it harmed New York and Pennsylvania’s farmers, and perhaps contributed to the radical realignment of the latter Confederation’s politics a few years later. The blight then spread across the Atlantic and infected all of Europe in a cataclysm that in some regions killed many more than the Jacobin Wars had. On the mainland the areas worst affected included the Kingdom of Flanders, Austrian Bohemia, Poland and the Duchy of Prussia, as they relied most strongly on potatoes as a staple crop. Flanders received much assistance from their Dutch ally, with the Dutch themselves suffering a more minor failure but swiftly roping in the VOC to begin bringing in food from the Mediterranean, including the Ottoman Empire and Naples. This was copied by other European powers, including (most controversially) Portugal, which suffered almost no crop losses due to its different staples but cheerfully bought and sold food to other countries for an outrageous profit.
It is no small exaggeration to say that the effects of the Famine strongly affected the political trends of Europe. The difference between the rich and poor – the latter much more reliant on potatoes – was emphasised, opening old wounds from the Jacobin Revolutionary period. The poor of the Dutch Republic resented the rich nobles who got first pick of the emergency supplies coming in, whereas the poor of Flanders were less resentful due to the fact that Charles Theodore II set an example of public austerity and forced his own ramshackle collection of nobles to follow suit. The Poles’ opinion of their personal union partner Saxony went down due to a perceived (and partly accurate) impression that the Saxons were doing nothing to help the starving people of the restored Kingdom. Northern Swabia also suffered to a smaller extent, and Michael Elchingener helped set up new mountain routes to allow trading for food with Italy via the former Switzerland. Finally, Denmark made a point of assisting Sweden even though she herself was suffering from the famine.
However, the area hit hardest by the famine was undoubtedly the British Isles, and in particular Ireland and the Scottish Highlands. Both regions were relatively bleak and barren, with poor farmland that had consigned their inhabitants to a miserable (or rather, even more miserable) existence before the introduction of the potato by Sir Walter Raleigh almost three centuries before. The miracle crop had allowed the population of Ireland in particular to rapidly increase, with the vulnerability that it had become very dependent on it.
Therefore when the blight hit and rendered as much as 30% of the potato harvest inedible, Ireland was thrown into chaos.[263] The Parliament of Ireland, led by John Ponsonby since the death of Henry Grattan in 1816, began passing panicked legislation to try and help, but the fact that the famine was so universal meant that this soon devolved into crisis and bickering.
Into this void, inevitably, stepped the Lord Deputy, Richard Wesley, Lord Mornington. He had been an aloof and patrician figure since the Churchill regime over in Great Britain began its descent into authoritarianism, but his lack of intervention in Irish politics had been taken as a testament that the Parliament was functioning properly. Now he acted, directly approaching the British government for the help Ireland so sorely needed. England had suffered slightly, but possessed sufficient variety in staple crops that she was far better off than most countries.
Wesley’s request caused a rumpus in the Palace of Westminster – the new one, that is, a cold marble palace of Neoclassical architecture with a few daring flourishes evocative of Persian art. Parliament by this point was mostly a talking shop due to Churchill amassing power, but MPs were swift to give toadying speeches hoping to grab the Lord Protector’s attention. Many of the hard-line Tories who made up the core of Churchill’s Rebirth Coalition began emphasising how much the Irish deserved it, as a punishment from God for their popery; witness how fair England had escaped the famine. Surely the proper thing would be to leave them to die, etc. Some even began quoting Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal, unaware of the irony intended.
This situation ended when Churchill appeared in the House of Lords one chilly Monday morning. This was quite an unusual occasion, as he preferred to rule from the new Prime Ministerial residence, Downing House (part of the Whitehall Forum).[264] Now Churchill stared down the bickering ministers, and addressed them.
He spoke of how he had thought the situation in Britain was lost, more than a decade before, when reports had come of Irish troops landing in Liverpool to back up the French invasion. He spoke of how he had been astonished to meet Sir John Moore and the Duke of Mornington, to find that the Irish army was loyal, ready to defend the kingdom that had hurt her smaller sister so many times – not always intentionally perhaps, but nonetheless. He spoke of how Ireland, along with the Empire of North America, had faithfully sent along food supplies in what he called the Darkest Hour, after the French had been expelled but the fields were burning and the displaced English starving. Even through the Year Without A Summer the convoys had continued.
Churchill, in a fiery moment that is probably single-handedly responsible for half his modern apologists, bellowed: “And if any man disagrees that in return for that loyalty we owe nothing less than to devote all that we have, to work with all our blood and toil and tears and sweat until we are worthy once again to look the Irishman in the face, yes even the papist, and say ‘when we needed a helper, you were there; and like the Good Samaritan your faith w
as not misplaced’ – THEN LET THAT MAN FACE ME NOW!” and Churchill drew his sword, a shocked murmur sweeping the chamber, for that was and always had been illegal within the Palace.
The speech, and its more practiced repetitions, is widely considered to be some of Churchill’s greatest oratory, and his comparison to the Good Samaritan came back time and time again. This was small surprise, as the parable fit perfectly – Ireland was looked down upon by Britain, as the Samaritans had been by the Jews, yet it was also its neighbour, as Jesus had said: Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves? And he said, He that shewed mercy on him. Then said Jesus unto him, Go, and do thou likewise.
Of course, even with Churchill bullying the country into sending all the food she could spare across the Irish Sea, many in Ireland still died of malnutrition and starvation. Many more took the decision to leave the country, and of this latter group most were Catholics who yearned for something more than the mild tolerance Wesley had achieved. The New World beckoned for the courageous, and with many parts of the Empire of North America at that point even more hostile to Catholics than Britain, the choices were obvious. In the years after the Great Famine, Irish immigrants would flood into the Grand Duchy of Louisiana, the Empire of the Indies and the United Provinces of South America.
