Reincarnated as Napoleon



The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the streets of Paris. It had been a tumultuous day, filled with whispers and rumors that spread like wildfire. The people had eagerly awaited the return of their king, believing that he would stand with them, shoulder to shoulder, in their fight for liberty and equality. But the events of the recent hours had shattered their illusions.

As dusk settled upon the city, a hushed anticipation permeated the air. The revolutionary crowd had gathered in the heart of Paris, lining the streets that led to the imposing gates of the Tuileries Palace. They stood shoulder to shoulder, a sea of eager faces, their eyes burning with a mix of hope and anger. They clutched makeshift weapons and brandished banners bearing the symbols of their revolution.

Then, in the distance, the sound of hooves echoed through the quietude. The crowd tensed, their murmurs fading to a deafening silence. The anticipation reached its crescendo as the carriage carrying the royal family finally emerged from the shadows, flanked by armed guards on horseback. The horse-drawn vehicle rolled slowly, the wheels creaking in protest against the weight of the monarchy it bore.

As the carriage drew closer, the crowd strained their eyes, their collective breath held. A gasp rippled through the assembled masses, an incredulous murmur rising like a wave. The silence that greeted the royal carriage was a stark contrast to the fervent cheers and cries of support that had once echoed in Versailles.

The people looked upon their king with a mixture of disappointment, anger, and betrayal. They had believed in him, put their faith in him, only to have him attempt to flee in the dead of night. The realization of his betrayal crashed down upon them, shaking the foundations of their loyalty.

Faces twisted with disbelief and rage, the crowd erupted into a cacophony of jeers and insults. Bitter words flew through the air, like arrows piercing the heart of the monarchy. The banners that had once proudly proclaimed their allegiance to the king were now torn and trampled underfoot, symbols of shattered trust.

At that moment, the hopes of the people crumbled, replaced by a simmering anger that threatened to ignite the streets of Paris. The revolution that had burned so brightly in their hearts now took on a darker shade, fueled by the perceived betrayal of their king.

The King's last hope of gaining back the people's trust was now gone.

***

A month later, on July 15, 1791.

The National Constituent Assembly had convened within the grand halls of the Tuileries Palace, and its members gathered to deliberate upon the fate of the monarchy. The weight of their decisions hung heavy in the air, mingling with the whispers of intrigue and the clattering of chairs being pulled into place. The room was abuzz with anticipation, a symphony of voices eager to shape the destiny of France.

Robed in their dignified attire, the representatives took their seats, the somber mood casting long shadows across their faces. At the head of the chamber, the president of the Assembly, called the session to order. The murmurs subsided, and the room fell into an expectant silence.

"Esteemed members of the Assembly," the president began, his voice resonating with authority, "we gather today to deliberate upon a matter of utmost importance—the future of our monarchy. As you are well aware, King Louis XVI and his family attempted to flee our beloved country, an act that cast doubt upon the stability of our nation. It is our duty to decide the course we shall take."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, punctuated by the occasional whisper of discontent. The Jacobins, their fervor for republicanism unyielding, were prepared to push for the removal of the king entirely. Their voices, brimming with revolutionary zeal, were eager to tear down the remnants of the monarchy and forge a new path.

One of the prominent Jacobin representatives, Maximilian Robespierre, rose from his seat.

"Honored colleagues, we cannot ignore the glaring betrayal of our king. His attempted escape has exposed his true nature—a monarch who seeks to evade the will of the people. I implore you, let us cast aside the shackles of monarchy altogether and embrace a republic. France deserves a government truly of the people, by the people."

An impassioned murmur spread among the Jacobin faction, their eyes gleaming with fiery determination. The room seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the response from the other members of the Assembly.

A measured voice, resonating with wisdom and caution, arose from the opposite end of the chamber.

"My esteemed colleagues, while the actions of the king are indeed troubling, we must not lose sight of our duty to maintain stability and safeguard the progress we have achieved thus far. Complete removal of the monarchy risks throwing our nation into chaos. Instead, I propose we consider a constitutional monarchy, where the king's powers are reduced, and he serves as a mere figurehead under the authority of the Assembly."

An undercurrent of murmurs reverberated throughout the chamber, as members engaged in whispered debates. The voices of the moderates mingled with those of the Jacobins, their arguments blending in a tapestry of conflicting opinions. The atmosphere crackled with tension, the weight of responsibility pressing upon each representative's shoulders.

Finally, the president raised his gavel, commanding attention once more.

"Gentlemen, it is time to put this matter to a vote. All those in favor of reducing King Louis XVI to a symbolic figurehead under the Constitution of 1791, please signify by raising your hand."

A moment of pregnant silence ensued, as eyes darted from one representative to another, gauging the resolve and conviction etched upon their faces. Slowly, hands began to rise, one by one, signifying a tentative agreement with the proposition.

The president's gaze swept across the room, observing the votes cast and the will of the Assembly taking shape.

"In favor: the majority," the president announced, his voice resonating with the weight of the moment. "It is decided that King Louis XVI shall retain his throne as a symbolic figurehead under the constitutional monarchy."

The room erupted in a medley of reactions—cheers, sighs of relief, and murmurs of discontent. The fate of the monarchy had been sealed, but the lingering echoes of dissent reminded all present that the journey towards a new France was still fraught with challenges. As the session came to a close, the representatives dispersed.

The Jacobins, Georges Danton, and Maximilian Robespierre gathered outside the hall.

"Now this isn't going favorable to our side, Danton," Robespierre said with a furrowed brow as he absently combed his powdered wig with his fingers.

"So what should we do Max? Should we call on the people?" Danton asked, looking at him.

"That's right. Reach out to Jacques Pierre Brissot, the president of the Comité des Recherches of Paris. Have him write a petition for the removal of the king and gather them in the Champ de Mars. You will also participate."

"Well, if you say so."

***

Two days later, on July 17, 1791, a crowd of 50,000 people gathered at the Champ de Mars with a single purpose: to sign the petition. The majority of the crowd consisted of radicals who, upon learning of the National Constituent Assembly's decision to allow the King to maintain his position, were consumed by rage and disbelief.

Recognizing the mounting insurrection, Paris Mayor Jean Sylvain Bailly took action, urgently summoning the National Guard to disperse the protesters. At the forefront of the National Guard was Lafayette, mounted on his horse, a commanding figure overseeing the vast sea of discontented faces. Amidst the throngs of people, Lafayette's eyes caught sight of two prominent figures: Georges Danton and Camille Desmoulins.

"Ah the Jacobins again," Lafayette muttered under his breath. He cleared his throat and spoke in a loud voice. "The City of Paris is under martial law, as decreed by the authority of Mayor Jean Sylvain Bailly All forms of gatherings, including protests, are suspended. I hereby order you to disperse immediately, or I will be compelled to take drastic measures. I repeat, disperse immediately."

But instead of them retreating and dispersing, the gathered crowds jeered and brandished their makeshift weapons. Some of the crowds threw stones at the ranks of the National Guards.

The stones hurled by the defiant crowd struck the soldiers, who instinctively covered their heads with their arms to avoid the impact.

"We will not leave if our demands are not met!" One of the protesters shouted.

"Remove the king! Remove the king!" they chanted repeatedly in unison.

Lafayette's gaze hardened as he watched the projectiles rain down on his troops. He could not allow this show of defiance to escalate further.

"Ready your weapons!" Lafayette bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. The National Guard formed a defensive line, their faces etched with determination, muskets raised, and bayonets fixed, glinting in the fading light. The atmosphere crackled with tension as the confrontation reached its boiling point.

Lafayette raised his saber high, a silent warning to those who dared to challenge the authority of martial law. His steely gaze swept across the faces before him, every line etched with unwavering resolve.

"I will not repeat myself!" Lafayette's voice boomed. "Disperse now or you will be fired upon!"

The crowd teetered on the precipice, their momentary resistance warring with the realization of them getting killed. But they remained in their positions.

Lafayette lowered his sword saber and then the National Guards pulled the trigger. A thick plume of smoke was emitted from their muskets, yet the crowd was still standing.

Stunned, they checked their bodies to see if they got shot, but there wasn't a trace of it.

"This is your final warning!" Lafayette spoke again. "The next volley will be real!"

The crowd hesitated, their defiant expressions faltering for a brief moment. Some individuals began to back away, sensing the imminent danger. But the core of the protesters remained resolute, their determination unyielding.

Meanwhile, Georges Danton was there, unfazed by the warning shots of the National Guards. His lips curled into a devilish smile as he challenged Lafayette with a stare.

"That's right, Lafayette, fire at us, I dare you," he whispered menacingly.

Lafayette's grip tightened around his sword hilt, his eyes narrowing as he locked his gaze with Danton's fiery stare.

Without a moment's hesitation, Lafayette shouted. "Fire!"

The air was split with a deafening volley of musket fire. Smoke engulfed the Champ de Mars as the shots rang out, echoing through the hearts of the people gathered there. The protesters stood their ground, their defiance unwavering, but this time the volley was not blank.

Bodies fell to the ground, cries of pain and anguish mingling with the chaos. Blood stained the earth, seeping into the grass of the once peaceful field.

"Fire!"

Another volley of musket fire erupted, tearing through the air with a deadly intensity. The crackling sound of gunfire drowned out all other noise, replaced by piercing screams and desperate pleas for mercy. The Champ de Mars became a battleground, its once tranquil atmosphere now transformed into a scene of carnage and devastation.

The defiant protesters, once standing firm in their resolve, were now scattered and disarrayed, their bodies falling like fragile dominoes.

As the smoke cleared, the true extent of the massacre revealed itself. Lifeless bodies littered the ground, the once verdant carpet of green, now dyed red.

Lafayette was disgusted at the sight. "They left me with no choice. Soldiers, clear the bodies!"

The soldiers of the National Guard moved forward to carry out the gruesome task. They dragged the lifeless bodies of their fellow citizens and stacked them in a somber pile.

Georges Danton and his associate, Camille Desmoulins met Robespierre in an undisclosed location.

"I heard the shots rang, so they took the bait?" Robespierre asked, grinning.

"That's right, Max. With this, the Jacobins will now seize the opportunity to rally more supporters to our causes."

"Then be ready for our next course of action," Robespierre steepled his fingers, his eyes gleaming cold.

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