Chapter 57 Return To Paris



August 5th, 1794The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))

Napoleon sat in his military tent, the sounds of the camp bustling around him. The taste of the apple lingered on his tongue as he absorbed the words of Ciela's letter. The news of Maximilien Robespierre's execution struck him deeply, stirring a mix of emotions within his young and ambitious heart.

As he continued reading, memories of the revolution flooded his mind. The chaotic days when the revolutionaries seized control of the government, proclaiming liberty, equality, and fraternity. The ideals resonated with him, inspiring a sense of hope and change. But somewhere along the way, that hope had turned into a twisted path of violence and fear.

Napoleon recalled the fervor of those times when every decision seemed to carry life-or-death consequences. The guillotine became an emblem of the revolution, claiming countless lives, including those who had fought alongside Robespierre. He couldn't deny the atrocities committed during the Reign of Terror. The Revolution had turned into a beast devouring its own children.

The government promised a new beginning to the country, and yet the echoes of the revolution's bloodshed still reverberated within Napoleon's soul. He couldn't help but question the true nature of power and the lengths people would go to obtain it. The vision of a united and prosperous France seemed distant amidst the chaos and strife that had gripped the nation.

And at that moment, Napoleon realized that the government, the Legislative Assembly, and the National Convention were not acting in the best interest of the people they were meant to serve, but their own. Politicians were corrupt, driven by personal gain and power rather than the noble principles they had once professed.

The apple's flavor had turned sour in Napoleon's mouth, reflecting the bitter taste of betrayal he felt. How had the revolution, which had ignited the hopes of a nation, been perverted into a game of political maneuvering and self-interest? The ideals of liberty, equality, and fraternity had been trampled underfoot, sacrificed on the altar of ambition and greed.

However, despite his military achievements, he still couldn't do anything to change. In real history, it would take another five years for him to ascend to the seat of power.

"Just five more years..." Napoleon repeated, promising himself that when he became the leader of France, he would bring about the change the nation desperately needed. He would dismantle the corrupt system that had tarnished the ideals of the revolution and restore the true spirit of liberty, equality, and fraternity.

Arriving in Toulon, Napoleon boarded the train that would take him to the heart of Paris. As he settled in his seat, he noticed the gazes of the other passengers.

"Hey...isn't that General Napoleon?"

"Yeah, I believe he was the one who masterminded the defeat of the British and the Allied Forces."

"It was impressive but I couldn't cheer for him after what he had done to the Toulonnais. Have you heard of it? Women and children were executed."

"That's too harsh," another passenger interjected, his tone filled with disapproval. "But there were stories that he wasn't involved in the execution..."

"Even then! He was still part of the army that carried out the orders," someone countered.

Napoleon listened to the whispered conversations, aware of the mixed opinions swirling around him. And he couldn't help but sigh. The atrocities committed during the Toulon uprising had left a stain on his reputation. Despite his efforts to distance himself from the execution of women and children, the blame still lingered.

An hour later, the steam locomotive pulled out of Toulon station, its rhythmic chugging filling the air. As the train gained speed, Napoleon gazed out of the window, watching the familiar landscapes of his homeland whiz by.

12 hours later, the steam locomotive arrived in the heart of France. He stepped out of the car and onto the platform of the bustling Parisian train station. The city's energy and vibrancy engulfed him as he took a moment to absorb the atmosphere. The streets were alive with the sounds of horse-drawn carriages, bustling pedestrians, and the occasional street vendor calling out their wares.

Napoleon adjusted his tricorn hat and straightened his military jacket. He then headed towards the streets where could hail a carriage. Moments later, an opulent carriage, drawn by six horses, pulled up next to Napoleon. The carriage itself was a spectacle of luxury, adorned with intricate gold engravings and velvet curtains that hinted at its aristocratic origins. The coachman, dressed in a resplendent livery, descended from his seat and opened the carriage door with a flourish.

Inside the opulent carriage was a woman, dressed in a flowing gown of silk and lace. The dress hugged her slender figure, its pale pink hue complementing her fair complexion. Her strawberry blonde hair was styled into an elaborate updo, adorned with jeweled hair pins. A delicate fan rested in her gloved hand, and her eyes sparkled as her eyes met his.

"Ciela..." Napoleon muttered.