The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 305

Chapter 305: A Letter from the Emperor

More than the food itself, what made the soldiers of the Champagne Corps envious was the fact that the officers of the Imperial Guard dined alongside their men!

Even the food in their bowls was exactly the same as what the soldiers had.

In their hearts, they couldn't help but murmur:

"Now that’s an officer worth serving, someone truly worthy of respect. Compared to them, the officers of the Champagne Corps treat us like gun-toting livestock."

Then, to their astonishment, they saw that His Highness the Crown Prince was also sitting among the soldiers of the Imperial Guard, eating food straight from the communal pot!

"Hmm, this soup tastes pretty good." Joseph dipped some bread into the reddish broth and brought it to his mouth. The mildly spicy tomato soup tasted quite like Russian borscht.

Lefebvre nodded and said,
"Yes, Your Highness. This is the soldiers’ favorite dish apart from meat."

A nearby staff officer chimed in:

"All thanks to tomato paste. Lord have mercy, which genius invented this stuff? The taste of fresh tomatoes is simply incredible."

The genius in question, Joseph, didn't pick up the remark. Instead, he turned to glance at Napoleon, who was eating in silence:

"Captain Bwanaba, how are you adjusting to life in the Imperial Guard?"

Napoleon was startled, quickly set down his food, and stood at attention with a sharp "snap":

"Very well, Your Highness. Everything is going splendidly!"

"Uh, no need to be so stiff," Joseph thought to himself. "We’ll be working together a lot in the future—if you're always this tense, that's not going to work."

He suddenly noticed Napoleon’s bloodshot eyes and asked in concern:

"Why are your eyes so red? Haven’t been sleeping well?"

Indeed, Napoleon had been sleep-deprived. In the two months since he’d joined the Imperial Guard, he had been pushing himself desperately to catch up. Competitive by nature, he barely slept five or six hours a day.

"It’s nothing, Your Highness. Thank you for your concern."

The corps staff officer leaned over and said to Joseph,
"Your Highness, Captain Bwanaba is incredibly diligent. Since he joined the corps, he’s already completed several basic evaluations."

Joseph nodded approvingly at Napoleon, then shifted into casual conversation:

"By the way, once you leave Troyes, you'll be heading for Verdun."

The staff officer blinked in surprise,
"Your Highness, but there aren’t any corps requiring evaluation there, are there?"

"It’s not for an evaluation," Joseph replied. "It’s for war. You’ll be fighting a truly powerful enemy."

At once, the eyes of the surrounding officers and soldiers lit up with excitement. According to the customs of the Imperial Guard, war meant military merit and honor— and that meant promotion.

And the envy and admiration of family and neighbors.

This was thanks to the effective work of the Ministry of Military Affairs.

The homes of decorated soldiers would be "bombarded" with military bands, banners, flowers, and bonuses. For three days, their achievements would be broadcast across nearby towns, turning them into instant local heroes.

When they returned home, the pride and glory they felt often outshone even their promotions.

"Your Highness, who will we be fighting?" a company commander immediately asked.

"That’s not certain yet, but the Prussians are likely among them."

When they heard they'd be facing a proper European army, everyone was instantly eager and itching for action.

They had already defeated the armies of Algiers and Albania, and even triumphed over the Montcalm Corps, but those victories hadn’t been enough to solidify their reputation.

But if they could defeat the Prussians on the battlefield—who could dare question the achievements of the Imperial Guard then?

Speaking of war, Joseph suddenly remembered something and turned to Lefebvre:

"Major, has the latest ‘Compact Cavalry Cannon Carriage’ arrived?"

Lefebvre shook his head.
"It hadn't arrived when we left Paris, Your Highness. But the armory did send the training manual—they said it would arrive within a week."

Joseph let out a breath. Still a bit late. He instructed:

"Then have it sent directly to Verdun. You’ll need to train intensively on its operation. There may not be much time before the fighting begins."

When Napoleon heard the term “Cavalry Cannon Carriage,” his interest was immediately piqued. He turned to a staff officer and asked:

"Sir, what kind of new equipment did His Highness mention just now?"

"Oh, just a kind of cannon carriage that can move quickly. You’ll see it once we reach Versailles," the staff officer said somewhat dismissively. In this era, regional prejudice was rampant—and being a “bumpkin” from a remote island like Corsica only made it worse.

Napoleon wanted to ask more, but the staff officer had already turned to speak with the Crown Prince about training matters. Napoleon couldn’t get a word in edgewise and felt as though a dozen cats were scratching at his heart.

If he wanted to see that cannon carriage, he’d probably have to miss the next meeting of the Corsican Restoration Society. Perhaps Speaker Paoli would issue new instructions...

But that cannon-based weapon was just too enticing...

...

While he was still torn in indecision, the next morning, the corps’ postmen arrived in Troyes.

This was the moment soldiers looked forward to the most. The wooden crates they carried were filled with letters from family, lovers, and friends—their only link to the world outside the military camp.

Once the crowd dispersed after collecting their letters, Napoleon stepped up to the two postmen and gave his name:

"Napoleon Bwanaba. Do I have any mail?"

One tall postman picked up a register and scanned the alphabetical listings, then dug out a letter from the second crate and handed it to him:

"Yes, one letter—from Joseph Bwanaba. Quite the unique surname. Is he your father or your brother?"

"My elder brother," Napoleon answered casually, accepting the letter and quickly retreating to his tent. He tore it open eagerly.

In the letter, his brother first followed the usual custom of asking how Napoleon was faring in the military. Then, with excitement, he shared some news: just last month, by sheer chance, he had been chosen by an assistant to the Minister of Commerce to serve as an administrative aide in the negotiation delegation.

Because there was an urgent need for staff, he didn’t have to pay for the position. The monthly salary was sixty-five livres, plus a generous allowance.

Napoleon smiled in delight. This was far better than the struggling business his brother had been trying to run. With that stable income, he finally wouldn’t have to shoulder the massive family debt alone.

Joseph Bwanaba’s appointment to a government position had, of course, been orchestrated by Joseph himself through instructions to Bailli. In Corsican families, the elder brother was expected to act as the father after the father’s death—and Napoleon respected his brother deeply.

So Joseph had deliberately placed his elder brother into the French bureaucracy. With time and promotion, the saying “your seat shapes your thoughts” would inevitably come true. Eventually, even if Napoleon still wanted to pursue Corsican independence, his brother would oppose it.

Napoleon read on. Joseph Bwanaba told him that by the time this letter arrived, he would already be accompanying the Minister of Commerce to Bavaria for an important trade negotiation.

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