Chapter 240: The Corsican Lieutenant
At that moment, Lieutenant Buonaparte had only one thought in his mind—the orders from Paris. While suppressing a riot, he didn't need to get approval from higher-ranking officers.
More importantly, if he could successfully quell the riot in front of him, there was a good chance he could earn a promotion. Coming from a small noble family on the island of Corsica, being a lieutenant was likely the highest rank he could achieve in his military career unless something extraordinary happened.
He knew he had to seize this opportunity.
As he looked at the frenzied rioters, he gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, thinking to himself, If only we had the cannons here.
But the cannons were still back in Valence, and the regimental commander would never agree to move them to this small town. Given the commander's ambiguous attitude toward the riots, he might not even approve of Buonaparte coming here to suppress them.
Before long, the rioters spotted the soldiers. Instead of being afraid, they began hurling stones at the small group of troops.
Lieutenant Buonaparte dodged one of the stones, only to hear a soldier behind him cry out in pain.
Seeing the rioters' arrogance, Buonaparte frowned slightly and turned to his sergeant, whispering a few orders. The sergeant quickly circled around the formation and ran along the wall to the other side of the street.
Once the soldiers behind him had instinctively formed ranks, Buonaparte took a few more steps forward and raised his hand.
"Stop advancing!" he ordered.
Then, as was customary, he had one of the sergeants step forward and shout warnings to the rioters, demanding they leave immediately.
Their response was even more stones.
Buonaparte moved to the left end of the formation and shouted, "Prepare!"
"Fire a volley into the air!"
Bang!
The gunfire startled the rioters, but when they realized the shots weren't aimed at them, they regained their momentum.
"These soldiers don't dare shoot us!"
"There are only a few of them! We have nothing to fear!"
"Drive them away and head to Baron Lorette's estate!"
"Stone them to death!"
Just then, another group of rioters appeared from around the corner, merging with the first group until their numbers exceeded 500. They shouted as they hurled stones, advancing toward the soldiers.
Buonaparte glanced back and saw that the soldiers were so nervous that their movements were clumsy—they were artillerymen, after all, not infantry used to fighting with muskets. Still, he calmly commanded them.
"Don't just stand there—load your weapons!"
As five more soldiers were struck by stones, and the rioters closed to within sixty or seventy paces, the sergeant finally arrived on the opposite side of the street.
Ignoring his need to catch his breath, the sergeant fired a shot into the air and shouted, "Lieutenant! Colonel Reynaud is here with a thousand men!"
His voice was loud and clear, and the rioters heard him perfectly. A wave of panic spread through them as they stopped advancing and began looking around nervously.
Lieutenant Buonaparte seized the brief moment of hesitation, turning back to urge his men.
"Quick, load your weapons! Hurry!"
The rioters, a disorderly mob, continued searching for "Colonel Reynaud" while the fifty artillerymen finally finished loading their muskets.
Buonaparte raised his sword and pointed it at the rioters.
"Advance five paces!"
"Prepare!"
"Aim!"
"Fire!"
At a distance of just over fifty paces, the artillerymen fired a volley. Though only six rioters were hit, the deafening gunfire and the screams of the wounded intimidated the mob.
At the same time, the sergeant on the side of the street fired another shot and shouted again, "Run! The soldiers are here!"
"Yeah, there are thousands of them! Run before it's too late!"
Lieutenant Buonaparte decisively ordered, "Fix bayonets!"
"Charge!"
He led the soldiers in a line straight at the rioters.
Their charge was so forceful that the rioters, believing reinforcements were arriving, panicked and began to retreat. When the soldiers were still twenty paces away, the mob turned and fled.
As the riots in the southern provinces began to subside, a very different kind of news was being circulated in Paris.
The front pages of Le Parisien were filled with headlines like "Riots Continue to Spread in the South" and "Local Troops Fail to Act, Letting Rioters Run Wild."
Other newspapers followed suit, painting a grim picture of the southern provinces, where the military was portrayed as cowardly and ineffective at maintaining order.
Any news contradicting this narrative was blocked by the Bureau of Press and Publications.
Given the slow communication of this era, even if someone were to investigate later, it would be difficult to determine whether the riots had actually ended more than ten days earlier than reported.
Starting on January 25th, the major newspapers began to focus on stories like "The Prince Personally Leads Troops South to Quell Riots" and "Paris Corps Deploys to Western Provinces to Respond to Riots."
In reality, the Guard Corps was only two days away from Montpellier.
The citizens of Paris, who had been anxious for so long, finally saw a glimmer of hope, eagerly awaiting good news from the Prince.
In the Saint-Germain district of Paris, a secret salon was being held at Madame Eber's villa.
The participants were all influential capitalists of the time, along with a few enlightened members of the old nobility.
Mirabeau was delivering a passionate speech:
"The traditional privileges of the nobility are no longer suited to this world! These bloated, greedy, and lazy noble lords do nothing but exploit the poor peasants year after year with their privileges. All they bring to this country is suffering, backwardness, and disgrace!
"How many have gone bankrupt, fallen into poverty, or even died from hunger or disease because of their extravagant and meaningless lives? Meanwhile, they wallow in their balls and banquets at Versailles.
"The old privileges of the nobility must be abolished! No one should be a parasite on the state!"
Bailly immediately stood up, raising his arm excitedly.
"Abolish the old privileges of the nobility!"
Vernieu, Jansonne, and Varennes also stood up.
"Even the peasants have the right to live well!"
"Abolish serfdom completely! The peasants need freedom!"
"Yes! Freedom and the right to live!"
Mirabeau signaled for the crowd to quiet down and continued:
"The Prince has said that the riots in the western and southern provinces have given us a rare opportunity! We must unite and attack these parasites to create a hopeful future for France!"
Vernieu's eyes shone with excitement.
"What does His Highness want us to do?"
Mirabeau took out the document Joseph had given him, and the dozens of people around him immediately crowded in to see.
"Abolish all corvée labor and any obligations peasants owe to their lords."
"Abolish the nobility's privileges of hunting, keeping pigeons, keeping rabbits, and fishing. Abolish the mill tax and the oven tax..."
"Abolish the seigneurial courts. Any disputes should be judged by the courts..."
"Implement the 'Grain Yield Act,' which requires any landholding over 10 hectares to meet a specified yield per acre."
Bailly looked at Mirabeau, puzzled. "What's the Grain Yield Act?"
"His Highness says it's essential for the development of industry..."
January 27, 1789.
Montpellier.
On a hill six kilometers west of Count Salérier's estate, Joseph was giving a speech to a group of journalists and nobles.
Some of these journalists had come all the way from Paris, while others were locals from Montpellier, summoned two days earlier by a courier.
"Look at this magnificent army!" Joseph gestured toward the distant Guard Corps, his voice firm and confident. "They will restore order to the southern provinces with the utmost speed."
Meanwhile, in a forest clearing far away, a group of about three or four hundred men, who looked like peasants but carried old muskets, were quietly advancing toward Count Salérier's estate.
(End of Chapter)
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