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The Crown Prince of France - Chapter 302
🕑 Added 2025-07-04 19:02:01 +0000 UTCChapter 302: The Mocked Napoleon
“No, neither of them…”
Joseph suddenly realized he had made a careless mistake—according to the customs of later generations, there was no need for a fifteen-year-old to think about marriage at all. But in the eighteenth century, that already bordered on being a late-marriage bachelor!
Queen Marie Antoinette furrowed her brows even deeper:
“My dear, you are already fifteen. Your grandfather and great-grandfather were both married at your age.” She glanced at Louis XVI beside her. “Your father married me at sixteen, and even that was considered a bit late. You mustn’t be like him.”
Louis XVI nodded along with perfect cooperation.
Queen Marie took her son's hand, inhaled deeply, and spoke in the gentlest tone she could manage:
“My dear, since you have no complaints about Maria Clementine, why not marry her sooner? Once the two of you have an heir, the people of France will feel much more reassured.”
“I…” Joseph felt completely on the back foot at this moment. He had meticulously schemed across the entire continent, Africa and the Americas included, but had never considered planning for his own marriage.
Who goes around finding a wife for a fifteen-year-old boy? I’ve only just hit puberty a couple years ago!
Getting married too early is bad for your health—this is basic knowledge… Sure, my grandfather and great-grandfather married young, but one only lived to sixty-four and the other died in his prime at thirty-six. Doesn’t that suggest something?
Besides, Maria Clementine is a close relative. Is he really expected to go down the royal family route in eighteenth-century France? Not to mention she’s only twelve. In the modern age, this would easily get you three years in prison—minimum—with no cap on the sentence!
Seeing her son silent, Queen Marie spoke again with heartfelt seriousness:
“My dear, if it’s because you’re fond of that girl named Perna… Well, it’s not entirely out of the question, but her status is far too low. If you like her, you may certainly keep her at your side. But as your formal bride, she must be a princess—at the very least, the daughter of a crown prince.”
Joseph nearly spat out a mouthful of blood—how had his mother dragged Dr. Perna into this again…
He struggled to stay calm, thought for a moment, and decided to go with the “lofty ambition” route:
“Mother, if we’re speaking of love, then I have only one true love—France!
“As the Crown Prince, I hope to see France, under the eyes of God, reign supreme over all of Europe!
“If I must marry, then my bride must come from a nation that can offer powerful support to France.
“Clearly, that nation is not Austria.”
Queen Marie was visibly surprised. “You believe there is a nation more suitable than Austria?”
Joseph nodded. “You must have heard that Austria was just defeated in the Southern Netherlands by the allied Prussian and Dutch forces. If it loses the Southern Netherlands, Austria’s strength will rapidly decline—Prussia might even surpass it!”
“No! My brother will definitely reclaim the Southern Netherlands,” Queen Marie’s voice suddenly rose. “I know him—the Prussians won’t scare him!”
A faint smile appeared in Joseph’s eyes. “Father, Mother, then perhaps we should wait until the war in the Southern Netherlands concludes before we consider an alliance with Austria?”
Louis XVI nodded thoughtfully, then took his wife’s hand and said softly, “My dear, Joseph has truly grown up. He’s now able to consider marriage from the standpoint of national interests. Perhaps we really were being too hasty.”
As Queen Marie stood there stunned, he winked at Joseph and silently mouthed, “You can go. I’ll handle her.”
Joseph seized the moment, rose to his feet, bowed, and made a swift escape from the Trianon Palace.
A long while later, Queen Marie looked at her husband with a hint of resentment. “You know full well he’s just making excuses.”
Louis XVI smiled. “Our son is so clever—he must have his reasons. We should trust him.”
“You spoil him far too much,” Queen Marie sighed. “Maria Clementine is so lovely and sweet. Why doesn’t Joseph like her?”
Louis XVI kissed the back of his wife’s hand and, with uncharacteristic emotional intelligence, said, “With such a beautiful mother, I fear his standards for beauty may simply be too high.”
“You scoundrel!” Queen Marie giggled, but quickly returned to seriousness. “Still, he’s no longer that young. Before next year, we must finalize his betrothal.”
“Very well,” Louis XVI agreed earnestly. “I’ll have a proper talk with him.”
...
Eastern France.
Troyes Province.
A unit clad in impeccable uniforms, golden fleur-de-lis insignias glinting on their collars, and carrying pristine Auguste-style fire cap guns, was marching in neat columns toward the outskirts of a town.
They were headed there to perform a “standards demonstration” for the famed Champagne Corps. It was something they had done multiple times before, and every unit that witnessed their drills left utterly crushed in confidence.
Afterwards, capable and ambitious officers and soldiers from those corps would promptly submit transfer applications to the General Staff Headquarters, pleading for a position in the Royal Guard—even if it meant doing menial labor.
In the middle of the formation, a few soldiers caught sight of the young officers on horseback at the front and began murmuring among themselves.
“Hey, that captain’s new, right? Anyone know him?”
“Rumor has it he came through General Berthier’s network. Got assigned to the Guard.” A tall, scruffy-bearded soldier said. “Name’s something weird… Napol—something.”
“It’s Napoleon. Napoleon Bwanaba,” murmured a middle-aged soldier behind them. “He’s Italian. But he didn’t get into the Guard through connections. I heard he did quite well suppressing unrest in Amnye.”
“Hah!” Two soldiers burst out laughing. “You must not know—this hero of a captain hasn’t passed the 5-kilometer run even once! During the last few ‘demonstrations’ he stayed back at camp.”
“Well, he’s Italian. Not surprising if he’s a bit frail…”
“I heard this Captain often calls in sick, too.”
“A sickly officer, eh? No wonder! Hahaha.”
Up front, the young officer on horseback caught fragments of their laughter and chatter. Veins bulged on his forehead. His hands, gripping the reins tightly, had turned ghostly pale from strain.
Yet he couldn’t refute them—because that damned 5-kilometer run was absurdly hard.
At first, he didn’t believe the other soldiers could finish that distance in under 22 minutes. But reality had slapped him hard—only three people in the entire corps failed to finish on time. One had a fever, the other a broken boot.
Worst of all, the Guard required all officers below the rank of major to complete the 5-kilometer training alongside the troops.
In his heart, he swore that in this “standards demonstration,” he would make every soldier mocking him eat their words.
When had Napoleon ever lost to anyone? Even in the military academy, those who once scorned him were ultimately outshone by his exceptional grades!
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