Napoleon (2): Does Fate Exist?
Does fate truly exist? Napoleon wrote Supper at Beaucaire exactly as he had in the original history. All I had done was take him to a coffee house.
“What do you think?”
“Napoleon. Publish this as a pamphlet.”
“Publish it?”
“Yes. The content is strong. With any luck, the National Convention may take notice.”
“My writing could catch the Convention’s eye?”
Napoleon wore a skeptical expression. From the standpoint of someone who didn’t know the future, it was hard to believe that the scribblings of a mere low-ranking officer would ever draw attention from the National Convention.
But I knew. I knew that Supper at Beaucaire would seize the Convention’s interest, and that this interest would eventually appoint Napoleon as Toulon’s artillery commander.
“Trust me this once, Napoleon,” I said with conviction. “They will definitely show interest.”
“If you insist, I’ll publish it.”
The single word “Convention” had been enough to prod him. Napoleon decided on publication without long deliberation. A man from a minor noble house, he was parched for advancement.
Even so, he didn’t seem to hold much expectation. It would have been stranger to believe a single slim political pamphlet could suddenly fling open the gates of success.
A few days later, the published Supper at Beaucaire sank without drawing any real attention. The results were so dismal that calling them “buried” felt almost too generous. In revolutionary France, dozens of political pamphlets poured forth every single day.
Yet even if it failed to create any social ripple, Napoleon’s pamphlet succeeded in capturing one man’s interest.
“Who is this Napoleon?”
It was Augustin Robespierre, deputy of the National Convention and younger brother of the revolutionary leader Maximilien.
According to official history, Augustin, moved by Supper at Beaucaire, would appoint Napoleon as Toulon’s artillery commander. He was the powerful patron who later helped Napoleon rise all the way to general. Barring any major accidents, Augustin would become that same reliable backer once again.
The problem was timing.
The Battle of Toulon Port began long ago.
In the original history, Napoleon drew Augustin’s attention with Supper at Beaucaire shortly after the siege had begun. But now the siege of Toulon Port was already well underway. Even if Augustin grew interested in Napoleon, the odds of assigning him as artillery commander were slim. Replacing a field commander mid-battle was no trivial matter.
Still, I had to make Napoleon Toulon’s artillery commander by any means necessary.
Help Napoleon Win the Siege of Toulon
📍 Objective: Ensure Napoleon participates in the Siege of Toulon and secures victory
🎁 Reward: Inheritance of his power and trust
To complete the quest displayed in the status window, Napoleon had to join the fighting at Toulon.
But how…
While I was turning the problem over in my head, my gaze suddenly landed on a shelf inside the general store. The cheap teacup set I had bought from a home-shopping channel sat there.
“There was this way.”
My dilemma looked as if it would resolve more easily than expected.
In early modern Europe, the upper class was enthralled by “Eastern mystery”—what we now call Orientalism. The phenomenon appears clearly in Marco Polo’s Travels and Isabella Bird’s travelogues. Those who returned from the East uniformly described it as a realm of fantasy and wonder. Europeans therefore harbored vague, enchanting illusions about the Orient.
The object most strongly influenced by this fascination was blue-and-white porcelain. Today the style is commonplace on teacups and cheap flowerpots, but in early modern Europe it was anything but ordinary. The cobalt blue pigment used on porcelain was an extremely expensive material that even aristocrats rarely encountered.
To those Europeans, white porcelain painted with delicate blue designs was more than enough to stimulate both extravagance and vanity. Owning blue-and-white porcelain signaled wealth and power; it also demonstrated the refined taste of a gentleman who could appreciate art from the mysterious East.
Augustin Robespierre, deputy of the National Convention, was a man who never neglected to cultivate exactly that sort of gentlemanly refinement.
“This is blue-and-white porcelain…!”
His eyes widened as he stared at the teacup on the table. Porcelain itself was difficult to obtain, yet here was an entire blue-and-white teacup set. The exquisitely rendered Eastern landscape painted on the cups was more than enough to captivate Augustin.
“The owner of these cups asked to see me?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Bring him in at once.”
At Augustin’s order, his adjutant left the office. A short while later the adjutant returned with a young Eastern man.
“Welcome.”
Augustin rose from his seat and greeted the visitor with courtesy. “I am Augustin Robespierre, deputy of the Mountain faction in the National Convention.”
“My name is Seojun Choi.”
“May I address you as Lord Choi?”
“Whatever is convenient for you.”
“Haha, please sit.”
Augustin took an immediate liking to the young Easterner. The fact that he had brought blue-and-white porcelain was impressive enough, but his fluent command of French was even more charming.
“Lord Choi, your French is excellent.”
“I have been engaged in trade for a long time, so it came naturally.”
“Even so, it is truly remarkable. You are the first Easterner I have ever met who speaks French so fluently.”
After praising Seojun for a while, Augustin asked in a meaningful tone, “From what I can see, this teacup appears to be genuine blue-and-white porcelain. Am I correct?”
“You have a keen eye. That is exactly right.”
“Haha, I have seen a few pieces at the Palace of Versailles.”
Praised for his discernment, a smile spread across Augustin’s lips.
“By the way, is it true that this teacup is a gift for me?”
“Of course. I could hardly come to meet a deputy of the National Convention empty-handed.”
Augustin was inwardly astonished. Blue-and-white porcelain was so valuable it was called “white gold.” A single piece could cost as much as an entire luxurious house in Paris. A finely crafted teacup set like this would easily be worth twice that sum. To offer such a treasure as a simple gift…
Augustin’s favor toward Seojun deepened. Of course, he was far too shrewd to believe the gift came from pure goodwill.
“Lord Choi, what brings you to me?”
“I have a single request.”
“What sort of request?”
Augustin tensed slightly. Anyone who could present such a valuable object as a gift was certain to ask for something equally difficult in return. Still, the teacup had pleased him greatly, so he hoped the favor would be one he could grant.
Yet…
“It concerns the personnel appointment of Lord Napoleon.”
“Napoleon?”
The unexpected name made Augustin blink. “Do you mean the officer who wrote Supper at Beaucaire?”
“Yes.”
Augustin already knew of Napoleon. He had been deeply moved by the pamphlet and was thinking of summoning the man to Paris. For a man with Augustin’s power, shifting an officer’s assignment was no difficult task.
The request was far simpler than he had feared. Though inwardly delighted, Augustin kept a stern expression.
“Accepting a bribe to move an officer’s assignment is illegal under procedure.”
“I am not asking for anything illegal, so you may rest easy. I am merely offering a recommendation.”
“Hmm. In that case, it is possible.”
At the word “recommendation,” Augustin’s face softened. In the delicate political arena of the National Convention, the difference between illegal and legal often came down to nothing more than a single word.
At last Seojun spoke.
“I would like to recommend Napoleon for the position of artillery commander at Toulon.”
The French Revolution was a revolution of the citizens. As a result, the revolutionary army had almost no officers with real combat experience. Dentists served as generals and painters commanded entire fronts—an army where such absurdities were commonplace. Appointments were made through connections rather than ability; it was a golden parachute free-for-all.
Napoleon, an artillery officer who had graduated from military academy, was an elite among elites. Even so, replacing a commander in the middle of a war was uncommon, yet…
“I… have been appointed artillery commander of Toulon.”
“It went well, then.”
“How on earth…?”
“Congratulations, Napoleon.”
Against all expectation, Napoleon received orders to serve as artillery commander for the Siege of Toulon.
Recommended by: Maximilien de Robespierre, President of the National Convention
The arrival of “Steel Parachute” Napoleon.