Life of Being a Crown Prince in France

Before the Pavia battleground, Napoleon raised his hat from afar towards Marmon to show his approval: “Your outstanding performance has truly amazed me, Auguste.

“I couldn’t get in contact with you, yet you accurately chose the best interception position and delivered a fatal blow to the enemy.

“I was preparing for a grueling battle, but now, haha, we can sit down and enjoy a cup of coffee.”

Marmon appeared slightly uneasy, spurred his horse to trot forward quickly: “I merely did what I was supposed to do. Uh, in truth, the enemy was utterly incapable of resistance…

“By the way, I heard from the captive officer that you have successfully captured Milan?”

This was not modesty; in fact, most of his main forces were already on their way to Milan.

Previously, he discovered that Lieputai had suddenly retreated, suspecting that the latter had gone to reinforce Milan, and thus ordered his troops to pursue eastward.

But he worried that Lieputai might have gone to Lodi to intercept Colonel Bu Wanaba—if Napoleon’s raiding forces were moving slower, there was a possibility they had yet to cross the Po River.

Unsettled by these thoughts, he personally led 2,500 soldiers along the eastern bank of the Po River to reinforce Lodi.

As he reached north of Pavia, he discovered the Austrian Army gathered there. Initially, he thought he had fallen into an ambush, but unexpectedly, the enemy collapsed immediately upon contact.

Subsequently, Marmon’s force of 2,500 spectacularly captured over 4,000 Austrian soldiers.

He had no idea that upon encountering his troops, Lieputai’s corps mistook them for the French Army’s main force coming from Milan to attack them.

This army had been brutally beaten by Napoleon at Toulon previously and was suffering from low morale. They immediately fell to their knees and surrendered in fear, despite Lieputai’s attempts to stop them.

“Yes, I have successfully taken control of Milan.”

Napoleon looked around, slightly puzzled: “Why are there so few soldiers here? Where is our main force?”

“They are on their way to Milan, Commander.”

After Napoleon clarified the situation, he immediately instructed Marmon:

“Send someone immediately to catch up with them and have them wait outside Milan.”

“Yes, Commander. But why do we need to do this?”

Napoleon glanced at the kilometer-long line of prisoners and smiled faintly:

“We need a grand ceremonial entry into the city.”

Two days later, rhythmic cannon fire echoed outside Milan, followed by the resounding melodies of military bands.

On this day, all shops and factories in Milan were ordered to close, and over ten thousand citizens gathered alongside the southern roadways of the city, craning their necks to look into the distance.

Soon, a dignified troop of French Cavalry, each holding golden Fleur-de-lis flags, Montpellier Legion banners, and Murat’s Corps flags, marched in precise formation through the crowd.

Behind them, a French infantry battalion carrying Auguste-style Caplock Guns barked orders at a large group of dejected prisoners, slowly leading them into the city.

The prisoners wore tattered Austrian Army uniforms, some stained with blood on their bodies and faces—Napoleon had specifically ordered they not be cleaned.

Some spectators began throwing clods of dirt at the Austrian soldiers. Jesus be my witness, this was not arranged by Napoleon. Even before the hired hands could act, the Italians couldn’t contain themselves.

Soon, dirt flew from all directions, even mixed with excrement, pelting the prisoners into desperate cries.

Eventually, the French soldiers stepped in to maintain order, and the Milan citizens ceased their actions; otherwise, many prisoners would surely have been battered to death.

The captured Austrian troops, numbering a good four to five thousand men, walked for a full one and a half hours before they were all inside the city.

After a swift cleanup of debris on the roads, a resonant horn sounded from all sides.

A short-built officer in a white hussar uniform, wearing a tricorn hat, led a procession of over a hundred guards cavalry, along with numerous drummers and organ players, proudly passing before the people.

Someone started shouting, “Long live the King of France!”

“Honor and victory belong to General Bu Wanaba!”

“Praise the great heavenly army of France!”

Well, this time it was indeed Napoleon’s hired hands leading the chants.

Before long, the cheers reverberated throughout Milan, and people became so ecstatic it felt as though their own army had defeated the Austrians, celebrating in the streets with song and dance.

At this moment, all Milan citizens knew that Habsburg rule over Milan had ended.

At the Milan City Hall, a grand banquet commenced.

Napoleon and over a dozen French officers were seated at the head table, surrounded by Milan’s distinguished nobles and wealthy merchants, all eager to build connections with the French.

As elegant music played, Napoleon’s gaze swept over the oil paintings on the hall walls, then turned to the Milan Deputy Speaker: “My friends in Milan have truly moved me with their enthusiasm, especially with the donation you have provided for my soldiers—oh, a full 2 million francs.

“You are indeed the most generous people I have ever met! I swear, I will safeguard Milan’s safety with my life.”

Milan Deputy Speaker Giuseppe La stiffened instantly at these words.

There was indeed a donation for the French Army. It was customary to offer a gesture of goodwill when welcoming new conquerors.

But the amount was incorrect. Instinctively, he said, “You may have mistaken the figure; it should be 400,000 francs…”

Napoleon’s voice instantly turned icy: “Oh? I clearly recall it being 3 million, no doubt about it. Could it be someone embezzled the funds? It seems I need to have the gendarme conduct a thorough investigation in Milan.”

Giuseppe La’s heart jolted. The implication was clear: if 3 million francs did not materialize, many would end up in prison.

With Milan Governor Ferdinand and the Austrian-affiliated Speaker of the Council having fled to Vienna, Giuseppe La, the highest administrative official left in Milan, understood all too well. If he failed to please the French, they would undoubtedly install someone compliant in his place—and he would likely become the “embezzler.”

He hastily produced a flattering smile: “Oh, I meant there’s still a considerable sum being tallied. The total is indeed 3 million francs. By noon the day after tomorrow, all donations will be delivered to your headquarters.”

Napoleon finally nodded with satisfaction and continued: “You know, my army has come from the far west side of the Alps for Milan’s freedom. At this moment, our logistical supplies are running low.

“I hope you can prepare one month’s worth of provisions for my soldiers—oh, approximately enough for 15,000 men, including food, wine, oats, and gunpowder. A week’s time should suffice, correct?”

Giuseppe La forced a smile: “One week, of course. I promise you will see ample supplies by then.”

Napoleon also smiled, leaning closer to whisper in his ear: “By the way, I heard Raphael’s ‘The Marriage of the Virgin’ is housed at the Governor’s Palace?”

“Yes, yes, indeed.” Giuseppe La nodded quickly, displaying understanding, and replied, “It should belong to a collector of taste and refinement like yourself.”

“Oh, and Michelangelo’s…”

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