1848: Blood Tide

King of Rome

​
Part I: TYRANNIS

April 4th, 1814, Fontainebleau

Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte
​
​

The Great Man sat at the cast-iron table with a newspaper in hand. Louis had just stepped outside, and the bright sun had forced him to cover his eyes. It was almost as if the brightness was radiating from his uncle, only a few feet away.

Louis felt a nudge at his back, and realized his mother was gently ushering him forward. He gulped, composed himself as Henzlen had taught him, and strode over to the outdoor breakfast table. His uncle folded the newspaper, and smiled as the boy neared. Nothing prepared Louis for how the Great Man jumped from his seat, in a rather undignified manner, and grasped Louis, hoisting him into the air.

“It does my heart good to see you, my dear boy! You have given me a gift I seldom receive now.” The emperor’s jovial attitude surprised the boy, and seemingly washed away all the court training Henzlen had instilled in him.

The boy laughed and hugged his uncle, “It is good to see you too, my uncle!”

The emperor released the boy and sat back down at his spot, “Tell me, why do you think that your mother has requested an audience with me?”

“I do not know, uncle.” Louis’ sincerity made his uncle smile.

“It is because she is trying to petition for your brother, who needs my aid. I do not blame her for using you- I have heard of your extraordinary charm in letters from your mother- but it does make sad. I love your mother as my own daughter, and in truth she rallies for safe passage for all of you. I would receive her if she would simply ask me in person, and apologize for the great discourse she has caused. Politics is important, but family more so.” The emperor smiled, “I will tell you though, after the politics, your family will be all that remains.”

Louis stared as a tall man in uniform and carrying a rifle leaned over and whispered into his uncle’s ear. His uncle’s visage turned into something dark, and depressing. His paunch seemed to expand, and all at once, the man before Louis transformed into a mere shadow of what he once was. The boy realized the happiness he just witnessed was a momentary fluke in what his uncle was feeling. It moved him.

“My dear nephew… There is an extent to all greatness. My own marshals wish to discuss something important with me. There is not much time at this point, I suppose.” His uncle sighed, and signed a sheet of paper on the table, handing it to Louis. “Go now into safety, but never forget who you are.”

Louis accepted the note, but he felt tears forming at his eyes. “I am sorry, uncle. I do not want to run away.”

The emperor smiled thinly, and rubbed the tear off his face. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Your mother is a good woman, listen to her. You need to leave now.” Louis embraced his uncle once more, then ran to his mother who ushered him through the halls of the palace.

“You did well,” was all she said, repeating it every so often as the two made their way to the carriage.
 
Last edited:

King of Rome

April 5th, 1814, Outside of Annecy

Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte​

The sound of fire was intermittent as the carriage bumped along the dirt road to the Swiss border. Louis’ mother was fretting, as the loyalist Bonapartists were still engaging a detachment from the Austrians in the immediate area.

Louis’ brother was already in Geneva, organizing for safe passage of exiles, but Grati, a Corsican in the service of the emperor was with Louis and his mother, and trying to make light of the situation. “Madame Princess, you seem to forget that many of the emperor’s enemies have no quarrel with you, and merely seek to ensure that balance and order are restored. Life will be calm and serene, you possess a large pension. I will most assuredly entertain you and your sons at my estate in Romandy. This is not the end of your happiness.”

“You are a superb courtier.” Hortense said, absent mindedly staring out the window and nibbling at her gloved hand.

Grati smiled, “Thank you,” not realizing that it was far from a compliment.

“Mother, will everything be ok?” Louis asked, sensing his mother’s distress.

“Of course, we will buy a nice new house, and your brother shall come live with us. We will go to the opera, and visit your lovely family. It will all be ok.” An artillery blast sounded nearby, and Louis looked out the window. He could see dirt flying in the dark.

Grati smirked, “Do not worry, the Austrians would not dare fire on an imperial carriage-“ The explosion that rocked the carriage ended the courtier’s sentence. Before Louis could even register the splintering of the carriage wood, in that split second, his mother propelled herself forward and grabbed hold of her son in a tight embrace. The carriage ripped apart in the blast, and flung the three inside onto the dirt road.

Louis’ head swam, and he could only see red. Voices were around him, but he could not understand what they were saying. “Boy, boy, do you understand German?”

Louis tried to shake his head, but he felt weak.

“Count Radetzky, he is alive!”

Louis could make out a man, in a white uniform, trot forward on horseback. He seemed old, but there was a fire in his eye that caused Luis to shudder, “Leave him. Come, we march!” Louis fell as the soldier who had been holding him released him.

He fell on something soft and wet. He struggled to feet gasping for breath as his shaky body stood up. He then turned to see his mother, pale and listless, lying in the dirt…
 
Last edited:

wolf_brother

Banned
Hmm. Would a Louis-Napoleon influenced by the Hapsburgs even rise as far into politics as he did IOTL? Interesting start, I look forward to see where you're going with this, I know that a prolific writer as yourself tackling 1848 will be nothing short of amazing.
 

King of Rome

Thank you kindly sir. I plan on this being a big one though, focusing on Italy, France, Germany, and Austria with the rest of Europe in context as time goes on. I am also using a couple of scholarly sources to assist with dates and specific events.
 

King of Rome

January 3rd, 1815, Vienna

Klemens von Metternich​

Prince Klemens von Metternich watched the embers in his fireplace crackle. It was midnight over Vienna, but the minister could not sleep, and would have a restless night at best if he managed to walk over to his bed.

The tyrant was gone, but his bloody shadow was still very visible. Metternich had to give him credit; his martial prowess was bar none and proven time and time again. However, the man had unleashed an orgy of bloodshed and death, and his despicable wars had to be prevented from being repeated. His mind drifted to that day: the Revolutionary Maw of France opened and spewed forth her armies on the Holy Roman Empire, and the Archbishopric of Trier. Metternich had to flee to the protection of the Emperor in Vienna, and ever since that day he had served his sovereign faithfully. The bayonets of liberalism, of nationalism, destroyed peace and order.

But Napoleon had shaken the empire badly. Germany was in disarray, as was Italy. While the emperor was reeling and trying to regain his footing in those arenas, there were more problems within. There were stirrings, subtle and quiet, but stirrings nonetheless about the rights of the peoples Vienna held in its grip. The empire was like the Great Tower of Babel* with so many peoples within it. Metternich was determined to not only use the Congress to re-establish power in Italy and Germany, but to prevent the cannibalistic forces within the empire from being unleashed.

War was not an option, the tyrant’s bloodshed was over. Metternich looked out the window to the light snowfall, and relaxed. His congress would establish order, legitimacy, and a new future for Europe…

X

*This phrase for the Austrian Empire is in Mike Rapport's 1848: Year of Revolution. Props to him.
 

King of Rome

March 19th, 1819, Avellino (Kingdom of the Two Sicilies)

Guglielmo Pepe​

The entire city was almost ready for the Austrian Emperor and his pet to arrive. Pepe nodded approvingly as he walked through the courtyard, checking over the soldiers in formation around the plaza. His sovereign, King Ferdinand, was on horseback in the center of the square ready to go out and meet the Austrian procession.

General Pepe saluted the men, then mounted his awaiting horse and escorted his king into the streets. There was hardly a soldier in the streets of Avellino, at least, in uniform. King Ferdinand’s minister had told Pepe that it would look good on the kingdom if he put soldiers in plainclothes to watch the streets, and make it appear as if the sovereigns had nothing to fear. Pepe did as he was told; there were many armed men on the streets…

…though not all of them were King Ferdinand’s Soldiers. General Pepe had served another master before his current king, though he had been labeled a tyrant and struck down. That tyrant had helped instill a love for his country and countrymen in him, and that is why Pepe had trained the carbonari, and filled the streets with them. This was his moment- capture the Austrian Emperor and his minister, Metternich, and demand a constitution from his king. All he had to do was get the incompetent emperor into the city.

Pepe and his monarch reached the edge of the city, and their guardsmen broke off a bit so that King Ferdinand could greet the emperor personally. They all waited patiently under the column that denoted the entrance of the city as the Austrians approached. Both general and king could see the approaching carriage with the Hapsburg Twin-Headed Eagle and its’ small squad of guards.

“This will be a big moment, General.”

Pepe turned to his monarch, “Yes sire, I believe it will be.”

The carriage drew closer, and that was when Pepe noticed the small group of farmers milling about, close to the road. Their shovels and rakes looked odd though…

“Son of a bit- Soldiers, to me!” Pepe roared as he drew his pistol and charged forward. King Ferdinand, confused, watched as his general and guard galloped down the road towards the carriage.

The group of farmers through off their cloaks, and brought up their disguised rifles. The Hapsburg guardsmen attempted to draw their sabers, but were cut down by the first volley. The carriage came to a halt as the driver was knocked from his perch.

Pepe reached the scene first, pistol in hand, firing at one of the lead ‘farmers’. The bullet connected, and the man went down. When the other ‘farmers’ saw the approaching soldiers, they hopped onto the Hapsburg guards’ former mounts, and galloped away. King Ferdinand’s soldiers fired off a few shots when they arrived, but it was to no avail.

“Four farmers, including this one. Whomever is the best rider, I want you to try and follow them. Stay back, just observe. Jacopo, ride on to Salerno. Lucca, to Benevento. Cast a net around this entire area.”

“General!” The men rode off. King Ferdinand galloped over, dismounting, and opening the door to the carriage.

“Your majesty, I apologize for the-“

“Get us to the castle!” Came the response. Pepe could see Metternich, red in the face, and the imbecile emperor within. So close.

“Of course.” King Ferdinand shut the door and looked to Pepe, “Take them to Ilfino for now.”

“Your majesty, perhaps the citadel in Avellino would be a better choice?”

King Ferdinand raised an eyebrow, “Pepe, I do not brook insolence. I order you to take them to Ilfino, and wait there for me.”

General Pepe tried to maintain his composure, “Yes, sire.” He looked down to the farmer he had shot, and wondered why the idiot and his compatriots had picked today to try and kill the Austrian Emperor.
 
Last edited:

King of Rome

I put up a map that I will be using of Europe right after 1815, from Europe Historical Atlas.

The three little states between Piedmont Sardinia and Tuscany are (from north to south) Parma, Modena, and Lucca.

1848.png
 

King of Rome

April 2nd, 1825, Pressburg

Lajos Kossuth​

Lajos Kossuth, having been recently appointed deputy for Count Hunyday, walked into the National Diet with a small speech in hand. It was nothing out of the ordinary- just introducing himself and lobbying for the construction of a road through the Arlaas. Kossuth had been preparing and perfecting his rhetoric for days, in addition to hiring the best tailor and barber in Pest. The ride to Pressburg had instilled some pride in Kossuth, as he passed the Imperial Stations with the air of dignity about him. His ability to hold his head high among the soldiers was invigorating; it was a grace that few were given.

When Kossuth had made it in to the building, he realized that he was in the upper gallery of the Diet, and not on the main floor. “What… Excuse me, sir, how is it that I gain access to the room there?” Kossuth said, pointing where a man was speaking in the main room.

The man Kossuth had asked, pipe in hand, turned and faced him, “Wicklenman, at your service, Mr…?”

“Kossuth, apologies.”

“Well Mr. Kossuth, I feel that if you are the new deputy from Pest, as I suspect you are, your seat is right here. Not there.” Wicklenman moved over, and allowed a confused Kossuth to take his seat.

“I do not understand, I am a Deputy of the Diet.”

Wicklenman smiled, “Me too. And so are they,” he said, motioning to the men in the main room. He paused, and smoked his pipe. “Mr. Kossuth, we are all deputies up here. It is our job, however, to listen to the deputies down there.”

“I thought I came here to-“

“Discuss? No, the only way your voice can be heard is if you start your own press. Believe me. And unless you want to talk about the niceties of this Diet and how it empowers you, there would be no point in starting a press either.” Wicklenman looked to another man, nodding. “Well, Mr. Kossuth, I have business to attend to. I hope you find Pressburg agreeable.” The deputy stood up and left the chambers.

Lajos Kossuth sat there, almost stunned, and listened as an elderly man talked about the burdens of a reduced workforce. He sat, and sat, until he balled up the speech he prepared in his hands, and got up to leave. It was at that moment however, that a booming voice emitted from the main room.

“My brothers! Here me now! Our culture, our tradition, is a source of pride! We Magyars are a people with much pride and glory, we simply have to tap into it! Go out, and research your heritage! No one can diminish the Magyar spirit, no one!” There were sounds of applause in the upper room, and Kossuth found himself clapping. He turned to see the main room had turned into a frenzy of white uniforms as the speaker was escorted out and away.
 

King of Rome

September 3rd, 1827, Outside of Geneva

Napoleon Louis Bonaparte​

Leon, as his new neighbors had come to call him in more informal settings, had employed the best investigator in Geneva to search for his brother, Louis-Napoleon. Though nothing had turned up yet, he paid the man annually to search for his brother. Their mother had died outside of Annecy, and left Leon a substantial amount of money. The young man had to grow up quick to both manage his mother’s wealth and assume the patriarchal role among his slightly inept family. His father was off somewhere, most likely in Italy, wasting his own personal wealth.

Leon sighed, as the legacy of his uncle was squandered by the remnants of his family. Some of the Bonapartes had received a fortune during the days of the so-called ‘tyrant’ and those pounds of gold and silver were being thrown down the drain. The young man had purchased a large chateaux on the French-Swiss border, and was using it as the Head-Quarters for all the exiled Bonapartists; Davout had stopped in frequently before his death, some of Leon’s family stayed in the East Wing, and many grizzled soldiers would make a pilgrimage to talk with Leon. The Chateaux d’Arve was the epicenter for those still loyal to the family.

He had, in addition to searching for his brother, established a newspaper in Geneva, and had newspapers from all over the continent delivered to him- he would take the political pulse of Europe, and then crank-out his own news. It was useful for a steady source of income, and stirring up the young-bloods in Southern France and Northern Italy: Charles X had been rebuffed by the National Guard, and Leon suspected the time for another regime change was vastly approaching.

The young man stood up as his uncle Jerome entered the room, “King Jerome.” Louis said, bowing slightly.

“King Louis.” Jerome responded, with a slight bow of his own. Leon thought the whole thing ridiculous, but Jerome insisted on their royal titles though they had both been deposed, and Leon had only ruled Holland for eight days.

“We are going to take a trip to Rome, your father has requested you to join us.”

Aha, Rome. “Tell my father that I am busy running our mother’s estate, but he may gladly come and visit. He is welcome in my home.”

“As you wish.” Jerome nodded, and then left the room.

Leon sat and stared out the window. He knew in that moment, and many others that his mission was to gather up what family, resources, and supporters as he could, then strike back against the order that had destroyed his family. Their iron grip was soon to crumble, if Leon had anything to say about it.
 

King of Rome

Exactamundo. To avoid confusion, Louis-Napoleon grew up to be Napoleon III, and Napoleon-Louis was Louis-Napoleon's older brother. Interesting fellow, he fell in with the Carbonari, historically. Here is a picture:

The only real scholar source I have on him is a biography of his little brother by Bresler- on the off-chance anyone knows where I could read a tad more, that would be awesome.

Napoléon_Louis_Bonaparte_(1804-1831).jpg
 
Last edited:

King of Rome

Who knows, but the focus wont be on the Bonapartes for the whole thread, but rather places like Hungary, Belgium, Italy, etc.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top
Top