Chapter 789: My Name is Bonaparte!
Giuseppe Lera continued nodding.
—Yes, the painting is currently in the Basilica of San Lorenzo. If you like it…
Napoleon listed eight or nine more masterpieces, each promptly "gifted" to him by Lera's enthusiastic agreement.
Finally, with a beaming smile, he raised his glass toward the Milanese nobles.
—To the brave soldiers of France!
The entire hall rose to their feet, glasses raised.
—To the brave soldiers of France!
Then, Napoleon suddenly raised his voice even higher.
—To our great King! To the "Son of Providence"!
The hundred nobles present repeated the toast in unison before drinking.
As Napoleon sat down, a nobleman with a pockmarked face leaned forward with a flattering smile.
—Colonel Buonaparte, I imagine you must have Italian blood. Milan was destined to be liberated by you!
Napoleon frowned slightly.
—Italian blood? Why do you say that?
The noble, failing to notice his expression darkening, continued eagerly.
—Buonaparte—such a classic Italian surname! Anyone from the Apennine Peninsula would instantly recognize you as one of their own.
Pleased with his observation, he turned to the crowd.
—Wouldn't you all agree?
A chorus of cheerful approval echoed through the hall.
To the Milanese nobles, telling someone they were "one of us" was the highest form of flattery.
But Napoleon's face turned cold.
Firmly, he shook his head.
—No. I am French. I have not a single drop of Italian blood.
Yes, he was no longer the Corsican separatist he once was.
Now, he had only one identity—a French general, who had fought for the Crown Prince in the Netherlands and swept through Lombardy with the French army.
He was a man of France, covered in glory.
Italian blood?
That belonged to the conquered.
The weak, whose wealth was his for the taking—who didn't even dare speak up against him.
How could he allow even the slightest connection to them?
The pockmarked noble, oblivious, continued with a forced smile.
—Surely not! Your surname clearly—
Bang!
Napoleon slammed his wine glass onto the table.
The room fell silent.
—I will not repeat myself!
—I am French.
The Milanese nobles froze, their faces filled with uncertainty and fear.
Even the musicians stopped playing.
The hall fell deathly quiet.
Desperate to defuse the tension, Lera quickly stepped forward.
—Colonel Buonaparte, please don't be angry. Count Gonella meant no offense!
—Oh, he even donated 100,000 francs to your army! That proves his sincerity!
Count Gonella, drenched in cold sweat, frantically nodded.
—Y-yes! I apologize for my reckless words!
—And… uh… yes, 100,000 francs! That's correct…
In reality, he had only donated 8,000.
But at that moment, he didn't dare argue.
100,000? Fine.
As long as it calmed Colonel Buonaparte down.
Finally, Napoleon's expression softened.
He raised his glass slightly toward Lera.
The music resumed, and the atmosphere slowly returned to normal.
That Night – Napoleon's Command Post
Napoleon skipped the post-banquet ball, citing military duties, and returned to his command post at Baron Tremelloni's villa.
He went straight to his office.
Without hesitation, he began writing an official request—
A request to change his surname from Buonaparte to a more French-sounding Bonaparte.
He was now the highest-ranking member of his family.
His brothers depended on his success for their futures.
If he changed his name, none of them would dare to object.
After finishing the document, he handed it to his secretary for editing, then personally copied two final versions.
One was sent to Versailles, to the Royal Commission, which oversaw noble titles.
The other went to the Minister of Records, to officially register the name change.
With everything complete, Napoleon leaned back and exhaled deeply.
From now on, he was a true Frenchman.
No one could question it.
The Next Day – War Council
The main officers of the corps gathered at the command post for a strategy meeting.
First, Victor reported on the round-up of Austrian remnants in Milan.
—We have arrested over 200 Austrians, sir.
—Most high-ranking officials are now in prison, and the search continues.
When he finished, Marmont immediately spoke up.
—Commander, we must march to Genoa immediately!
—General Dimoulin has been besieged for over a month!
Napoleon listened, but his expression remained unreadable.
In reality, he had already received two urgent letters from Dimoulin, pleading for reinforcements.
—Commander?
As Marmont tried to press the issue, Napoleon raised his hand, cutting him off.
—Right now, our top priority is securing Lombardy.
—If we march south too soon, the remaining enemy forces could cut off our supply lines.
Yes—after Beaulieu fled, the entire Lombardy region had less than 2,000 Austrian soldiers left.
And they were mostly local garrisons, with no real combat strength.
But since Napoleon wasn't eager to help Dimoulin, those same 2,000 men suddenly became a "serious threat."
—But—!
Napoleon continued before Marmont could object.
—General Dimoulin is an experienced commander.
—The Austrians won't defeat him that easily.
—Once Lombardy is secured, we can establish a defensive line along the Po River, cutting off Austria's supply route to western Italy.
With Melas' main army still tied up in Genoa, Napoleon was using Lombardy and the Alps to encircle them on a grander scale.
—Melas will have no choice but to abandon Genoa and face us in battle.
—That will relieve the pressure on Dimoulin.
Napoleon didn't leave room for debate.
—Captain Grouchy, take two cavalry squadrons to Varese.
—Major Marmont, lead the 3rd Infantry Regiment to take Como and Bergamo.
—The Austrians' reinforcements will arrive in Milan within a week.
—Finish your missions before then.
—Dismissed.
—Yes, Commander!
Meanwhile – The Siege of Genoa
While Napoleon delayed in Milan, Genoa was on the brink of collapse.
Inside the French command bunker, Dimoulin rubbed his ears, still ringing from artillery fire.
He turned to his aide and shouted over the noise.
—Any news from Colonel Buonaparte?!
The aide shouted back.
—No, sir! We've sent three couriers, but none have returned!
The ground trembled.
A cannon blast had landed nearby.
The British navy had delivered several 24-pound cannons to Melas, giving the Austrians a devastating advantage.
But Dimoulin remained calm.
—How long can our supplies last?
—We have enough gunpowder for two more weeks.
—But… our food will run out in less than seven days.
Thank you for the support, friends. If you want to read more chapters in advance, go to my Patreon.
Read 40 Chapters In Advance: patreon.com/johanssen10