Reincarnated as Napoleon

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Normally, to get to France from Russia, it would take several weeks or a few months, but with the advent of the steam locomotive in the European continent, traveling distant journeys were cut short. Tsar Paul’s first journey from Paris to St. Petersburg only took a week. Though there is no direct line as they would have to ride steam locomotives from France and Prussia.

He dreamt that one day, the Russian Empire will have a vast network of railways connecting its farthest corners. As he gazed out of the steam locomotive window, the landscape whizzing past in a blur, he imagined the possibilities that such a network could bring. Rapid movement of goods, efficient transportation of troops, and above all, a sense of unity that the sprawling empire could benefit from.

But to make that dream a reality is going to be a challenge. It was evident when he was implementing radical reforms to modernize his country. The resistance from the nobility and bureaucracy was substantial. Change, it seemed, was not a welcomed guest in these corridors of power. Yet, he was determined to push forward.

As the train rattled on, he recalled the discussions with Napoleon in France. Conspirators who wished to see him dead for what he had done to them. They have to be taken care of if he wants to make the Russian Empire stable and secure. Trusting Napoleon’s list of conspirators was a gamble, one that he couldn’t afford to lose. The potential threat to his rule was grave, and he needed to confirm the information before taking any drastic actions.

***

February 27th, 1801. In St. Petersburg, Winter Palace.

Emperor Paul was in his office, drumming his fingers on the table as he awaited the arrival of his personal assistant.

The door opened, and Alexei Arakcheyev walked in, his expression serious and focused. “Your Imperial Majesty,” he greeted with a respectful nod.

“Alexei,” Tsar Paul replied, his tone reflecting both urgency and concern. “Have there been any developments?” 𝒏𝗈𝑽𝔢𝓛𝑵𝗲xt.𝒸𝐎𝔪

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,” Alexei responded, approaching the desk and placing a folder in front of the Tsar. “Our agents have been discreetly investigating the individuals on the list provided by the First Consul of France.”

Tsar Paul opened the folder, scanning through the reports. Each page represented a piece of a puzzle that could determine the safety of his empire. He absorbed the information meticulously, his brows furrowing at times.

“Any concrete evidence?” Tsar Paul inquired, his voice steady.

“We have uncovered some suspicious activities and connections,” Alexei replied cautiously. “However, confirming their direct involvement in a conspiracy requires more time and scrutiny.”

Tsar Paul leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled as he contemplated the situation. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, each second a reminder of the urgency he felt.

“We don’t have time, Alexei. Tomorrow, Russia must give its response to France about the defensive alliance. And before tomorrow, I want proof that the individuals on the list are indeed planning on assassinating me. This folder is not going to help me.”

“Well, Your Imperial Majesty, there is one lead that might be our chance of uncovering if the conspiracy is true,” Alexei said, his tone measured.

Tsar Paul’s gaze sharpened. “Speak.”

Alexei cleared his throat. “One of our informants managed to gather information suggesting that there will be a secret meeting of the individuals listed on the document. It is rumored to be hosted by Nikolay Alexandrovich Zubov, at his estate on the outskirts of the city.”

Tsar Paul’s interest was piqued. “When is this meeting supposed to take place?”

“Nine o’clock in the evening, Your Imperial Majesty,” Alexei replied. “We have an agent working there as a manservant who overheard the details. He confirmed that the individuals on the list are attending.”

Tsar Paul leaned forward, his fingers drumming rhythmically on the polished surface of the desk. The prospect of catching the conspirators in the act was tantalizing. It was a risky move, but it could yield the evidence he needed to take decisive action.

“Zubov’s estate,” Tsar Paul mused. “A fitting place for traitors to gather.”

“Indeed, Your Imperial Majesty,” Alexei agreed. “If we move swiftly, we might be able to infiltrate the meeting and obtain the proof we seek.”

Tsar Paul’s expression turned steely. “Arrange for a small, highly skilled team to be ready for the operation in the evening.”

Alexei nodded. “Consider it done, Your Imperial Majesty.”

Tsar Paul stood up, his chair scraping softly against the floor. He faced the window and looked out of it for a moment.

“Tonight, we will uncover the truth.”

***

Nine o’clock in the evening, the moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the city of St. Petersburg. At the outskirts of the city, on the expansive grounds of Nikolay Alexandrovich Zubov’s estate, a carriage pulled up to the grand entrance. One by one, individuals emerged from the carriage. They were the figures named on the list of potential conspirators.

Vladimir Mikhailovich Yashvil, a man of imposing stature, descended from the carriage with an air of confidence. Beside him, Levin August von Bennigsen, his features etched with a mixture of anticipation and caution, surveyed the surroundings. Nikolay Alexandrovich Zubov, the ostensible host of the gathering, greeted each arrival with a nod and a welcoming smile.

Peter Ludwig von der Pahlen followed suit, his countenance a mix of intrigue and skepticism. Olga Zherebtsova, her presence a rarity among the male-dominated gathering, exuded grace, her eyes darting around the scene. Nikita Petrovich Panin trailed behind Olga. Finally, Charles Whitworth, the British ambassador to Russia, emerged out of his carriage.

As the individuals gathered in the grand hall of Zubov’s estate, Zubov escorted them to a drawing room where they’ll discuss.

Meanwhile, just outside Zubov’s estate, positioned near the drawing room, a group of skilled spies organized by Paul’s personal assistant were hidden away. They strategically positioned themselves beneath a window, allowing them to listen in on any conversations happening inside the room. Their main role was to signal the forces outside the estate when needed.

About fifty meters away, concealed behind trees and shielded by the darkness of the night, were Emperor Paul of Russia and his personal assistant, Alexei. They were using spy glasses to check on the spies, who gave them a thumbs-up.

“I can’t believe it, everyone on the list Napoleon provided is in a meeting in the same place,” Paul commented, his anger smoldering beneath his words.

Alexei nodded in agreement, still peering through the spyglass. “It’s a risky move for them to gather like this, but it might just be the opportunity we need to confirm their intentions. Should you really be here, Your Imperial Majesty?”

“Of course, Alexei, I need to be here so I can confront them personally.”

With that, they waited for a signal.

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