Most of these capitals are a)in modern countries, having being built purposefully with the infrastructure necessary or b) the main powerbase of the nation and its rulers. Corti is neither of these
King Theodore's Corsica
- Thread starter Carp
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Most of these capitals are a)in modern countries, having being built purposefully with the infrastructure necessary or b) the main powerbase of the nation and its rulers. Corti is neither of these
I think Theodore would want to switch between seasonal capitals. Corti in the summer, when the coast is full of malaria, and Ajaccio (because of its easier access to other European powers, its economic potential, and because it has a relatively friendly population) in the winter when the mountains near Corti are mostly impassable.
Hm, that's lame. Try this video instead. The tune is known as the Moresca di Moita and you can find a number of different versions, but that one has the caramusa (Corsican bagpipe) and drums, giving it a more martial instrumentation.
The Moresca is a weapon dance or "war dance," which by the 18th century had become a sort of dancing pantomime with swords. The Moresca in general is not unique to Corsica; Spain has a similar tradition, and the Moresca is also the origin of Morris dancing in the UK. In Corsica it was a theatrical reenactment of the battles between Christians and Muslims, with the exploits of the legendary hero Hugo Colonna being a favorite topic. Hugo Colonna is supposed to have been a Roman nobleman who traveled to Corsica in the time of Charlemagne, drove out the Saracens, and established the Corsican nobility, which even in the 18th century legitimated themselves with the claim that they were descended from Hugo Colonna and his knights (or later "crusaders" to Corsica like Boniface of Tuscany and his knights) who had rescued the island from the Moors.
Calvi's bay is nice, but it's quite isolated from everything else and you run into malaria not far from the city. It's much more interesting as a naval base (and later, tourist town) than as a commercial port. Isola Rossa, being a centrally located port for the whole Balagna, has less history and lacks the great citadel but is likely to be more prosperous.
Well, Corti sort of is. It's Gaffori's power base - he is the podesta of Corti, like his father - and Gaffori is one of the most powerful and influential men in the rebel movement, as well as Theodore's Secretary of State (along with d'Ornano, who is powerful but has limited influence because he's not hanging around the king all the time). The fact that it's Gaffori's base is a big reason why Theodore is there now, as opposed to one of his early capitals like Cervioni or Vescovato, and Gaffori will likely endeavour to keep the government there. Ajaccio, in contrast, would be more favorable to d'Ornano.
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Very nice. It could probably work as a march as-is, certainly it would not be difficult to simplify it a bit by removing the opening drone (or at least only playing it when moving out) and have the drum beat from 50 seconds onwards last throughout the march.
Interesting. I am assuming Theodore and his closest advisors know this? If so, would he be willing to lease Calvi to the RN in exchange for official recognition and naval protection?
The Feeble Republic
The Feeble Republic
Austrian Grenadiers of the Roth Regiment at Genoa in 1746
Although the Genoese had surrendered to the Austrians on the promise of leniency, it soon became clear that Vienna saw Genoa only as a goose to be cooked. The original armistice signed with General Ludwig Ferdinand, Graf von Schulenburg had limited Genoa’s indemnity to 50,000 genovines and stated that the Austrians would pay “ready money for all necessaries.” Schulenburg, however, had made it clear that the terms were only provisional until ratified by Vienna, and Vienna saw fit to revise them entirely. Empress-Queen Maria Theresa’s Italian domains had been miserably despoiled in the war and she saw no reason why the perfidious Genoese should not bear “the whole expense of the war, at least since the time of [Genoa’s] first appearance in arms.” The Austrian commissioner-general in Italy, Johann Karl Chotek, Graf von Chotkow, announced the revision of 50,000 genovines to three million,[1] and it was to be paid on a strict schedule: the first million within 48 hours, the second within one week, and the third within two weeks. The punishment for breaking this schedule was to be “general pillaging.”
Where was this money to come from? The financial health of the Republic was extraordinarily poor, and the Spanish subsidies that had kept them afloat during the war up to this point had now been cut off. There was some talk of the patricians dipping into their own fortunes, but the oligarchs proved unwilling to sacrifice for the state. Instead the government opted to raid the venerable Bank of St. George, pilfering the deposits of their own citizens and foreign nations alike and forcing the bank to close and suspend all payments on deposits. Even then only about 1.6 million was found. The once opulent merchant republic was well and truly bankrupt. “Take heart, sirs,” King Theodore is supposed to have said to his ministers after hearing of the terms, “we are at last wealthier than the Genoese!” But worse was yet to come, for the Senate’s pleas for mercy were met not with moderation but with yet greater demands. Chotek added that the Republic was also on the hook for the provisioning of Her Imperial Majesty’s army in winter quarters and other war expenses which amounted to nearly an additional million genovines.
The terms levied upon the Genoese were so onerous as to even gain the personal attention of Pope Benedict XIV, who interceded with Vienna on behalf of the Republic and asked for a little Christian charity. This succeeded in producing a slightly more lenient tone in Vienna, but the greater effect was produced by the intervention of General Schulenburg. While no friend of the Genoese, he had come to the opinion that the sums demanded were simply beyond the capacity of the Republic to pay. Unlike his masters in Vienna, who produced sums from the air based on their image of Genoa as a republic of tycoons, Schulenburg could actually see the tremendous devastation and penury to which the Republic had been reduced. Taking Vienna’s moderation after the Papal intervention as a cue, Schulenburg summoned the Senate. He announced that the “wintering” money demanded by Chotek would not be collected, that the necessities of the army would be paid for as originally promised in the armistice, and that he would agree to a bond being drawn up for the remaining debt to give the government some breathing room. To service the debt, however, he prodded Chotek into ordering the confiscation of the nobles’ deposits in the banks of Milan and Vienna. The patricians, it seemed, would not wriggle out of paying after all.[A]
Despite this small reprieve, Genoa was mired in the most complete misery. The war had caused the city to swell with refugees from the countryside - peasants and laborers with no jobs, no money, and no food. The people were destitute, humiliated, and angry - angry at the Austrians who occupied their city and plundered their wealth, angry at the Sardinians who besieged their towns and stole their land, and angry at their own elite who had led them into a ruinous war and now tried to escape the consequences. There was a sense everywhere that the Republic was under siege from without and betrayed from within. The year ended without further commotion - the Sardinians, having taken Savona, moved no further against the Republic - but 1747 had hardly arrived when a new thunderbolt struck the Republic. On January 15th, the Corsicans invaded Capraia.
18th century map of Capraia (click to enlarge)
The Island of Capraia is a rocky isle, just over seven square miles in area, which lies eighteen miles east of the tip of Capo Corso. Through the Middle Ages it had been mainly a place of religious retreat - and, naturally, a target for Muslim pirates - until the Genoese fortified it in the 16th century, making the island reasonably safe for regular habitation. Since that time the population had grown from just over 200 shepherds, fishermen, and monks to about 1,800 total inhabitants.[2] Capraia, however, was not a Genoese settler colony like the Corsican presidii; it owed its population boom not to the relocation of Ligurian colonists, but to the migration of Corsicans - mainly from Capo Corso - to take advantage of the bountiful fishery offshore. By the 18th century Capraia was a well-established fishing town whose fishermen sold salted and pickled anchovies and bluefish at Genoa, Bastia, and Livorno. Although the island had been quiet over the years of the Revolution, the Capraiesi had contributed to the rebel cause in one important way: As skilled mariners with their own boats and commercial contacts in Livorno, they found themselves perfectly placed to take advantage of the opportunity which the Corsican Revolution provided for smugglers, and Capraiese sailors had played a key role in supplying the naziunali. Smuggling, of course, did not necessarily mean that the Capraiesi were Corsican patriots; there was good money to be made in moving contraband regardless of one’s political leanings. Nevertheless, the outlook of the Capraiese fishermen was not entirely mercenary, and more than a few sympathized with the insurgents.
By the end of 1746 the relations between the Capraiesi and the Genoese were at an all-time low owing to a severe supply shortage. It was bad enough that the British blockade had reduced shipments from Genoa to a trickle; that, at least, was not directly the fault of the Genoese. But the Genoese had also banned all commerce with the rebels, which since the fall of Bastia had effectively meant a ban on all commerce with Corsica, causing great disruption to the Capraiese economy and shortages of even the most basic goods and foodstuffs.
The newly-minted Captain Friedrich Wilhelm von Neuhoff zu Pungelscheid appears to have seized upon Capraia early on as an opportunity to obtain a glorious victory of his own. He knew nothing about naval operations and not much more about command; as a Prussian ensign he was no stranger to the military life but was an unproven leader. But he had come at at an auspicious time, as it was becoming clear that the Genoese did not have the strength to protect what was theirs. Capraiese smugglers, increasingly disgruntled with Genoese rule, proved more than happy to provide the nationals with detailed information on the strength of the garrison, the layout of the fortifications, the geography of the island, and landing points of opportunity.
The information was quite encouraging. The town of Capraia and its only protected harbor were guarded by the Fort of San Giorgio, a 16th century Genoese fortress on a rocky outcrop overlooking the sea, and three outlying watchtowers elsewhere on the coast. The fort was a formidable structure, but the entire island was garrisoned by only about 70 regulars. The Genoese soldiers had not been paid since the summer, and fort’s supplies of flour, gunpowder, and ammunition were all very low. Even if the castle proved impossible to storm, it was plausible that a small force might secure the town and the rest of the island, isolating the castle’s garrison and starving them out. General Marcantonio Giappiconi gave his support to the project; the Genoese had never been weaker, and he was looking for an opportunity to prove the value of his men after the failure at Bonifacio.
Before a landing could be made, however, there was work to do on land and at sea. The Kingdom of Corsica did technically have a “state fleet” of captured Genoese ships including a xebec, two feluccas, and four galliots, but these ships spent most of their time laid up in port owing to shortages of crew, hardware, and naval stores. State ships were gradually gathered at Macinaggio, the closest Corsican port to Capraia, where they underwent repairs and refitting. The privateer Giovanni Francesco Natale was also brought onboard, who would assist the operation with his own ship, the 2-gun felucone Audace. The Audace, the state feluccas, and other small privateering vessels began making regular patrols of the waters around Capraia to make observations of the island and seize supply ships if practicable. In the meantime, Pungelscheid would prepare the landing party.
The commissioner of Capraia, Giacomo Filippo Peirano, was not blind. He had his own spies in Bastia and could draw the obvious inference from the movement of ships to Macinaggio and the growing presence of mysterious craft cruising in the distance. In November he sent an urgent letter to Genoa pleading for reinforcements and resupply, as he believed an attack to be imminent. But although by now the British blockade had been lifted, the Republic’s response left much to be desired; the Genoese, as we have seen, had other problems. The Senate sent a few gondolas with some flour, salt, and ammunition, but only some of little unarmed boats were able to make Capraia on account of rough winter seas and Corsican privateers. Peirano concluded that if an attack was made, his only choice would be to rally the locals to the island’s defense. He organized coastal patrols by the local militia and prepared a cache of arms to be distributed to the citizens in case of invasion.
The invasion was the first Corsican military action conducted mainly by regular forces. The initial landing force consisted of 82 grenadiers, 140 fusiliers, and two bronze falcons (3 or 4 pounder guns). Another company of fusiliers and 200 Cape militiamen were held in reserve, to be landed afterwards to bolster the besieging force. Rough weather delayed the attack for several weeks - it was originally slated for the end of December - but the Genoese were unable to make any use of this reprieve. On the morning January 15th, finding clear seas, the flotilla launched from Macinaggio, reached Capraia, and found that a small cove on the east side of the island known as the Cala di Ceppo appeared to be unguarded. The black-coated Corsican grenadiers were the first to wade ashore, led by Pungelscheid, still in his blue and red Prussian uniform. To maximize their chances of surprise, the captain had ordered his men to land with unloaded muskets to avoid any accidental discharge.
The approach of the Corsican ships had not gone unnoticed by the Genoese sentries, and Peirano activated his defense plans. Whatever muskets could be spared were distributed to the militia, and patrols were sent to the various coves around the island to ascertain where the Corsicans were landing, if that was indeed their intent. Three militiamen came upon the Cala di Ceppo and blundered right into the Corsicans, who had already made landfall. Not knowing that the Corsicans’ guns were unloaded, the militiamen threw down their arms and surrendered immediately. The landing party then proceeded inland along a ravine to the old abandoned Church of San Stefano in the center of the island. Waiting here as more men disembarked, the landing party managed to waylay several more small groups of militiamen going to or coming back from other coves. By noon, the Corsicans had captured and disarmed at least 25 Capraiese militiamen without firing a shot. Peirano eventually learned of the Corsican position and prepared to defend the town from attack. While he had fewer than sixty regulars on hand - around a dozen were at the outlying watchtowers - he had around 150 armed militiamen to support him.
His reliance upon the Capraiesi, however, proved to be misplaced. Speaking in French (translated by a Corsican officer; Pungelscheid’s Italian was poor), the captain informed his captives that he and his men had come not to subjugate Capraia but to drive out the Genoese and unite the Capraiesi with their Corsican brethren. A proclamation from Theodore was read which promised “liberty” to the Capraiesi, proclaimed the abolition of Genoese taxes, and guaranteed them full use of their fisheries and uninhibited commerce with all the ports of Corsica. Then they released the captives - without their muskets - to return to the town. This news quickly disseminated through the populace and had its desired effect. The Capraiesi militia had been formed to defend the island against pirates, but clearly the present invaders were no Barbary corsairs. Some welcomed the “liberation,” but even those who disliked the royalists proved unwilling to fight against them for the sake of the Genoese.
From that point on the Capraiesi offered no resistance. The Capraiese sentries made no attempt to warn the Genoese when a Corsican column marched on the harbor, and the militia at the harbor lay down their arms without a fight. Upon realizing that the harbor had been betrayed to the Corsicans, the Genoese officers in the upper town threatened death to traitors and even turned a cannon against the town, demanding that the militia remain at their posts and fight. Not surprisingly, this failed to inspire the loyalty of the Capraiesi. As the Corsicans advanced into the town, Peirano had no choice but to withdraw into the citadel with his regulars. Although a few shots had been exchanged, by the end of the day the Corsicans had managed to capture the town and virtually the entire island without a single death on either side. Within a week, all three of the outlying watchtowers surrendered. All that remained was the Fort of San Giorgio, exactly 57 Genoese soldiers, and 41 women and children, the families of those soldiers who had fled with them into the citadel for fear of retaliation.
The Fort of San Giorgio
The relations between the Corsicans and the Capraiesi were cordial, and many of the locals openly collaborated with the occupiers. Offering a monthly salary of 10 lira, Pungelscheid raised a company of Capraiesi militia about 80 strong to keep order and help patrol the coastline. The Capraiese fishermen volunteered to use their boats to help ferry supplies from Macinaggio, greatly easing the Corsicans’ logistical burden. These supplies were shared with the Capraiesi, who for the first time in many months were able to restock their larders with flour, oil, and wine. Pungelscheid - the Capraiesi called him “Don Federico” - reported to Giappiconi that the fathers of the commune were cooperative and had regular meetings with him over homemade brandy, while the local women would visit the Corsican patrols and offer his soldiers cake. Although he expressed concern that too much fraternizing with the civilians would be bad for discipline and made efforts to tighten security at the soldiers’ camp, Pungelscheid admitted that the favor of the locals and their indifference towards the Genoese had been key to his bloodless conquest.
At Genoa, the invasion of Capraia was met with horror - and considerable surprise, despite Peirano’s earlier warnings. The Genoese leadership still saw the Corsican nationals as a crude rabble and tended to ascribe their successes to foreign support. That the rebels were capable of launching a naval invasion without the British or Sardinians holding their hand seemed scarcely believable. The effects of Capraia’s fall, lamented the Senators, would be disastrous: It was not only a key supply and staging depot for Genoese forces (which might one day attempt to land upon Corsica again), but it was also a vital link between Genoa and Bonifacio. There was general agreement that if Capraia could not be regained it would be almost impossible to hold Bonifacio, which was already very desperate for provisions.
An effort was made to relieve the island, but it was stymied by a lack of nearly everything one would need to prosecute a war. The state galleys were dragged off the beach for the first time since 1744, but they needed work and naval stores were in short supply. It was not until early February that a squadron was gathered, consisting of two war galleys, three pinques, and four feluccas, but even these were said to have been in poor condition.[3] They remained in harbor, however, because of a lack of crew, for the government had no money to pay sailors and many of them had been snapped up by the Spanish or commandeered (along with their ships) by the British and Austrians. Finally, on February 9th - with the fleet still in harbor - General Schulenburg crippled the whole enterprise by informing the Senate that by the terms of the armistice, the garrison of Genoa had to remain demobilized and within the city to keep order. This meant the government had no landing force to retake the island. The Senate considered roping in the militia, but found them totally unwilling. The regulars dreaded Corsican duty so much that the Genoese government had, in recent years, used transfer to Corsica as punishment, so clearly the militia was not going to voluntarily head overseas. Given the volatile situation in Genoa, trying to force them might cause a riot.
The last hope of the Republic was to try and strangle the occupiers by blockading the island. To this end a somewhat reduced fleet - seven vessels - was dispatched on February 16th. It was a pointless endeavour. In the month since their landing, the Corsicans had gathered a considerable stockpile of provisions on the island. Rough weather frequently forced the Genoese flotilla to withdraw to the Bay of Spezia, creating opportunities for the Capraiesi to dart out in their gondolas and take on supplies at Macinaggio. The fleet did succeed in making contact with Peirano by a clever means - a boat was rowed to the sea caves below the Fort San Giorgio and a messenger was hauled up from the boat to the castle walls with a rope. This, however, was not a sufficient means to keep the garrison in supply. The only real accomplishment of the “blockade” was to secure the release of the women and children in the citadel, whom Pungelscheid allowed to leave and take passage on the Genoese fleet. Ultimately it was the fleet that ran out of provisions before the Corsicans, and the ships withdrew to Spezia to resupply. But Peirano was not much better off, and realized that if the Republic would not invade the island there was no hope for his rescue. On March 7th, after a seven week siege, Peirano surrendered and was granted the honors of war.[4] When the Genoese fleet returned a few days later, they found the Moor’s Head atop the citadel. The Genoese commodore withdrew with Peirano and his garrison on March 14th and returned to Genoa in defeat.
The naziunali were ecstatic, and the victory - accomplished without the loss of a single soldier in combat - made Friedrich Wilhelm's reputation. Ironically it was of little satisfaction to Friedrich Wilhelm himself, who was happy to receive praise and recognition but had hoped to gain glory in battle, not in a bloodless seven week "armed picnic." Yet despite the ease of the conquest, it proved to be a pivotal moment. It now seemed apparent to all that, as a consequence of the steady improvement of the Corsican rebels and the swift collapse of Genoa, the Corsicans had become the military equals of the Genoese, perhaps even their superiors. They were no longer merely a mob of armed rustics who sniped at the Genoese from the macchia, but a state with a disciplined and effective (if small) army which could carry out sophisticated operations against the Genoese. Although Corsica remained a peripheral theater of the war, the great powers took notice. Three weeks after the Genoese sailed home from Capraia, the Empress-Queen declared the Corsicans to be "forever free of Genoa and her tyranny." Not merely content with looting the Republic, she was now giving her blessings to its dismemberment.
Footnotes
[1] Equivalent to about 1.1 million pounds sterling.
[2] If considered part of Corsica - and administratively, it was - Capraia was technically the fourth largest Corsican "city," with more people than Sartena, Calvi, or Corti.
[3] Although hardly a naval power, even this force was probably beyond the capacity of the Corsicans to fight at sea. Genoa’s state galleys were equipped with five forward-facing guns: a pair of 4-pounders, a pair of 8-pounders, and a single monstrous 36-pounder gun in the center. The Corsicans had no vessels with that kind of firepower, to say nothing of their complete lack of trained naval gunners. The Corsican privateers and state ships usually confined their attacks to single, minimally-armed gondolas and pinques.
[4] Privately, Pungelscheid opined that the Genoese had been undeserving of the honors of war, which ordinarily were afforded as a token of respect to an enemy which had mounted a suitably honorable and courageous defense. Nevertheless, he felt obligated to extend full honors to Peirano to "set an example of honorable conduct to the men."
Timeline Notes
[A] The Genoese Revolution is averted, at least for now. While the (insane) Austrian demands for money came from Count Chotek, not the OTL military governor Botta Adorno (as is often claimed), Botta was notoriously stubborn, ornery, and difficult to work with to the point that even his fellow Austrian generals disliked him; Schulenburg is no filogenovese but at the very least he lacks Botta’s cruelty and pigheadedness. What really triggered the rebellion was not the looting of the treasury and the Bank of St. George, but the attempt by Botta Adorno to strip the artillery from Genoa’s walls to send to the Provence campaign. Fearing that they would be stripped of their defenses and left helpless, the Genoese revolted. Initially they demanded the return of their artillery and the return of their city gates to their own forces (Botta Adorno had promised to only occupy one, but stationed his troops in several). Botta Adorno not only ignored these demands but sent the Austrian grenadiers back into the city to resume requisitioning the artillery, and they got chased out with rocks and gunfire. Finally the revolt exploded: the people stormed the armories, turned artillery against the Austrians, forced them from the city, and overthrew their own government (which had tried to stop the rebellion for fear of angering the Austrians). ITTL, the earlier end of the siege of Savona (which was occupying much of the Sardinian artillery) and Schulenburg’s greater respect for the terms of the original armistice mean no artillery requisitioning, and thus no December revolt. Genoa nevertheless remains a roiling cauldron, and their leaders have never been less popular.
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John Fredrick Parker
Donor
Seeing Corsica pick up Capraia makes me wonder about other nearby islands; who has the islands Pianosa and Montecristo at this time? Hell, I'm even thinking about how Giglio or even Elba fit into this now.
Only Capraia is Genoese. Gorgona is owned by the Carthusian monks of Pisa, Pianosa and Montecristo are owned by the Principality of Piombino (a Spanish-Neapolitan vassal), and I believe Giglio is owned by Tuscany. Elba is actually split three ways between Piombino, Tuscany, and the Neapolitan Stato dei Presidi, with Piombino owning most of the island. That said, some of these islands (Gorgona, Pianosa, and Montecristo) are either uninhabited or only seasonally visited, and claims of ownership are a bit hoary. Nobody has lived on Gorgona since 1425, for instance.
Capraia was a target for the naziunali because it was a key logistical base and staging area for the Genoese administration in Corsica. A great deal of the money, troops, and provisions which flowed from Genoa to Corsica throughout the rebellion came through Capraia. Taking it not only liberates a Corsican-speaking population (and its experienced fishermen who will be valuable for any attempt to form a navy), but also cuts the supply line to Bonifacio and makes it that much harder for the Genoese to attempt a reconquest in the future. The other islands aren't anywhere near as valuable to the Corsicans, and certainly not worth picking a fight with either Naples (and thus Spain) or Tuscany (and thus Austria).
Corsica may show an interest in the other islands at some later point, but right now they aren't even on the radar for Theodore and his people.
Indeed, Bonifacio stands alone, and its position is not good. But the possibility of the British navy returning to help the Corsicans besiege it is rather low, and logistically Bonifacio is a much more difficult target to hit than Capraia. If the Corsicans can't manage to take it themselves before the war ends, its fate may be decided in the inevitable peace negotiations rather than on the battlefield.
The Tuscan Archipelago is divided between Tuscany, Presidi (a Neapolitan possession) and Piombino (a Neapolitan vassal ruled by absentee princes who actually reside in the kingdom of Naples). Elba itself is likewise divided between these three entities. Some of the islands are uninhabited and theoretically up for grabs.
Wouldn't Theodore need to make a trip South anyway at this point? Even if Bonifacio cannot be actually taken, the filogenovesi or otherwise out-of-control forces in the countryside of Alta Rocca and surroundings may be mopped up now.
EDIT: also, a flag-waving move to the Maddalena islands just to make a point might be in order, as they are in the vicinity and naval forces are actually sort-of available.
EDIT: also, a flag-waving move to the Maddalena islands just to make a point might be in order, as they are in the vicinity and naval forces are actually sort-of available.
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You'd imagine the loyalist militias in the south must be looking to make some kind of deal with Theodore by this point, now it's obvious Genoa have lost. Possibly a blanket offer of pardons will do it.
I must say that I was expecting von Brown to play more of a part in the Austrian victory, if for no other reason that the previous update had made it seem like he would. In the end it seems like it was Liechtenstein who stole the show.
On a separate, it seems like enough changes have occured relative to OTL so as to set free much more far reaching butterflies than the original premise might have intended, if not by it's effect on Italian politics in the years to come, then at least by having he-who-should-not-be-named from being born. Such is the nature of localized timelines, though! The OTL pararelisms one may wish to bring about are not always viable in the long term.
Great writing, as always!
On a separate, it seems like enough changes have occured relative to OTL so as to set free much more far reaching butterflies than the original premise might have intended, if not by it's effect on Italian politics in the years to come, then at least by having he-who-should-not-be-named from being born. Such is the nature of localized timelines, though! The OTL pararelisms one may wish to bring about are not always viable in the long term.
Great writing, as always!
Think overall we've had a good balancing act of keeping a leash on the butterflies without it seeming forced. Of course eventually a completely and utterly butterflied French Revolution will put an end to that. It's inevitable in any TL with communication with the outside world after some time has passed. But I assume that this TL will mostly wrap with Theodore's death but maybe that's just an assumption.
I still feel that some show of force will be useful in leading to that deal. Pardons are likely, but Theodore still would want to send some boots on that ground, especially since Bonifacio is still holding after all, and cannot be taken swiftly.
First Capraia, then the world!
Seriously though a facetious "Napoleone Buonaparte" conquering all the Mediterranean islands would be hilarious.
Incidentally how do you say "Mare Nostrum" in Corsican?
Seriously though a facetious "Napoleone Buonaparte" conquering all the Mediterranean islands would be hilarious.
Incidentally how do you say "Mare Nostrum" in Corsican?
Agreed.
Theodore's main priority at this point is getting the support from Austria, UK etc which he is half way towards. It goes without saying that without this, his Kingdom is doomed. So he might well prefer to personally stay in the capital where he can send letters easily. Once the peace deal happen, whether in 1747 or 1748 as in OTL, he needs it to include an independent corsica. At that point any resistance from Bonifaco or the filogenovesi is irrelevant as Genoa can only feasibly launch a reconquest with Austrian or French help so once both powers agree to an independent Corsica, any hold outs will have to come to terms.
But, as we've seen with the attack on Capraia, the more the Corsicans can prove themselves militarily capable the more likely that support is. And the easier it will be for Theodore to govern properly later.
More importantly the attack on Bonifaco was deeply embarrassing to Drost and proved the limitations of Royal power outside it's northern stronghold. Capraia was about Friedrich Wilhelm's need to prove himself with a victorious campaign, there's probably going to be other generals who also want to prove themselves with a victory over somebody, Drost being one. Rauschenberg maybe being another. Matra's based just north of the loyalist stronghold of Fiumorbo so maybe his son-in-law wants to have a pop.
Some of the Royalists might prefer to just have them come to terms and not fight an ugly civil war but there'll be royalist generals wanting to march south and have some vengeance against rival clans and the chance of glory and victory. And having seem the limits of royal power in the south demonstrated so brutally during the Bonifaco campaign, Theodore probably would like to fix that if he's not just going be a de facto ruler of the diqua.
Some kind of flag waving show of force of the royal army to try and bring as many loyalist to terms as possible seems likely if Theodore is going to have to wait out another year and a half for his truce. It's not even impossible that Bonifaco will surrender to him without a proper siege given how isolated they must be now.
No Napoleon does not mean no revolution though? We might not see the republic grow into an all-conquering mighty empire - we might not even see a republic being born if there is no American revolution to both bankrupt France and cause resentment that Frenchmen should die and become destitute to grant liberty to subjects of the British crown. However, some form of revolution is likely to come to France still. The systems the French monarchy is shackled to will bring about a collapse eventually without some extraordinary people making some extraordinarily clever moves.
Browne’s time is coming. As in OTL, Carlo Emanuele specifically requested that Browne command the Austrians in the invasion of Provence, so he’s about to take center stage. The next update will be the final "so how's the war going" update, and will feature (among other things) the adventures of General von Browne and the King of Sardinia as they vault into France with 50,000 men.
As far as butterflies go, we will see some significant changes elsewhere; the war is gradually going off the (historical) rails, and will end with a peace that differs from OTL’s peace in more ways than just the fate of Corsica. The war will be capped off with a chapter on the diplomatic strategies of the various states and the negotiation of the final treaty.
As it happens, Theodore actually did attend the peace conference at Aix-la-Chappelle IOTL. He pulled some strings at the Hague (apparently he knew the treasurer of the Prince of Orange) and was admitted as part of the Dutch delegation. He wrote a manifesto in favor of Corsican independence and presented it to the delegates at the conference, but nobody paid him any attention. Curiously, the Grandmaster of the Knights of Malta also sent a representative, as he also coveted a royal crown (and a bigger island) and figured that maybe the great powers would decide the best thing to do with Corsica was to hand it off to some benign "neutral" prince - like the Grandmaster of Malta. Nobody paid him any attention either.