The officers in the room, upon hearing this, all showed expressions of delighted surprise.
Most of them had not understood the importance of the previously mentioned general staff matters, even considering it a means for the Crown Prince to seize military power, so there were no great waves in their hearts.
However, the glory and significance of the corps being officially granted a royal title was something every one of them was very clear about.
Although they had privately claimed to be the Crown Prince’s Guard Corps, after all, that was only a private grant from His Royal Highness, but now, this was an authentic royal title signed off by His Majesty the King!
This meant recognition from the Palace of Versailles for Bertier’s Corps and the graduates of the Paris Police Academy, it meant that from now on they would be the “top stream” in the military world!
Thinking of how other ordinary units would look upon them with respect, and drool with envy at the sight of the royal crest on their uniforms, the officers felt an incomparable sense of satisfaction!
At the same time, everyone knew that with the formal status as a Royal Legion, their treatment in all aspects would rise with the tide. Of course, these were just minor side benefits…
All the officers “whooshed” to their feet, came to attention, and proudly proclaimed aloud, “Long live His Majesty the King!”
Lefevre took the lead and said, “Thank you, Your Royal Highness the Crown Prince! The corps’ loyalty will always belong to you!”
The rest of the corps immediately followed, in unison, “Thank you, Your Royal Highness the Crown Prince! The corps’ loyalty will always belong to you!”
Indeed, they were well aware that without His Royal Highness the Crown Prince, they might still be idling away in some unit, unable to see a day of prominence, not to mention any royal titles.
All that they had now was brought to them by His Royal Highness, how could they not be grateful?
Joseph responded with a nod and a smile, gestured for everyone to sit down, offered some words of encouragement, and then announced the end of the meeting.
After the other officers had left, Bertier approached Joseph with a guilty look and said, “Your Highness, the task you previously assigned of recruiting noble officers hasn’t been going smoothly… There are rumors that the officers have formed a ‘coalition’ in private to resist the Guard Corps.”
Joseph knew that although the hereditary noble officers were mostly incompetent, it wasn’t right to dismiss them entirely. Among Napoleon’s marshals, there were quite a few officers of Old Nobility origins with considerable capabilities.
Moreover, the Guard Corps was currently lacking mid-level officers.
Previously, when the corps was small, this issue wasn’t apparent, but now that he was ready to rapidly expand the modern army, there was a severe shortage of mid-level officers—junior officers could be trained by the Paris Police Academy, but mid-level ones needed combat experience.
This would require a considerable amount of time. With the Guard Corps being recently established, there weren’t enough mid-level officers honed.
Now, if they could absorb some open-minded officers from the Old Nobility and provide a bit of training, it would be helpful in quickly forming combat capabilities.
Additionally, Joseph wasn’t so conceited as to believe that he could fulfill the French Army’s need for officers solely through the Paris Police Academy, ignoring the many military academies in France.
Therefore, integrating the existing military academies was also very important.
And the military academies were basically dominated by Old Nobility officers. Even if some military academies that were not very effective were closed, they still needed the support of a large number of hereditary officers to ensure sufficient teaching resources.
Joseph frowned slightly, hearing what Bertier had just said, realizing that the resistance from the Old Nobility officers was quite significant.
He could understand though, after all, his officer system reform had smashed their “iron rice bowls.” Even though they no longer dared to oppose him openly because of the last incident of passive suppression of rebellion, there wasn’t much he could do about their private attempts at resistance.
Joseph had thought that by improving the conditions, he would be able to win over a number of officers from the Old Nobility, but he hadn’t expected their surprising “unity.”
Bertier spoke with some hesitation, “Your Highness, do you think, perhaps we could raise the pay for recruiting officers again…?”
Joseph immediately shook his head, “No.” Read latest stories on empire
Raising the treatment of these hereditary officers too high would certainly also lead to dissatisfaction among the commoners and lesser noble officers.
How to integrate these people? Joseph couldn’t help but fall into deep contemplation…
North Africa.
The royal city of Morocco, Meknes.
The British Foreign Minister, Marquess of Wellesley, looked back at the tall city walls and the robust black guards standing on both sides of the city gates, then turned to the British consul in Morocco beside him and said, “This is truly a magnificent city, don’t you think so, Baron Green?”
The short middle-aged man nodded, “Yes, My Lord, it is certainly the largest and most prosperous city among the states of the Maghreb.”
“That’s why only it has the strength to curb the impetuous adventurers from the Palace of Versailles.”
As the Marquess of Wellesley spoke, he and Baron Green got back into their carriage and headed towards the palace.
The Foreign Minister glanced at the black knights escorting them on all sides and murmured with a frown, “Their Sultan has quite unique tastes, I must say—they surely have soldiers who look more pleasant to the eye.”
Baron Green explained to him, “It was their Sultan Ismail who, 100 years ago, with an army of 20,000 black slave soldiers called the ‘Army of Jihadists,’ defeated the coastal dissenters and established the Alawites Dynasty. Since then, their Imperial Guard has been entirely made up of black soldiers.”
“Well,” shrugged the Marquess of Wellesley, “be they black slaves or Arabs, they’ve proven useful on the battlefield after all. Oh, I recall our Colonel Hyde Parker was once defeated by them.”
He was referring to the Seven Years’ War when the British naval Colonel Hyde Parker gratuitously insulted the Moroccan Sultan, only to be captured by the Moroccan navy, which was a contingent of the Barbary pirates. It cost the British 200,000 silver coins to ransom him back.
And it was since that time that the British were less inclined to provoke the strongest country along the northwest coast of Africa.
“Do you think Tuoos will accept your proposal?” Baron Green finally found a chance to interrupt the small talk and get down to business, “I mean, the land west of Valsainess is quite extensive.”
The Tuoos he referred to was the Dey of Algiers, and their principal purpose for coming to Morocco was to “facilitate” an alliance between Algiers and Morocco.
“He has no other choice.” The Marquess of Wellesley said with an easy manner, “Their Congress will make him accept it.”
Baron Green quietly corrected, “It’s called the ‘Divan,’ and it is quite different from the usual sense of Congress.”
As they spoke, the carriage had come to a stop.
At last, the ones to greet them were no longer the black guards whom the Marquess of Wellesley did not quite favor, but rather a court official with light brown skin—a Berber.
The court official bowed respectfully to the two men, “Honored guests, the great Sultan is awaiting you.”