God’s Playground: France in the Revolution

By the year 1795, the most radical stage of the French Revolution has passed. In the wake of the Reign of Terror, a period of the revolution in which heads were cut off by the hundreds, France has attained a certain level of stability. Large armies are positioned against the First Coalition, a group of nations set upon rebuking the revolutionary sprit imbued within France. A key military campaign is being held in Holland that promises to lead to the downfall of traditional power in that area. French politics, however, have reached a low point: with treachery and suspicion being as potent as reason. Despite petty squabbles among leaders, the nation stands prepared to fight its enemies.


January 3, 1795 – This campaign in Holland seems to drag on for an eternity. It is as if I am trapped within a frigid hell. Only duty, a concept I have come to hate, compels me to remain steadfast in my service to the army. If not for that lingering moral obligation, I would gladly abandon this campaign and flee to my beloved Alexandrine, who has likely forgotten me within the beauty of Paris.

Alas! I must continue to fight: if not for myself, then for those great principles of liberty, equality, and fraternity. Eventually, victory will be achieved. Already there are signs that the end of conflict may not be very distant. In many places, as the army moves into Dutch territory, the soldiers do not even need to lift their rifles. Though the citizens of Holland rush forth from their strongholds with weapons aloft, they do not trouble us. It seems that the Dutch have come to embrace the ideals of our French Revolution, for they strike hard against their masters once the army approaches.

This morning we began a slow march toward the city of Utrecht. General Revoues has informed me that he expects the capture of the aforementioned city by our army will serve as an expedient to the destruction of the current Dutch regime. I greeted his words with merriment and suggested that we celebrate the moment with some fine wine. Tonight I go to sleep content.

January 7, 1795 – The army arrived in Utrecht this morning. Mists hung unusually thick in the air, and I could not help but perceive a very disturbing aura of despair. Though the mists dispersed as the day wore on, that sense of despair seemed to linger in my heart. It is difficult to explain, and I believe the subject must rest for now.

In any event, the Dutch made only a token show of defense in protecting the city. General Revoues told me that most of the enemy forces in Holland are concentrated toward the north, where they defend the Stadhouder. Dutch peasants greeted us soldiers amiably at the gates of Utrecht. It is as though they perceive the army to be their key to freedom, a concept not entirely removed from truth. Tonight will surely involve much rejoicing with regards to the capture. Though I am obliged to be happy, my mind continues to dwell upon Alexandrine, who remains far removed.


January 11 - I am a prince who lives as a slave! Ever since this dreadful revolution began, I have been held captive by lunatics, who find themselves emboldened by a distortion of logic. Life is despair, and death will be bliss. Honestly, I know not why I write this log of my affairs. I know only that it soothes my soul to write.

Though my father was a king, I am a prisoner to radicals. They hold me captive in relative squalor. I am forced to curse my parents, may God have given them rest, and work at degrading tasks. Events of importance rarely occur. Thus, I was surprised when, yesterday, a radical guard passed a note to me in a clandestine manner.

The secret correspondence, which I was instructed to burn promptly, was little more than a slip of tattered paper. On the parchment my captor informed me tersely that some discussion has been made concerning my ultimate fate. This, I assume, means that the revolutionaries have decided it is high time to do away with me in a permanent fashion. In his letter, my guard went on to say that, if I have any means through which escape can facilitated, now is the time to exploit them. Alas! If I had an expedient to escape, I would use it in a heartbeat... A restless sleep is in my future. Perhaps, sweet death will come during the night.​

The war between revolutionary France and its adversaries spans the globe. Across the seas, violent battles rage. The fate of the revolution hangs equally upon victory in Europe and victory in the far-removed corners of the world. Meanwhile, in the heart of France, political maneuverings threaten the lives of many men.


January 15 – We encountered a strong storm off the coast of Barbados. After riding out the gale, we took in at port for provisions. While in port, I received orders and news. I am to take Glory to the north and west, where Spanish informers expect a contingent of French ships to be lurking. The crew is not pleased. They would gladly remain in port for the war’s duration. With word of French victories in Europe, however, such is not an option.

January 17 – A crew member sighted an unknown ship at midday. Cloud cover made it difficult to identify the vessel. Thus, we pursue blindly… Crew otherwise in good health. I had to discipline a man for thieving: twenty-five lashes. I would have given thirty, but mate objected on grounds of a battle being immanent.

January 19 – Ship sighted previously is most certainly French. The vessel weaves as it travels, hoping to make our pursuit and attack more difficult. My crew is anxious; they believe the ship is too powerful for us to handle. Tomorrow, we should be close enough to engage. We must be careful not to lose the French ship during the night.


January 16 – I received another note from my guard today. He shook rather violently as he handed the paper to me; it is lucky that nobody witnessed the exchange. It is obvious that he fears for his welfare… I would act the same if our positions were reversed. Actually, I don’t believe that I would risk my life for another man… The guard really is quite bold.

In any event, the guard leads me to believe that God has not forsaken me entirely. He informs me (who he calls “your majesty”) that there are men working towards freeing me from this cell. I fear that the guard is delusional, though I hold out hope for rescue. Maybe the fires of Hell will freeze over and allow me relief from the torture of my captive existence!


Regards,

The time has come to act, for they plan to take the King’s life. The radicals wait only for some members of their Assembly to offer approval for the execution. Plan to move forward with the scheme in two days. Unless you hear otherwise from me, stay in the shadows until that point.

Godspeed - X​

As January of 1795 rolls toward a close, France remains in a precarious position. Several great battles have occurred in Europe, with some of them being won and others lost. Holland has fallen almost entirely under the grasp of the French. The cry of revolution has been caught up by the Dutch, who gladly oppose their old rulers with a French army nearby to support them. Meanwhile, across the globe, naval skirmishes between the French and British are a sign of things to come…


January 22 - It seems as though hope has once again led me astray. I was fooled into a sense of optimism, only to be disappointed sorely… To explain, it seems as though my guard, the man who promised me freedom, has abandoned me to rot within this cruel pit. Several long days have passed, and he has not even appeared within my cell, never mind communicated some message of hope to me. Alas! I pray that death may take me soon…. But wait; I can hear the sound of footsteps upon the set of stairs that lead to my chamber. Yet, it is the dead of night. Who visits at such an ungodly hour?


January25 - Today, by dawn’s light, we (the army) departed from the Dutch city of Utrecht, which is now justly occupied by French troops. A contingent of soldiers has been left behind in the metropolis to ensure that the locals remain loyal to the “benevolent” state… The men are in high spirits, though I foresee trouble in the future. Supplies are not as high as they ought to be, and the officers fear that we might run short of necessities as we travel north. All the same, the Armie has orders to cut off a contingent of Prussians moving south through the Dutch-land.

My mind dwells more upon my love Alexandrine with each passing day. Her face seems to float before me at all times, a beautiful reminder of my loneliness. I have resolved that I will not endure much more of this torturous campaign. Should the Armie linger much longer in this Dutch-land, I will request leave of General Revoues. He is a kindly gentleman and a good friend; perhaps, he can be persuaded to transfer me to a command closer to Paris, where my love dwells. Oh, if only the hopes of lovers could come true!


January 21 (Caribbean Sea) – The fury of Hell has been set upon this poor ship for the past two days…. We pursed a French vessel deep into the night, hoping to attack the ship in the King’s name by dawn’s illumination. However, amid a heavy fog that tends to blanket the sea during the night, we lost sight of the enemy. At first light, we found our ship alone in a vast fog. Morning bore on, but the condensation would not disperse, as it normally does.

The crew took this as a bad omen and was full of apprehension. Their superstition may have been founded this time, for we soon found ourselves embroiled in a trap. The French ship, it seems, never truly left our vicinity, but merely circled around to our rear. Furthermore, the vessel rendezvoused with some other privateer craft during the night. Together, the two ships launched a surprise attack upon us: coming out of the fog like monsters. Surely, we found have been lost had the helmsman not been able to maneuver our intrepid ship deep into the fog, where we avoided capture…

This encounter leads me to believe that the Admiralty has underestimated the French military presence in the West Indies. I fear that the radicals may be planning something devious in the colonies!​