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REQUIESCANT A LABORIBUS SUIS OPERA ENIM ILLORUM SEQUUNTUR ILLOS
The bells of Notre Dame tolled a mournful knell, sounding the sombre proclamation that Lévis was no more. As the casket made its way down the nave of the cathedral, where had assembled the great and the good of all France, the pallbearers seemed to confirm, with each solemn step, the gravity of the occasion: the country had lost her foremost statesman.

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As the casket drew nearer, the Prince de Polignac glimpsed at the king, who stood in the first aisle of the cathedral. The monarch, bereft of a friend and confidant, appeared deeply saddened by Lévis passing, his eyes displaying a profound sense of desolation and a newfound loneliness.

It had seemed like yesterday, those heady days of the Restoration, when the world seemed imbued with new vigour, and the sovereign returned to his rightful place at the helm of a great nation. Now, the chief architect of those propitious times lay in-state, a cold and lifeless corpse.

One could not help but consider the death of Lévis as marking the close of some great chapter in the country’s history. The Prince de Polignac adjusted the pin in his cravat and, prompted by his wife, proceeded to join the queue of muted mourners who condoled the Lévis family and paid their last respects to the late duke.
 
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Pater Mouton in later life

Laurentius Pater Mouton O.Carm., né François Jacob Marie Mouton, (Beaufays, 12-10-1827 - XX-XX-XXXX) was a French Carmelite priest, teacher and social activist who lived during the Long Nineteenth Century.

François Jacob Marie Mouton was born in a family of petite bourgeoisie in the hamlet of Beaufays, near the Francophone city Liège in the Kingdom of the Netherlands. His father worked as a roof layer and his mother worked as shopkeep of the local hatter. After showing sufficient promise as a child, the local parish church funded his education at the Collège Saint-Serves, the former Jesuit Collège en Ile, in Liège from 1838 to 1844. After receiving his baccalauréat, he took his vows as Carmelite frater at the Collège and took the monastic name of Laurentius. He subsequently entered the Grand Seminary of Saint-Corneille de Beaurepart where he studied theology and the Catholic University of Louvain, where he finished his doctor’s degree in divinity and political economy.

Upon finishing his studies in 1849, Pater Mouton was offered a junior teaching position at the Theology Faculty at the Sorbonne. Although Mouton had witnessed the industrialization and subsequent pauperization of the working-classes through his work as almoner in Liège, he was struck by the abject poverty and immorality that seemed even more widespread in the arrondissements of east Paris, even at the Gates of the Tuilleires and the shops of Les Halles. Thus, Pater Mouton became increasingly involved in the charitas works of the Parisian Société de Saint Vicent-de-Paul and began to speak out against the inhumane conditions of the factories of Paris. When the Second Revolution did finally come, Mouton, still in his prime, volunteerd as an Army Chaplain. In the final hours of the Second Revolution, Mouton was wounded in his arm while carrying a dying Guardsman to safety. With the Second Republic proclaimed and the Theology Faculty burned by a rioting mob, Mouton, still recovering from his wounds, returned to Liège.

There, he would take up a teaching position at his old Collège Saint-Serves and focus much of his time on charity work and his writings. First publishing Moralité et Santé publique, Mouton described the slums of Liège, some of the worst slums of the Department, from his own observations, proposing measures to improve both morality and public health, such as a modernized charitas-system, where the working poor, if following the demands of the Charitas-Board, could acquire better food, clothing and housing. Soon following this came the pamphlet Mutualité chrétienne, calling for the establishment of Christian mutual societies in Liège to combat both the increasing deprivation and militancy of the urban working poor. Upon the Third Restoration, Mouton established the Mutualité chrétienne “St. Joseph”, named after the Patron Saint of Workers. In subsequent six years, through sponsorship of the Royal Government, Walloon notables and the Church, Mouton could presided over the growth of the mutualité across the still deeply religious working poor of the department, which were very much in abundance through the continuous immigration of poor Catholic Flemings to Liège and Charleroi.

Contemporaneously, Walloon notables planned to unseat the Republican député Achille Bonhomme who had scrapped by in his Liège constituency in the General Elections of 1853 and 1858, winning the latter with a mandate of only 1,287 votes as Orléanist, Lègitimist and Wallonais candidates hopelessly split the Royalist vote. Pater Mouton, who possessed a thoroughly Royalist signature, but lacked a clear affiliation to either of the three movements, was proposed as a challenger, possessing some appeal to the mutualist petite bourgeoisie which had twice returned Bonhomme to the Chambre. Thus, the Pater was asked to stand for office in the springtime election of 1863. After a respectable victory in Liège, Pater Mouton became a spokesperson of the ultramontane position in the Chambre, championing the interests of the Roman Catholic Church, while increasingly developing a social critique of laissez-faire Royalistes and Liberals.

General Information:
Born: 12 October, 1827; Beaufays, Kingdom of the Netherlands (36)
Profession: Pater, Writer & Teacher
Department: Ourthe
Alma mater: Université catholique de Louvain
Religion: Roman Catholicism

Public Offices:
Président de la Mutualité chrétienne “St. Joseph” - 1855 onwards
Député de Liège - 1863 onwards

Bibliography:
Moralité et Santé publique - 1852
Mutualité chrétienne - 1853

Legislation:
 
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Revolution and Reaction will return next week; the first update is already prepared.

Ready your engines.
 
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"Germany is not looking to Prussia's liberalism, but to its power; Bavaria, Württemberg, Baden may indulge liberalism, and yet no one will assign them Prussia's role; Prussia has to coalesce and concentrate its power for the opportune moment, which has already been missed several times; Prussia's borders according to the Vienna Treaties [of 1814-15] are not favorable for a healthy, vital state; it is not by speeches and majority resolutions that the great questions of the time are decided – that was the big mistake of 1850 and 1851 – but by iron and blood."
 
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Chapter 8: Le Statu Quo

(October 1858 - February 1863)


Since the initial negotiations over fusion and the Charter of 1853, French political elites had strained to emphasize the parliamentary legalism of the Third Restoration. The entire program of the Restoration settlement rested on various compromises, formal as well as informal, that secured a constitutional framework in which all parties—at least those recognizing the monarchy—could partake. Carefully coordinated preambles and precise legal terminology ensured that the appropriate balance between royalism, parliamentarism, and social stability was diligently maintained. A well-functioning legislature, governed by ministerial and semi-democratic functions, gave the system a semblance of liberal regularity. The legitimist national narrative and its powerful social Catholicism secured the compliance of historical allegiants and hope for reactionary innovators, but in substance these forces were sharply circumscribed by the political dominance of the post-Orléanist political class and their socio-economic allies in the upper bourgeoisie. In this system it was natural for the established elite to find security in the legislative constitutional system, which they had strained to design and exploit for their electoral advantage. Here accommodating reformers and dissatisfied legitimists could air their grievances under the watchful oversight of the reliable ‘settlement’ party. But the ruling elite had left the door open to an intervention from a direction they had not anticipated, and foolishly so; the King of France.

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By the Grace of God, Henri V, Most Christian King of France and Navarre (1863).
Under immense pressure from the economic depression, the October 1858 political crisis, and revolutionary assasination attempts, Henri V changed course. Despite a powerful executive investment in the constitution, in the early years of the Restoration he had assumed a political role even more confined than his Orléanist predecessor. His daily influence was typically appropriated by the Duc de Lévis and the so-called ‘court party,’ which represented the conservative wing of the legitimist party and served as an informal arbitration body for managing the parliamentary politics of the ruling ministry. During the crisis of 1858 the normal functioning of the process had broken down when liberal legitimists under the Comte de Charlus, Lévis’ son, attempted a blocking maneuver against the growing power of the extrême droite. The resulting political confusion destroyed the unanimity of the Restoration settlement and posed a dilemma that even the competent royal favorite was unable to decipher. The assassination attempt on Henri by an Italian nationalist, Orsini, added a cold new dimension; the exiled prince, long cushioned in a sympathetic legitimist Austrian village, was not accustomed to the violence or personal antipathy of the revolutionary tradition. It was a lesson that the Orléanist princes had learned with grave regularity during the June Monarchy. But Henri could not summon the necessary resolve to overlook the unfamiliar hostility, and his tone turned increasingly authoritarian and interventionist. Further disturbed by the inability of the politicians to restore the Restoration settlement, Henri decided to make a decisive maneuver. In early November, the King privately announced to the court party that he intended to impose a ministerial party on the Chamber of Deputies. The liberal legitimists had gone too far for Henri; they had destroyed the precarious alliance stretching from the blues-sombre to the reactionary right and invited insurrectionary activity with their experimental policies and monumental personalities. The monarch moved firmly in favor of another repressive wave, and turned to the person who had presided over the first one, the Baron Descombes.

On 18 November, Henri informed Baron Descombes that he would have to lead a ministerial party to replace the old broad settlement alliance. Henri first selected two personal favorites, Jean-Paul Henry Lièvremont and Roger de Larcy, to lead his charge in the ministries of the Interior and Justice. Lièvremont was the feared author of the Catholic education laws and an informal leader of the extrême droite who inspired all the fears of the radical and moderate Left (especially Jacques de Rothschild), but his energetic service in previous administrations had increased his popularity among the court party. He was now called on by the King to abandon his pretenses for decentralisation in the cause of royal security. Baron Charles-Roger de Larcy, a distinguished legitimist lawyer, had been a longtime personal companion of the King and the justice minister during the first repression. On the King’s insistence, Larcy again took the justice portfolio. Descombes’ allies followed next, including the fearsome Duc de Conegliano, Moncey, as Minister of War, Drouyn de Lhuys as Minister of Foriegn Affairs, Joseph Romain-Desfossés in the Marine, and Théobald de Lacrosse in Public Works. Charles de Wendel, a powerful iron industrialist whose company was fast approaching ten percent of France’s total cast iron production, earned the Commerce and Industry ministry on the recommendation of Levis. He soon became a reliable dependent of Descombes within the cabinet. Henri completed his sortie with an obliteration of the power of the liberal legitimists; the Vicomte du Bessin and the Comte de Charlus were sent back into diplomatic exile in London and Vienna. Furthermore, the King allowed none of the ‘ambassadorial interference’ that had characterized previous maneuvers by Charlus. Without their traditional leadership, the liberal legitimists disintegrated into various personal factions. Many moved in the Chamber of Deputies into a vague allegiance with the new ministerial party, particularly those associated with the Minister of Public Instruction, the Comte de Falloux. Others resented the deprivation of their political power and the authoritarian turn of the Restoration government, finding solace in independent groupings that might even venture to vote with the dynastic Left under Auberjonois. The ranks of Auberjonois’ ‘progressives’ were already swollen by mass additions from the centre-gauche who found in the post-Settlement political environment that aspirations for reform were getting squeezed by a perpetual call for order and authority. Only the most conservative faction of the center-left, led by Conegliano, remained with the ministry. Nevertheless, the King shored up his party by forcing compliance on the extreme Right. The droit national, in particular, strengthened the ministry on the specific request of Henri, who told the leadership that the “Revolution must first be ripped from the soul of France before we can begin a national rejuvenation.”


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Baron Descombes, the Prime Minister, aged 61 (1862).
At the center of the new council was the person of the King. He had formally repudiated the approach of Philippe VII, who in similar circumstances in 1832 had briefly assumed direct control of the ministry, in favor of regular appointment. But in almost every way he exceeded the influence of Philippe VII on the government; rather than play a Hanover, Henri at last decided to be a Hapbsurg. Through Lièvremont and Larcy, power over judicial appointments and perfect instructions became increasingly centralised in the palace. Within formal ministerial gatherings, Henri exercised the right to make decisions. He generally contented himself with laying the framework in which the ministry would operate, but this was no paltry nor inconsequential intrusion. It was to the royal credit that Henry selected a ministry that was prepared to take on his challenge. The conservative Orléanists around Descombes reacted to the severe economic and political difficulties resulting from the American war with a sobering evaluation that valorized social order and economic orthodoxy. For their loyalty to the King the reform debate on decentralisation was sidelined on Levis’ suggestion, and economic policy returned to the traditional liberalism of the budgetaires against the experimental interventionism of the preceding ministry. For Henry, the path was open for a repression on an even greater scale than Faucher had executed five years before.

Only the shrewd maneuvering of Descombes and his allies prevented a complete repeat of the post-Restoration purge. Descombes thought it unwise to repeat the necessary measures of the first ministry, and worried about press opinion; he looked to the Orléanist princes as models to emulate in the face of revolutionary trouble. But the King would not abandon his idée fixe, and it was only with great effort that the 1859 purge was restrained. In March 1859, Henri V ordered the ministry to pass a string of new restrictive laws; the ministry managed to redirect this impulse towards harsher instructions for the prefects and police reforms. Moncey grew the size of the gendarmerie, the only reliable force for safeguarding the tranquility of the capital, the small towns, and villages, by several thousand. Meanwhile, the King and the Interior Ministry increased the number of Parisian municipal policemen, and by 1860 there were 3,600 officers in Paris, added to another 2,500 gendarmes. [1] Royal decrees re-organized the police system into a distribution of 730 cantonal police commissaires, appointed by the prefects on the recommendation of the mayors, or in cities with over 60,000 inhabitants, on the appointment by the Interior Minister on the prefect's recommendation. In May 1858 police forces in seventeen cities with such populations were expanded and re-organised, though they remained small. The new commissaires focused their attention on industrial centers, such as that of Saint-Etienne, which by 1861 had quadrupled its police force from twenty in 1852 to sixty-five. Standards of training, supervision, and coordination were improved by special emphasis of the central government, which tended to defer to the advice of the Paris Prefect of Police (and after November 1859, by decree also Director of Public Security at the Ministry of Interior), the legitimist Symphorien Boittelle. Elsewhere there were serious deficiencies; only about three-quarters of rural communes had any policemen at all, and the grand total of officers in these communes did not exceed 70,000.

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Police presences from Paris to Lyons were buttressed against revolutionary disorder.

In a circular of 18 March 1859, Lievermont ordered the French prefects to establish lists of suspects in consultation with state prosecutors and local military establishments. They were then ordered to use these lists to make a certain number of arrests. For the next six months the King presided over a serious provincial purge of suspected republican organisations, as prefects, always looking upwards towards Paris, competed to dispose of undesirable dissidents. With the cooperation of local mayors and sympathetic conseil generaux throughout the departments, political arrests reached heights unseen since 1854 and emigration among republican dissidents picked up, including the highly publicized 1860 emigration of the peer Vicomte de Hugo to Great Britain. The furious protests of the republican deputies and the Parisian press, especially the popular Le Siècle, made no impression on the King. Those with an outspoken association towards Italian republicanism or amalgamation were ripe for prosecution under broad (or coerced) judicial interpretations of the 1853 press and association laws. Mutual aid societies, previously characterized by Larcy as “dangerous congregations of radicalism,” were another target ripe for rescinded authorizations and subsequent suppression.

In total, 610 suspected republican leaders, predominantly professional and business men, were arrested and sent to Algeria. Widespread house-to-house searches in problematic localities and renewed prosecutions for subversive literature, seditious expression, and press offenses achieved the desired effect of popular acquiescence. In February 1860, Henri reorganized the French military administration by ordinance into five districts, each led by a marshal with ultimate responsibility for public order. It was a dramatic change in the political equilibrium and gave new power to central military authorities, like the reactionary Marshal de Castellane, but in reality since the revolutionary moment never arrived the corresponding militarisation never made serious inroads into prefectoral power. By the year’s end it had become apparent that the purge had run its course and that a general normalisation was desirable. Henri consented to easing off the exceptional measures but his influence over the ministry remained intact.

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The final speech of the Italian republican, nationalist, and would-be assassin, Felice Orsini.

In fact for many in the ministry the 1858 wave of suppression was a matter of secondary importance. Instead they found the economic concerns gravely reiterated each day in the conservative Journal des débats more pressing than the loud protestations against the repression supplied by the republican press. Even those ministers who privately expressed concern towards the extent of Henri’s political intervention would have balked at abandoning the King’s policy at such a precarious time. Many ministers, generally predisposed to the orthodox liberalism of Michel Chevalier and the budgétaire Journal des débats, believed that the experimentalism of the Bessin ministry had invited fiscal disorder at the worst possible time. Henri V, for his part, upheld the informal terms of the ministerial party and attempted no intervention in economic policy. He was inexperienced in economic affairs and recognized that public confidence in the ministry depended in part on its strong fiscal reputation. With this in mind the King kept the extreme Right in good order. Lièvremont was not to challenge the ministerial party with a competing program of social Catholicism; he was forced to watch as the instruments of public investment, particularly the unions' agricoles, were dried of investment, and the courageous social reforms of the legistimist party peeled back by prefectoral instruction.

Almost by default the ministry earned support from the great pillars of the financial establishment. These included the powerful shareholders of the Bank of France, almost exclusively aristocrats and great notables, and the elusive ‘two hundred’ families, which dominated French finance and speculation. Members of this social elite were still influenced by stories of the Law affair and revolutionary assignats, and prioritized monetary stability above economic growth. Nathaniel de Rothschild and Achille Fould, for example, reinforced the government through supportive editorial positions in the Journal des débats, Le Temps, and the Revue des Deux Mondes. They developed a repeated proclivity for equating the person of Descombes with firm and certain governance, particularly in economic affairs where he could be trusted to represent the traditional financial practices of the haute banque against the credit innovations of the nouveaux riches. The latter appeared discredited, at least in elite opinion, by the collapse of Crédit Mobilier and the Pereires brothers (who were ironically refused state support by the budgétaires in the Bessin ministry), which had greatly aggravated the crisis. Descombes reciprocated the trust by ensuring that government credit remained dependent on the banking syndicates. By attacking expenditure the Descombes ministry ensured sustained confidence among this exclusive cadre of financiers for the government’s extraordinary loans. At substantial cost to those assisted by the Bessin ministry during the crisis, and to the social narrative of the legitimist movement, Descombes’ government presented harsh budgets in 1859 and 1860 with an explicit drive towards balancing receipts. From the three original pillars of Bessin’s expenditure—agricultural investment, military improvements, and crisis assistance—only the military avoided reductions by instruction of the King.

Fiscal consolidation was an incomplete solution to an economic crisis with exogenous origins. The central problem was the disruption to normal supply chains caused by the British blockade of the United States, and in particular, the American South. Substantial increases in wartime British and American production, especially in shipyards, threatened overlapping manufacturers and ports back in France. French armament producers and investors, like the Duc de Montbazon, who managed to acquire early contracts with the Mexican government were able to profit, but latecomers found themselves outmaneuvered by British manufacturers. For industries dependent on the cotton trade and other exports from the United States, the 1857-8 recession raised the specter of collapse. The boom in profits and production that had characterized the previous half-decade were threatened by events beyond the ministry’s control. In this setting the ministers turned to an active support of enterprise. They refrained from enforcing bothersome regulations, sided with iron and steel manufacturers in disputes with localities, favored large corporate firms over traditional individual entrepreneurs, offered new railway concessions to allied capitalists, and guaranteed the interest of securities for railway and transport companies seeking financing. Above all interventions, however, were determining macroeconomic forces. The wool and linen industries briefly experienced rapid growth to compensate for the shortage of cotton before crashing back down with cotton’s recovery. By late 1859 alternative cotton sources and an adapting market allowed for a gradual recovery in affected sectors. Panic buying became far less common, but the unreformed cities of France retained their deteriorating indigence, more marked than ever amid an industrial crisis. Bitter complaints against the prohibitive cost of living rang through the cities. Economic growth returned to France, albeit at a depressed rate; the intense prosperity of the early Restoration was over.

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French industry, though contracting in 1857-8, entered its decisive phase of modernity (1860).

In the face of weakened growth, Descombes and Chevalier resolved to stimulate the modernisation of the economy through free trade. Descombes was particularly anxious to improve relations with the British, who by their military campaign against the United States had once again asserted their domination over the Atlantic. During the First Restoration protection against British exports had been an obvious necessity given the technical isolation of France; forty-five years later this no longer seemed the case. Many influential deputies from the centre droit argued that French goods were suitably developed to withstand competition from British manufacturing. In March 1860 the prefects were instructed to draft regular reports on industrial conditions within their departments for review. It was evident that competitiveness varied considerably by region; one enquiry into the cotton industries concluded that at least a third of it would be doomed to disappear in the face of archaic equipment, another noted that locomotive manufacturers and steam engines could become highly competitive with tariffs as low as 10 percent.

In a December 1860 report Descombes told the King that the object of a free trade agreement was “not to provoke a dangerous competition for French industry, but uniquely to stimulate its efforts, spur on its zeal, and encourage useful comparisons with foreign industry.” But official reports also recognized the dangerous political consequences of moving against protection. The civil servants in the Commission des Douanes, for example, had warned the government in 1854 that many industrialists "assume the price of free trade, especially as it is professed by some of the government's closest advisers, would lead to a ruin of French industry.” Although the free trade dogma was strong among many deputies, especially the legitimist winegrowers, the legitimist and Orléanist party tended to draw strength from the ranks of protectionist industrialists and agriculturalists. Fearing another split in ministerial ranks, the King forced the ministry to indefinitely postpone further discussion of the issue until the conclusion of the American war. This was an excuse without cover. Henri’s sympathies for the Mexican emperor were never in doubt, and the risk of aggravating the United States with a free-trade agreement with Britain posed few concrete downsides for Paris. Descombes understood the intervention and maneuvered to earn the King’s consent for a diplomatic overture to precede negotiations, but the throne continued to prohibit the actual commencement of trade talks.

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Lord Palmerston, who succeeded Lord Aberdeen after the failure of his conciliatory American policy, in 1858.

Nevertheless, relations with England were given a renewed priority to lay the framework for an agreement. The Orléanist party was able to employ its connections with Buckingham Palace and powerful Peelite ministers, such as Chancellor Gladstone and Lord Aberdeen to ensure there was a path for negotiations under Lord Palmerston’s wartime government. Successful Anglo-French cooperation in the Second Opium War provided an additional impetus to revive flailing relations, but Henri’s ministry continued to hesitate on the fundamental issue of a free trade agreement. In reality, of course, Henri had designed that delay to put off an ideological clash, and he had every intention of maintaining his evasive strategy on free trade. Against the requests of the Descombes clique, the King ordered the foriegn ministry to “intensify” French neutrality. Throughout 1860 and 1861, Henri tested the patience of Lord Palmerston by ensuring that his government pressed the British on several contentious property claims relating to the blockade that had been presented to the ministry by sympathetic merchants. Palmerston left the door open for a free trade agreement on the insistence of his Cabinet, but relations chilled and Palmerston reciprocated by permitting the immigration of French political exiles against the entreaties of the French ambassador, the Vicomte du Bessin. Bonaparte’s 1863 return to England was therefore a curious product of intra-Restoration disagreements over trade and the ‘intensified’ neutrality of the French government.

Louis-Napoleon first left the Old World in March 1859. At the time, French republican commitment to the cause of the United States was wearing thin. Under William L. Marcy, the incumbent Secretary of State, the United States had attempted to present itself on the world stage with a distinctly republican character against the monarchist intrigues of Mexico and Britain. But the close re-election of Franklin Pierce and his Young America war faction in 1856 also guaranteed the supremacy of pro-slavery Southerners within Pierce’s administration. By 1858 the war effort had become concentrated in the hands of the capable plantation owner and former Mississippi senator, Secretary of War Jefferson Davis, the hard money Kentuckian, James Guthrie, the Secretary of the Treasury, and the Floridian navalist senator, and incumbent Secretary of the Navy, Stephen Mallory. In June 1858, General P. G. T. Beauregard broke the stalemate in southern California and chased the Anglo-Mexican Army to the Rio Grande. By the end of summer, Davis and the Southerners were taking advantage of the renewed military fortune to preach the gospel of expanding slavery. Successful British counter-offensives in Canada as well as a tightening blockade of the North strengthened the Southern hold on the conflict. Pierce had to fend off attempts to force a definitive statement of committing new Southern territories to slavery. As pro-slavery rhetoric proliferated from government corridors, the opposition Republican Party turned sharply against the war. They had plenty of complaints already to offer. American manufacturing and commerce, concentrated in the North, had been devastated by the blockade. Northern Republicans warned that American industry was being crippled to support slaveholder expansionism. Public sentiments against slavery accelerated in the North at unprecedented rates as economic injury and an unpopular conflict aggravated a northern population already uncomfortable with slavery. Cognizant of the legacy of the treacherous Hartford Convention, the Republicans presented an anti-war statement with strongly Unionist overtones in April 1859 at the famous Boston Conference.

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The Union army defeats a smaller Anglo-Mexican force near Palo Alto (1858).

Bonaparte arrived alone in British-occupied New Orleans on 4 April 1859 with six exiles. Within three months, Bonaparte had established an independent group of Mexican republicans, French exiles, and American abolitionists. They were armed from England by French emigres and ensured a British contact was available in New Orleans to forward all information back to London and the press. It was all designed as a grand experiment in the modern press, but its principal design was to silence the querulous factionalism in the French republican party, condemned by its unification around Bonapartiste-républicanisme to bitter disputes between moderate republicans and démoc-socs. Naturally a Bonapartist resolution to such a dilemma sought exultant deeds worthy of the modern age. Despite the sweltering heat, Louis-Napoleon boarded a vessel from New Orleans in July 1859 with his companions and struck out into rural Louisiana. Throughout the late summer and autumn of 1859, while stalemated Anglo-American battles throughout the state distracted military attention, Bonaparte and his band targeted local plantations in brazen emancipatory forays that liberated over two hundred slaves. Each emancipation earned the special attention of the republican press in France, the anti-slavery press in the North, and the government press in England. Still greater deeds were desired by the adventurous Bonaparte. Before the arrival of the 1860 winter, Lord Cardigan had made a decision to take 3,000 troops and march upriver to Baton Rouge to dislodge General Thomas Williams from the state capital. Bonaparte received advanced news of the offensive from sympathetic contacts on Cardigan’s staff, and he tried to gather as many volunteers as possible, which proved an easy task given the intense multiculturalism and exile concentration of British-occupied New Orleans. On 11 October 1859, Bonaparte infiltrated American territory on the north-eastern bank of the Mississippi and marched towards the French Settlement near Galveston's Ferry. Over the next week, the Prince and his 200 guerillas launched surprise attacks on local plantations and liberated nearly two thousand slaves in a chaotic string of skirmishes. Frantic attempts to put down the sporadic slave revolts caused by Bonaparte’s mass liberation opened a decisive window for Cardigan. He advanced in late October with his advance column of light cavalry and took Baton Rouge with insignificant casualties on 4 November. Two days later he forced General Thomas Williams to retreat northwards after a significant engagement east of the city. Within the year, Domadeaux, the principal Bonapartist propagandist, published the first edition of Napoleon’s journal in America to hungry audiences in England and covert audiences in France.

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The allegory of the French émigrés in America (1860).

The reports from America catapulted Bonaparte back into the European spotlight. Lord Palmerston, irritated by Henri’s interventions, was glad for the new thorn in Paris’ side and only instructed military officers to avoid collaborating with Bonaparte when the French government threatened a formal diplomatic protest with backing from the Northern Courts. This was the effective conclusion of Bonaparte’s campaign but only the first segment in his American drama. For most of 1860 Bonaparte remained in New Orleans, where he published several anti-slavery tracts to eager English and French audiences. His group remained with him until March 1861 when he departed for Washington D.C to meet the new president, the anti-war Republican, Abraham Lincoln. Bonaparte’s widespread European publicity and his cordial relations with the British enabled the Prince to serve as a mouthpiece for the cause of republican peace. But considerable obstacles still obstructed Lincoln’s path. The splintered Democratic Party, broken by the factionalism of the war and slavery, raised the specter of secession to preserve their dreams of expanded slavery; they vehemently opposed the informal public role afforded to Bonaparte. But in its present condition the South was no longer in the driving seat. The Republican administration intended to end the war as soon as possible, and the British were prepared for further intervention against King Cotton and the American South.

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Plon-Plon is introduced to President Lincoln ahead of Bonaparte's arrival.

Palmerston’s ferocious antipathy towards the United States and his divisive strategy induced a demand that any diplomatic settlement include a provision to prevent the expansion of slavery in territories ceded by the Mexican Empire to the United States. To cover for the humiliating Bonapartist adventure and to safeguard public opinion, Henri ditched ‘intensified neutrality’ and backed Palmerston’s anti-slavery demand. President Lincoln naturally opposed the intrusion of European powers into American domestic affairs. On the advice of Secretary of State Seward, Lincoln retaliated against the French by increasing Bonaparte’s role in peace deliberations within the administration. The prince was not content to become a mere diplomatic pawn, however, and sprung into political action. Bonaparte recommended that the Lincoln administration support a recent proposal by Senator David Wilmot of Pennsylvania, which called for a prohibition on slavery in any territory acquired in the war. By approaching the question internally, Bonaparte hoped to evade Palmerston’s infuriating demand for the final diplomatic settlement. But accomplishing this strategy meant a grueling political battle in the Senate, where pro-slavery forces still held the balance. Palmerston, allegedly informed of the administration’s internal debate by Bonapartist sources, saw the merits of this approach and moved to indirectly shore up Lincoln. Ending the war and its terrible commercial toll took precedence over dividing the Union.

Lots of music to cover.

In November 1861, Seward announced that negotiators in Amsterdam had received a new proposal from British diplomats. Palmerston kept his insistence on the inclusion of an anti-slavery provision in the treaty, but expanded territorial concessions to include nearly all of the territory of Alta California and Nuevo México. Bonaparte saw the inherent advantage and urged the administration to speak to the Congress on the reception of these victory terms, contingent on the passage of the Wilmot Proviso. The House of Representatives, largely divided on sectional lines, passed the Wilmot Proviso on 24 November by a considerable majority of northern and western Republicans and Democrats. Furious debates in the Senate marked the decisive phase; stalemate appeared inevitable until secessionist proclivities shattered the Democratic Party and forced those loyal to the Union behind the measure. On 29 January 1862 the Senate, aided by inopportune secessionist abstentions, passed the Wilmot Proviso by a filibuster-proof majority; three days later the United States and Britain agreed to a general ceasefire. With the burgeoning army under Lincoln’s control, it was impossible for the South to countenance a secession and northern Democrats knew it. President Lincoln had successfully overcome the most serious political crisis since Nullification in 1833, and he had done it with Bonapate’s famous assistance.

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Prince Napoleon in the White House (June 1860).

For the austere ministerial party the resolution of the American War offered a reprieve from the economic crisis. They welcomed the commencement of formal treaty negotiations as a step towards commercial normalization and recovery. But all was not well within the King’s party. Many legitimist elites worried that the republicans had just earned a symbolic victory of immeasurable proportions. The government was first placed in the curious position of treating an administration that had elevated their chief opponent to high office. Seward floated the idea of abandoning Bonaparte to preserve regular relations with France, but the prince himself solved the issue by magnanimously thanking the American people before resolving to return to Europe the next year. His farewell journey was attended everywhere by ant-slavery organizations and patriotic Northerners. Next, the government was forced to stand down in the face of an abolitionist clamor that gripped Parisian society. Organisations calling for the eradication of slavery assumed a popular, and frequently, a republican disposition. When the Prefect of the Seine refused authorization to anti-slavery organisations on the grounds of subversive activity, the republican press eagerly assumed the line that the ministry was “protecting the hideous institution of slavery in the United States and around the world.” Throughout 1862 the prefects variously rescinded authorizations and granted them, while the courts were stuffed with authorization cases defended by ambitious republican lawyers, each eyeing a Parisian seat in the forthcoming 1863 elections, against the departmental governments.

The press prominence afforded to these impeccable bourgeois republicans was no surprise given the severe regulations against Jacobinism and the démoc-socs. By simple elimination, the moderate professional classes—journalists, lawyers, doctors, and local businessmen—assumed the helm of the republican party. In the 1858 elections and by-elections, five Moderate Republicans, Emile Ollivier, Jules Favre, E. Picard, Loiset, and Hénon, had scored Parisian seats in the Chamber of Deputies and swore the regal oath to encourage opposition and press their agenda. Three more doctrinal, older, and radical republicans, Michel Goudchaux, Lamartine, and Louis-Eugène Cavaignac, were elected but unseated upon their refusal to swear the oath. The contrast between the younger deputies and the anciens de 1850 was best highlighted around this debate over parliamentary participation. Electoral participation was controversial even among the ranks of the Moderates. It was thus certainly abhorrent to the other two wings of the republican party in France. The Radicals, who comprised the secondary flank of the republican ‘mainstream’ and favored unspecified social reforms, virulent anti-clericalism, and the Jacobin tradition, were still committed legalists, but they rejected electoral accommodation with the royalist regime. As for the extreme Left of Blanqui or Varlin—the revolutionary socialists or “démoc-socs”—any compromise with the reactionary government was indefensible. Working-class militants, strong in the industrial cities, were already doubtful about the commitment of the bourgeois leadership to social reform. They continued to offer their own anti-oath candidates, occasionally in opposition to the mainstream republican leadership of moderate and radical republicanism.

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"France, distracted by quiet" (1862).

The participating republicans were convinced that moderate electoral politics would earn the enduring loyalty of the middle classes. Jules Ferry, for example, promoted universal suffrage (always dear to the republicans) as a security of the “honour of the multitudes,” but conditioned this belief by an understanding that the electorate needed educated leadership to guide the childish masses. They were also economic liberals, eager to denounce the Terror and assure established elites that their program of opposition was strictly legal. Confident in positivism, education, and secular rationality as a means of promoting intra-class reconciliation and progress, the Moderate Republicans placed the blame for the loss of the Second Republic on the corruption of the electorate. A fair degree of anti-rural prejudice was added into the mix; the peasantry needed elevation from its “primordial ignorance” by immediate education. It was their ‘political ignorance’ that had enabled the Restoration, and the great tragedy of the Second Republic was the interruption of the Provisional Government’s program of rural enlightenment. Indeed, rural republicanism was largely confined to the small towns and villages of the east in which leadership was exercised by professional men or sympathetic notables, artisans, and merchants of the rural bourgeoisie. Many of these localities had been victimized in the Restoration purges and assumed a vindictive republicanism. Mass support for republicanism, however, remained the possession of the urban centers, where workers read aloud Le Siècle as they worked. Chronic insecurity and the constant rise in prices aggravated their grievances, and the republican press enjoyed contrasting the misery of the working class with the instant fortunes of speculators associated with the government.

Parliamentary opposition, however, was not the exclusive possession of the republicans. By 1862, the failure to implement meaningful reform under Descombes’ doctrinal conservatism had inflamed sentiments within the Chamber’s anti-ministerialists. An unusual combination of the most liberal legitimists (especially those associated with the semi-retired Victome du Bessin), progressives (the gauche dynastique), social reformers, and Wallonians formed a loose political confederation that contemporary observers came to label the “opposition dynastique.” They had no clear platform beyond amorphous calls to reform; the Bessin legitimists and many defectors from the old centre gauche desired the liberalization of the state from its repressive inclinations; the progressives also hoped for liberalization, but mixed in universal suffrage and economic modernization to their program; the social reformers sought public works and general relief, and the Wallonians (the Anversois) found their own pretenses towards civil liberty in government impeded by ministerial policy. Patrice Auberjonois, the charismatic leader of the progressive gauche dynastique, provided an informal leadership to this broad affiliation. Even so, the diversity of opinions within the opposition precluded his leadership from assuming a practical disposition outside the Chamber of Deputies. Too many liberal legitimists thought him a dangerous anti-clerical democrat, and too many progressive reformers considered him inadequately radical. Under these fractured conditions it was impossible for a formal opposition party to materialize. Nevertheless, the anti-ministerialists gained in personalities what they lacked in unity, and soon enough caused serious distress to the ministry in several legislative debates. Their position was given a surprising advantage by two interventions; first from the opposite side of the Chamber, and then from the Parisian press. Gradual defections from the most extreme and disappointed sections of the legitimist Right—the anti-Orléanist populist authoritarians of the ‘droit national’ who had once hoped to employ universal suffrage as a precursor to a radical reactionary Restoration. The restrained purges of 1859 had exemplified the inadequacies of the parliamentary system to these idealistic ultras, and supplied them with a fresh disdain for the doctrinaire liberalism of the ministerial leadership. In January 1863, the droit national scored a press victory when the conseil generaux of the Vendée illegally declared themselves loyal adherents of the senior Spanish branch of Bourbon against a formal injunction by the prefect. Such furor was raised by the Orléanist princes and the leading ministerialists that the conseil generaux was dissolved by special law of the Chambers and forced to elect a fresh legislature. Sympathetic deputies and peers wisely (or unwisely) abstained in this vote.

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The first 1862 session of the Chamber of Deputies.

Struggling to find internal cohesion, the opposition dynastique nevertheless succeeded in carving out a special place in the press. This was no small feat given that by 1860 the progressive newspapers of the Second Republic had come by acquisition and initiative into the proprietorship of pro-ministerial owners, especially after the collapse of Mires’ newspaper empire. Adolphe Granier de Cassagnac guided Le Constitutionnel into editorial positions reflecting his own intransigent and authoritarian conservatism; Patrie, stuffed with republican journalists, avoided excessive partisanship under the political apathy of the former banker and incumbent editor, Delamarre; La Presse suffered from a serious decline in circulation from 36,000 in 1857 to 10,000 in 1860 during the editorship of the the liberal Alsatian Orleanist, August Nefftzer; Le Pays, formerly republican under Lamartine, assumed a flexible legitimism with ultramontane overtones under the leadership of the Vicomte de La Guéronnière. Only Le Siècle, still under the cautious administration of the editor-republican, Havin, dared to employ its status as the largest newspaper in France for the moderate and legalistic gauche dynastique, as it did for the few obvious republicans in the lower chamber. But the defection of several liberal legitimists and vestigial members of the legitimist-authoritarian droite national opened new opportunities for the dynastic opposition. Pro-opposition articles from liberal legitimists featured occasionally in Le Pays, but also increasingly, though not unanimously, from the droit national in the Gazette de France. In September 1862, when the Parisian printing workers went on an illegal strike, the opposition dynastique gave its first harangue in favor of strengthening assembly freedoms in accordance with the diluted Constitution. By late 1862, pro-ministerial papers were noticing persistent arguments from opposition deputies on three central reform questions: political liberalization and democratisation, administrative decentralization, and economic modernization. For the Orléanist ministerialists the opposition agenda was political cover; the laws on suffrage had no need for a further democratic alteration, excessive decentralization would cripple the capacity of the central government to prevent social disorder, and economic modernization was mere code for fiscal laxity. Yet for the burgraves to deny the popularity of these measures, particularly in Paris where the hated voting restrictions and miserable living conditions inspired political discontent, was a sheer impossibility. For four years the government sacrificed reform for the cause of public security; now the anti-ministerialists demanded the government sacrifice its exclusive policy of public security for the cause of reform.

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Chamber of Deputies
Republicans - 5;
opposition dynastique - 126;
conservateurs ministériels - 236;
droite nationale - 33

In evaluating the domestic record of the second Descombes government, opposition journalists and politicians propagated a shrewd narrative of stasis and stagnation. Certainly the ministry lacked the meliorism and vision of the Bessin government. No romantics could swoon over a political style that made mountains out of tedious financing and mundanities out of the vote. Quiet and forceful government, however, still retained its special appeal to notables, the sympathetic bourgeoisie, and the peasantry. Judging by the parochial conservatism of their deputies, ministerial provincial voters nurtured a fear of revolution that permeated every political consideration. Absent a disciplined government, they worried the state would seek public approval by recourse to adventurous policies that were bound to invite disorder. The tepid experiment with land-credit reform under the previous government had already saturated the appetite for social innovation among provincial elites. Indeed, ministerial supporters appreciated the attentiveness of the government to tedious issues of commerce, finance, and European peace over undue obsession with reformism or reactionary inclinations.

In fact, it was during the post-1853 ‘High Vienna’ settlement, delicately maintained by the pacific diplomacy of the urbane and aristocratic liberal legitimists in the Foreign Ministry, that France accelerated its imperial expansion into Cochinchina (where the King, on the advice of Father Pellerin, ordered Admiral Louis Adolphe Bonard to invade Vietnam as retaliation for missionary attacks), China (where the French and British successfully co-operated against the Qing in the Second Opium War), and Algeria (where the suppression of the Kabylie rebellion completed the Algerian conquest). Perhaps no imperial enterprise during this period was more instrumental, nor less appreciated, than the Compagnie du canal maritime de Suez. A subsidiary company of the Prince de Polignac’s La Compagnie des Messageries Maritimes, the Suez Company received the canal concession from Mohamed Sa'id Pasha in November 1862 [1]. To overcome British opposition to the concession, as well as Orléanist cynicism, Polignac embarked on a full-scale promotion campaign. He travelled across the courts of Europe in 1860 and 1861 and won over the Chamber of Commerce in Amsterdam, Barcelona, Hamburg, Genoa, and Amsterdam. He scored a favorable interview with Metternich in London and earned adherents in Austria and Russia. Even Pope Pius IX sent a note of encouragement, and with assistance from influential contacts in England (i.e. John Arthur Roebuck and Gladstone against Palmerston and Disraeli) provided by Bessin, Polignac succeeded against the opposition of the British ambassador in Constantinople. But still the problem of financing loomed; the Descombes government pressed Polignac to apply for the required 200 million francs to Nathaniel de Rothschild at the cost of their fearsome 5 percent (10 million francs!), while Le Siècle urged La Compagnie des Messageries Maritimes to elude the haute banque and appeal directly to public subscribers. Not even the national enterprise of imperial splendor could be spared the political battlelines.

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*Note that Egypt is nominally independent under the Porte, as OTL.

On February 22, 1863, the tenth anniversary of the Third Restoration, the RMS Trent, carrying its legendary personnel, sailed into Portsmouth. A day later, Paris stood vigil as death tolls punctuated the grave and final procession of the Duc de Lévis, and awaited the dreaded return of his successor from Vienna: the Comte de Charlus.

---

Hello, and welcome back to Revolution and Reaction! As usual, this game is always open to new players (sign-up any time you like), and returning players are welcome to return as their old characters or change them.

For those who would like a refresher on the situation in France or are newcomers to the game; I recommend glancing over Book 4 in the front-page table of contents, and especially the Charter of 1853, which is the current constitution of France.

NOTE: FOR THE MOMENT, I AM MOVING OUR DISCORD HERE: https://discord.gg/vc6g9h. The "revolutions and reaction channel" is under the games section. If you have questions for me, send it via that discord.

Feel free to ask me any questions, just try and ask fewer than TJDS.

As before, @Firehound15 is our Deputy GM. Thanks for all the help with the update!

Update schedule: Catholic Church supplement + (maybe) bourgeoisie + (maybe) Algeria supplement; there are also forthcoming elections to prepare for, more as we settle in.
 
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Hector Jean-Baudouin
Vicomte de Montvicq
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c. 1863

b. January 17th, 1816
Moulins, France

Positions Held:
Ambassadorial Aide, French Embassy in Berlin (1837-1848)
Ministerial Aide, Ministry of the Interior (1848-1849)
Deputy Ambassador
, French Embassy in London (1850-1852)
Non-Peerage Vicomte (1851-)
Deputy for Alliers (1853-)

Known, commonly, as
Hector de Montvicq

Biography:

~ 1822-1863 ~
Under the Old Regime, the Montvicq family of Bourbonnais were noblesse des lettres, having received their title in the early sixteenth century. However, little else is known about their affairs prior to the Revolution, when their titles were lost and Hector de Montvicq’s grandfather Jean-Philippe and father Jean-Henri decided to pursue commercial success, much to the dismay of Jean-Philippe’s wife and the rest of their aristocratic friends and acquaintances. As relatively minor nobility, the family had survived the Reign of Terror essentially unscathed aside from the loss of their hereditary estates in Bourbonnais. Never one to draw political controversy to himself, Jean-Philippe proved to be a willing—if not eager—supporter of the French governments of 1795-1804. Using his political connections, he managed to successfully transition the family’s remaining holdings into a profitable furniture business. In 1809 Jean-Philippe died, leaving the company to Jean-Henri, who began investing into the burgeoning mining industry of southwestern Alliers.

Hector de Montvicq was born on chilly gray day in January of 1816. His brother, Charles, was born three years later. At the time their parents had no awareness that Hector’s disinterest in business would ultimately lead him to the failed pursuit of an academic career, then to several years in the civil service, an extended stay in Britain during the Second Republic, and finally to his election as a deputy in 1853. But in hindsight the usual signs should have been evident. He was enamored from his early teenage years with his father’s impressive collection of books, which included a wide assortment of encyclopedic, literary, and philosophical works of great importance. Many years later, Montvicq would note that in that period there were two works that most strongly influenced him—Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s article on political economy in Diderot’s Encyclopedia and Joseph de Maistre’s Considerations on France.

It was with such interests and ambitions that Hector attended the University of Paris, where he studied as part of the Faculty of the Arts but was eventually expelled due to the machinations of a lecturer with whom he once had a very heated debate over Plato’s theory of ideal forms. By this time, he was out of money and desperately in need of stable employment. Fortunately, the June Monarchy provided him the opportunities he needed. While Montvicq’s was at best only ever ambivalent about its government, he eagerly took the opportunity to serve as an aide to the French Ambassador in Berlin, with whom he continued to work for ten years before returning to France and taking up a position in the Ministry of the Interior. This intermission was short-lived. In 1849 he was appointed as deputy ambassador to the United Kingdom, where he ultimately elected to remain alongside the vicomte du Bessin.


After returning to France in 1853, Montvicq won election as a deputy in his home department of Alliers. Since his election he has been a relatively moderate figure in the chamber, broadly supportive of liberal economic policies but distrustful of the motivations of the Orleanists. His intellectual inheritance owes more to Chateaubriand and Maistre than it does to Say and Voltaire, although his political influences remain eclectic. Government, for Montvicq, must not make its primary concern the creation of legitimacy by claiming descent from some higher principle, whether a social contract or tradition. Rather, for him the chief motivation of the state should be its continued coherence and the protection of proper relations among the members of its civil society. Years of experience in Berlin and London has turned Montvicq into a young idealist into a middle-aged realist with disdain for both proponents of radical change and those who would change the nature of government to better suit their own ends.
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c. 1855

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Coat of Arms of the Vicomte of Montvicq
 
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Name: Jean-Éloi Charbonneau
Born: August 28th, 1804
Party: Bonapartiste-republicain
Department: Bas-Rhin
Profession: Former Professor and Senator, Current Political Exile

Biography: Charbonneau was the third son born in Strasbourg to Alexandre-Auguste Charbonneau, who had served as an officer under Napoleon's Army of Italy and then was wounded in the Second Battle of Zurich while serving under Massena. After this Charbonneau returned to Strasbourg and established a successful commercial house in the city conducting trade on the Rhine. Jean-Éloi was raised by a father who idolized Napoleon and the prosperity that was brought to France under the Empire. He attended university first in Strasbourg and then in Paris before graduating with a doctorate in history. He praised Guizot's histories of the French Revolution and wrote a well received book on the Consulate. In 1842 Charbonneau secured the Chair of History at the University of Strasbourg where he had taught for two previous years.

In 1848 he released his first national success, a complete history of the Convention which while praising the intent of prosecutors of the Thermidorean Reaction condemned them for indecisive and weak leadership. He was taken aback by the Revolution of 1850 and ran for Senator of the XII District as a Bonapartiste. He decried the radicalism of the social republic, deplored the ideological rigidity of the liberal republicans, and denounced the reactionary reputation of the monarchists. Ever the moderate conservative-liberal Charbonneau was terrified when Bonaparte was named to the Committee of Public Safety, but has been assured personally by Domadeaux that this will not reflect upon Louis-Napoleon.

One of Louis Napoleon's inner circle he advises the Prince on ideology, history, and other academic matters. During the elections to the constitutional convention Charbonneau's innovative pamphlet and poster campaign in Paris and Alsace was one of the key propaganda efforts that merged the Republican movement with Bonapartism. Charbonneau served with Louis Napoleon's staff in America during the insurgency and was a key adviser during the peace negotiations. He is now accompanying Bonaparte in London and working to spread the word of the cause in France and abroad.
 
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Excerpts from RÉFLEXIONS SUR L'ÉTAT TEL QU'IL ÉTAIT CONNU JUSQU'ICI
Reflections on the State as it has been Heretofore Known (1863)
[Hector de Montvicq, trans. J. S. Parker]
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PREFACE.
The darkness rests upon my lips. It is heavy, painful, weighty, and lacks any kind of benevolence. Doubtless, we have immersed ourselves in a process of decay and destruction that will conclude only with the merger of our spirits. These days I find myself walking outside, trying to find some sort of meaning in the arrangement of the leaves, the melodic songs of the birds, and the hazy breath of the gentle breeze. None reveal anything but themselves to me. And even if they can, I am by my human nature unable to perceive of what rests behind them. The world that we inhabit is a cruel and material one from which there is no physical escape. It is a trap in which we are all ensnared. Still, we take comfort in the warm possibility of something genuine existing beyond the apparent restlessness of our world. The idea of knowing this order comforts us so much that we have structured every aspect of our society in imitation of it. But again, the trouble remains that we know nothing of it.

It is generally accepted that the basis of all government is the pursuit of ethicality in some form. Some are more direct in this aspiration. For Bentham, Comte, Mill, and Viviers, who are all enamored with some variant of an imaginary and immaterial 'common aim,' the matter is taken to its most expansive. Their contention of total ethical goods, either in the form of pleasure or the form of social well-being are the justifications requisite for the formation of a state. But it is a sentiment extending far beyond them. Hobbes and Rousseau, for instance, attend great lengths to disguise this moral question inside the framework of force. Still, the ethical remains. For Hobbes it lives in the idea of a monarch capable of ruling 'justly,' as if justice existed in any dimension outside that of good and wrong; while Rousseau hides it behind his "general will" by only attaching an ethical quality to laws as they pertain to the whole. In either case, the issue remains an ethical one on its most essential level. This point could be elaborated further, but it should be clear to the reader that most governments attempt to govern on the grounds that they can better ensure their populations' abilities to live according to such ethical boundaries...

The question of rightness and wrongness has been written about previously with far greater clarity and poise than I can ever lend to the subject's oeuvre. All I intend to briefly establish is that moral statements cannot have materiality or be based in direct observation. There are no physical indications or undeniable forms of revelation that can be combined to form a pure abstract. There is no basis on which to ascribe ethical quality to conditions such as pain, pleasure, sadness, joy, soullessness, soulfulness, or any other physical experience. Nor is there any reason to commit to rule by divine injunction, tradition, or experience. The problem in all cases is that the quality of goodness is beyond human comprehension. It is an ideal that only a perfect person could ever recognize or understand.

What separates us from being such a person ourselves and in turn being able to either intuit or observe the natural ethical laws of the universe, of which there are definitively some, since it is possible to conceive generally of an individual capable of discerning ethicality in all situations, is that we are trapped within the confines of a physical universe to which we are beholden. This is not totally in contradiction to Comte's positivism. As he writes, "a more aesthetic system cannot be imagined than one which teaches that feeling is the basis on which the unity of human nature rests; and which assigns as the grand object of man’s existence, progress in every direction, but especially ethical progress." Still, it is surprising is that our mutual associate did not understand the tenuous foundations upon which his claim rests. After all, there is no reason to believe that something completely immaterial could ever be reduced to vague aesthetic sensation. The problem of course, is that Comte attempts to supplant the unknown with the known and thus reduces morality to something meaningless...

Consequently, the only effective metric of what is or is not ethical would be a perfect idea of a person. One could call this notion 'God,' although it might also be considered just another creation of the divine. Surely, there are some Germanic personalities who might contest any distinction between the two but engaging with them would be a digression. It is, however, important to add that there is functionally little difference in the human experience of either God or our ideal character. In either case, the essence of the thing can never be properly perceived...

These reflections are only intended to prompt similar reflection within their readers. There is no truly conclusive argument to be found here, only the outline of one. It should also be made clear that I offer no condemnation of any polity that has existed up to our present juncture. Rather, a reader who continues to my conclusion will be delighted to know that every government presently constituted is worthy of praise, particularly those whose present strengths are matched by the ever-increasing accumulation of the past. All that follows is a discussion of what has been, why what is currently is, and how we ought to build for what will be atop a clarified understanding of what we both know and have known.

CHAPTER I.
Of Abstract Knowledge
As living creatures, it is impossible for us to know anything that cannot be defined in exclusively material terms. Even where we have attempted to do so, such as in the realm of mathematics, we continue to operate with what are nothing more than abstractions of observable things. The expression of the new and fully abstract is beyond the range of possibilities afforded to the individual. It has long been observed, for instance, that upon being told to visualize something entirely new, that 'new' thing is little more than a collage of real things gathered over the course of one's experiences. The point remains of language as well, which neither appears to have developed spontaneously nor emerged as a unique creation of the human mind...

Language is the clearest example of the limitations imposed upon the human character by our material condition. Not only do we lack, for instance, a word that could communicate the quality of being both green and purple simultaneously, but we lack even the basic ability to comprehend such a thing. While the idea is not at all impossible to grasp, its actual nature cannot be identified because it has no real basis for perception. Upon beginning to think of a purple-green box, one either defaults to laying the two colors atop each other such that they are constantly competing for expression and thus incapable of both being expressed at one time or reduces them to their combination, a brownish mud. Even if a term is created to describe such a quality, say couleur ve, it does not expand our ability to identify or imagine things possessing that quality. This is one part of the problem of our knowing the ideal.

That perfect hero, whose virtuous demeanor distinguishes him from all others, who possesses no faults whatsoever and whose actions are never unethical is not impossible to conceptualize in the abstract. In fact, it is a matter of logic that it is possible for such a person to exist, even if by matter of probability the odds of his existing are naught. But although we can conceptualize him in such terms, his precise qualities evade understanding for two main reasons. First, no one has ever met such an ethically perfect individual, so there is no basis by which to form a specific set of qualities endemic to such a person. These qualities include his ethical behavior and rectitude, to which our only recourse is to refer to our own experiences even where those experiences betray us. Second, even if we were to have the experience of what it means to be ethically perfect, we would have no basis according to which to identify it as such. In other words, as long as moral qualities are perceived as referring to the decisions of an imagined character, it is impossible from both directions to disentangle his own qualities from themselves, since he would be the only reference by which he own perfection might be understood.

Take M. Petit, who is attempting to evaluate the ethical quality of his decision to give money to a starving beggar with an otherwise strong and healthy physique. Invariably people of various obscure moral dispositions might begin to shout their claims: respect the beggar's humanity and trust him, give him food out of generosity, deny him so that he learns to labor for his loaf, or one of the countless other possibilities. But understanding all such possibilities to have no rational foundation, M. Petit instead attempts to imagine a valorous figure of Herculean might and Christian disposition. He can indeed conceive of one who might only ever make the correct decision. He would necessarily have to be a human and, perhaps, he would have certain emotional qualities. Yet M. Petit finds that the only moral answers his caricature provides him are hollow imitations of those very same ones that M. Petit personally believed. So, M. Petit attempts and fails to ascribe him a morally objective character. No such character comes to him. No such character could come to him, as it would require him to have at some point experienced ethical objectivity. Of course, there would be no reason to consult this Hercules if M. Petit already had a sense of objective ethical determinations. Because he does not, his only reference is that same Hercules...

Having lost much value in referring to an abstract hero, one might turn to God instead. However, while the guidance of the true divine is certainly subject to many of the same criticisms as the imagined ideal, it is in His nature that certain other problems arise. Plainly, one has no choice but to distinguish between the categories of God's nature and our experience of that nature. What we perceive in the world, even if attributable to God, is not the divine itself but rather its emanations. It becomes impossible to know of God's own moral disposition as his own qualities are beyond rational comprehension. He too is much too abstract for the mind to understand. This should be unsurprising. One must look only at this or that depiction of the Heavenly Father to understand fully that all we perceive of God is but a window into an essential quality or substance that we are completely incapable of understanding.

Worse, such a fact also renders it impossible any person or group thereof to ascertain the involvement of God in any matter of human affairs. When Maistre claims "we are all bound to the throne of the Supreme Being by a flexible chain which restrains without enslaving us," he assumes far too much. The intervention of the divine in human affairs is imperceptible. Worse yet, even if we were capable of envisioning and experiencing it directly, there would be no reason to assume that simply because God had set it in motion that it was legitimate or ethical. It could very well be that God would create an immoral and improper state with the intention of improving the moral disposition of His people by placing them in opposition to it. Doubtless, the Israelites were punished also for their impropriety and left defenseless against even more unjust conquerors...

CHAPTER II.
Of our Moral Disposition
One must note that by taking the two sweeping principles outlined as of this juncture—that the only effective basis of the ethical is in an abstract ideal and that no abstract ideal or substantive form can ever be known due to mankind’s material predisposition—there is, in fact, no way to actually build a sense of what it is to be ‘ethical.’ Morality as a reasonable objective for the individual is rendered inaccessible and irrational by this impossibility of knowing. Since neither God nor a separate perfect person are comprehensible, so too is ethicality incomprehensible. That is not to say that it does not exist or that actions do not have ethical attributes. No, it is instead to say that all actions possess some quality that no person could ever know. It is one of life’s crueler conditions that we are born blind, incapable of seeing the order behind things. Instead all we have are at most the things themselves, which offer no useful resolution of the impending crisis of the soul. We are, at best, ships lost at sea in the middle of a restless, empty ocean.

One might presume too much of this, that I am somehow attempting to deny either the Church or the natural impulses of the human spirit. I do no such thing. In these times of deceit and disquiet, our strongest predisposition is toward our past, to which we have become accustomed. That predisposition is nothing worth criticizing, for we are all bound to it in some sense. All I say regarding the matter is this: one must believe what one believes. But no mortal man should delude himself with the vague notion that his belief or well-reasoned defense of an all-loving God is capable of giving him access to a precise and irrefutable set of ethical principles according to which he may reference all his own activities. To do so is not only to elevate his person above that of his fellow men, but to elevate himself above the all-powerful as well...

Sextus Empiricus observes that there is nothing that is, by its nature, good. To be naturally good would be to move all equally, as it is by uniform force that the physical operates. In the case of all actions, good as a physical sensation is derived relationally and in turn can possess no universal force. It is not possible to make pronouncements regarding the nature of ethicality due to this. The claim that theft is wrong assumes only the position of the injured party, but there is no doubt that the one committing the act did not, by acting upon it, benefit. Indeed, there are countless circumstances at play outside of this that direct one toward the harsh truth that there is no perceptible thing to be called the ‘ethical.’

Without being able to determine the true ethicality of an individual’s moral sense, there is no reason to make arguments based on the moral characteristics of certain activities, thoughts, or conditions. Any claim that the things must be a certain way either due to the moral goodness of those things themselves or to the goodness created by those things can have no truth behind it. That a sultan might declare his reign to be a moral or splendorous one does nothing to truly give it such attributes. So too should Viviers’s claim that there exists an absolute ruler capable of adjudicating fairly be set aside as well. Such a ruler, as will be demonstrated, is no more capable of implementing ethical and moral rectitude than he is of conquering the Moon.

CHAPTER III.
Relating to the Origins of Prior Governments
All governments as they have heretofore been constituted are nothing more than crude imitations of animal society. This is true for all three of the classical systems of state—the monarchy, the oligarchy, and the democracy. Contrary to all their proponents’ claims, none of these systems possess any kind of legitimacy, at least not legitimacy as it has been thus far been construed to operate. It should be of no doubt that any claim resting upon fully abstract knowledge of things ethical, divine, or providential can have no weight. The claim of righteousness and vindication is foolhardy and hollow. The state, as far as it is construed to function morally, is a romantic fiction lacking any basis outside the physical. To say otherwise is to attempt to make a claim that has already been refuted, that there is some way to know with certainty the proper moral dealings about which the state ought to be invested.

First, allow us to return our attention to the claims of Maistre, who was in some ways yet not in others the most prescient of his generation. He claims, quite correctly, that no government can result from a process of deliberation and that all claims of constitutionality refer instead to anterior rights presently constituted. The notion of a social contract is nonsensical. As it has been demonstrated countless times by this moment, there is no basis upon which one should either anticipate that men were ever denizens of a natural state and that even if they were, their supposed rights would have no rational character. There is no reason to believe that the attempt to assert rights accords even partly with the ethical. Because no system of ethics is approachable, there is no reason to make the universalizing claim that one’s government is beholden to a natural order. That is not precisely to say, however, that Maistre is right in claiming that individuals have any kind of moral duty toward their masters. They do not.

There is no basis by which to claim that God has ordained any individual person or lineage with a ‘right to rule.’ Certainly, one is entitled the capacity to believe such a thing, but not actually the authority to know it. In the absence of knowing, there is no reason to exercise such a claim. The monarch’s subjects have no known moral duty to support or sustain their monarch. This is not because they have some set of rights or powers possessed from birth that enable them to do so. Nor is it because they constitute the authentic ‘sovereign,’ to the extent that such a thing even exists. It is only because there is no ethical proposition that anyone possesses any justification in holding that might be able to justify that position. The state succeeds not because it is ethical to preserve it or because it exists on account of its public. Regardless of whether it is a state constituted according to its antecedents or some conscious attempt to ‘create’ it, that state is only real as long as it is either left unquestioned or its opponents do not possess the strength of spirit, mind, or body to collapse its institutions. This is not an incapacity that one could ever effectively argue exists because God ordains it to be so. Instead it is an incapacity endemic to the relationship between government and the public, which despite the symbolic claim of the res publica, does not possess the characteristic flow of a river headed toward the ocean, but of two wide oceans divided by a narrow isthmus called a constitution...

The more delicate claim is the claim of tradition. This claim as manifest in its religious form should be dispelled according to the same reasoning by which the divine claim to rule is dispelled—there is not and can never be any knowledge of God’s plan for humanity. All the mind can perceive, materially confined as it is, are the physical manifestations of such a plan. But our responses to such manifestations are unknown. To begin, there is no basis for the belief that because God has ordained any given order, He means such an order to be followed. Further, it might be conceived that He means for human beings to disobey his assigned order. Thus, the same logic that demands obedience to some divine order of government might demand disobedience toward it as well. All forms of rule by divine will, whether constituted in his election of a government immediately or as a result of some longer course of events, are without clear obligations, even if the idea that they have been permitted or created by God is accepted.

As for the matter of governance by tradition outside of divine guidance, the hollowness of other claims of legitimating influence turn it to dust as well. There is, to give one of many examples, no reason to be beholden to the decisions and obligations of the past simply because one’s ancestors made them. To do so would be to claim that one’s ancestors ever had an abstract right to make such decisions or promise such obligations in the first instance. It should be noted, briefly, that there is in fact something to be said for the past as it pertains to the present—but that is a matter that will require much greater elaboration than can be made an aside. Chapter Four will consequently be devoted almost entirely to the topic. All that will be said here is that any claim of the past possessing a sovereign power over the present must be rejected, even if a broader and more naturalistic sense of tradition does hold the potential to give some foundation to government...

It may occur to some readers that this interpretation seems to fail in explaining how we arrived at our current juncture, being that it denies the validity of all prior and current formations of government. To this point there are two responses. First, that there no claim or argument has been advanced that heretofore-existing governments are invalid. Indeed, the following chapter will in fact forward the point that all present governments, especially those with long and continuous histories, are valid in their totality. Second, there is only reason to doubt this prescription if it assumed that governments are abstract things for which there is no basis whatsoever in the material world. This idea is without merit. All governments exist in imitation of animal societies that are by their nature materially knowable.

Monarchy, for instance, is frequently visible among beasts. The lion and his pride, for instance, who nobly rules over a whole which he offers protection to. In exchange, his lionesses care for their cubs and aid the wellbeing of the common whole. The same example can be seen in the bees, who swarm in and out of their hives in accordance with their queen, who is just as literally mother to them all as a king might be father to his country. For oligarchy, one needs look no further than migratory birds flying in unison, which while seemingly without structure are always at the guidance of a set of leaders who for at least a time are responsible for the direction of the whole. As for democracy, it should be unsurprising that it was the last of all to appear among us, for it is the condition of domesticated animals—of sheep, cattle, chickens, and pigs. As was long ago observed, every conceivable form or formulation of government possible was already known by the Greeks. Anything ‘more’ is just a variation on a theme limited by the absence of upper and lower registers that are not simply inaccessible to its players, but incapable of being perceived by them outside the confines of the general possibility of its existence.

CHAPTER IV.
Of the True Function of the State and the Source of its Legitimacy
The problem of the state as it has been herein observed is that it lacks legitimacy. That is not the observation of its ecstatic opponent, but the acknowledgement of its deficient character by one of its supporters. Those who would sooner ignore this reality in favor of continuing the pursuit of governance under moral claims are neither honest nor sincere in their doing so, for what is the alternative to confronting these comfortless truths? The alternative is to ignore them and to allow government to rot as a result. Nothing will last, the illness of which is simply set aside as a problem for distant days. So, let us confront with full honesty the problem before us, that there presently exists no regime whose powers are accorded to it based on any set of righteous principles whatsoever. All claims of rights by contract, divine will in governance, and authority according to the decisions of the dead are hollow and lacking any semblance of reality. The true condition of the state is that it exists in tension with the only factor capable of prolonging its existence, domestic tranquility.

Tranquility, or as Sextus Empiricus calls it, ataraxia, forms that quality of mind and condition in which a person is at ease, bound neither by the overt excesses of moral impositions. Or, as Montaigne so systematically put it, “ataraxia, which is the condition of a quiet and settled life, exempted from the agitations which we receive by the impression of the opinion and knowledge we imagine to have of things; from which proceed fear, avarice, envy, immoderate desires, ambition, pride, superstition, love of novelties, rebellion, disobedience, obstinance, and the greatest number of corporeal evils.” What must be said of tranquility, however, is that its cultivation in the individual is not a moral good. It is a condition of personal commitment to turning knowledge against itself. That one chooses to pursuit tranquility of spirit is not an imposition of life, but perhaps a means of subordinating its instability and abstract incomprehensibility to the individual. It is, then, not of direct usefulness for understanding the state.

Where it is of usefulness is in the extension of its form from the singular to the whole. If the condition of society in the absence of effective government is one of pain, uncertainty, and the discomfort of living according to principles known to be baseless, then it should be said that the pursuit of the state should be to address those symptoms. In other words, the practical concern of government as far as all its constituents are concerned should be the creation of a condition of ataraxia across the entirety of its population. Why? Not because it is a moral good to do so, but because it is generally agreeable to all associated parties to live harmoniously. Only in chaos and violence do moral assertions threaten to upend pleasant daily life.

It is in this that a distinction must be drawn between tranquility, or ataraxia, and stability. As we have noted, the ataraxia of the whole exists in the rendering out of its self-destructive tendencies. Rebellion, social discord, theft, violence, and so-on are the obvious conditions of a state failing to maintain tranquility. Certainly, some of these are constituent parts of an unstable government as well, but it should be noted with a certain sadness that it is possible for an untranquil society to exist alongside its stable government. It is no new knowledge that far too many noblemen throughout history have used their privileges to deceive and injure their people, just as the haute bourgeoisie have done in the commercial field. The condition of social violence is indicative of a lack of tranquility and comes with a direct cost to the state, for the absence of ataraxia inevitably leads to instability...

The power of all governments resides in their stability. An unstable government, being that it lacks the true force of morality necessary to justify its continued reign, is hardly any government at all. This is, as Hobbes understands it, a problem of authority. A king’s laws are not bound up in a moral dimension and in turn given the force of law. They are not followed because it is right to follow them. While it is true that some may follow them for such a reason, it is only because they have chosen to commit themselves to those principles without first considering the character of its alternatives. They do so in a state of persistent ignorance from which they cannot escape. Legal force, instead, is a matter of strength and rests exclusively in the capacity of a government to enforce its laws. For this reason, we must acknowledge that the force of law is locked in a perpetual cycle with any civic society’s presence or lack of tranquility. When the law is effective, it produces a condition of ataraxia which in turn strengthens the government’s legal force. Where society is ruled by persistent disorder, laws and in turn government lose their efficacy. These are observable phenomena, not simply the imperturbable musings of the kind of political philosophy practiced since the times of Cicero, Plato, and Thucydides.

From this understanding another rule of the state should be derived. In all circumstances where tranquility is lost, it invokes a trend of further loss. Where tranquility is further achieved, it invokes a trend of further achievement. For as long as the assumption stands that the immediate end of all government is its self-perpetuation, then it should also follow that those governments are successful which are capable of imposing and maintaining public ataraxia. To the understanding that ‘legitimacy’ refers to the ability of the state to hold the power necessary to enforce its laws, it might thus be said that the only source of legitimacy for any state or government of any disposition is in its ability to maintain tranquility and therefore preserve its powers. A legitimate state is one that legitimates itself by creating the sort of harmonious society upon which its own powers are dependent. Where it fails to do so, it also fails to sustain itself. The loss of legitimacy is thusly not contingent upon a loss of moral character, violation of rights, or collapse of divine mandate, but only upon the state’s weakening of itself...

As the only useful metric of a government’s legitimacy is its ability to maintain tranquility and ataraxia in its adjoining society, it might be said that all governments that currently rule are in some sense legitimate, while all those that have failed were at one time legitimate but ceased to be so. Of course, this is not to say that all governments are equally legitimate as they are plainly not. Some weak governments are ruled poorly or according to professed ethical standards that are in fact in contradiction to the best interests of a pacific society. These governments, according to the rule of trajectory aforementioned, either no longer truly govern as they have lost the legal force necessary to do so or are otherwise soon destined to join those hollow regimes should they not change their ways of governing.

From these points it should be apparent that the worth of tradition is purely physical not moral, as those governments possessing long-lived constitutions that persevere to the present moment are indeed those governments that have best been able to assert tranquility in their internal affairs. It is not that men of one age are bound to their priors, as some British commentators have claimed. It is simply that men of one age must learn not only from the failures but from the successes of their priors and use that knowledge such that they might better pursue a common state of satisfaction. A state of that variety is not a state acting pursuit of ataraxia because it is moral to do so, but because it is a commonly desirable end capable of producing a climate in which one’s concerns might shift to the more pressing affairs of daily life.

Let no reader be ignorant of change, however. It is not, as Mill claims, a function of progress that we arrive at a higher moral plateau and are as a result made capable of governing according to superior principles. No such principles can ever be identified due to our persistent material condition. But change is as real as anything. The proof is in that government that succeeds at first by following one policy, but which never adjusts said policy to the circumstances of its changing affairs. Take Rome, which succeeded through conquest yet was incapable of consolidating its rule outside its imperial heartlands. An effective government, as far as it succeeds in pursuing ataraxia, must change to suit its circumstances. Not as a response to progress or the unveiling of some nuance of the human condition. No, only as a response to immediate circumstances that either threaten the persistent stability of the state or might strengthen it if appropriately responded to. The end of government, it must be said, is government. Its means is the production of legitimacy by the successful pursuit of a common society in which tranquility ultimately prevails.

CHAPTER V.
Historical Considerations of Note
Let us now turn to a few precise incidents in the history of France so that we might understand with greater clarity those struggles and crises that have presented themselves to the whole of Europe. The aim is not to determine with clarity why any of these things happened or what the causes of our present disposition might be. Instead it is to examine the failings of those governments that at one point in their histories controlled the territories of France but now no longer do. One could write on the matter at a length far greater than is contained here, and indeed, I may someday commit myself to such a task. Setting it aside, the pressing concern is instead to derive from the past some semblance of what succeeded and what failed and for what reasons. No government that does not survive to this moment could be called a successful one. And it might also be said that it is only by our best and continued efforts that those to which we presently belong can for our time be called successes in their own right...

The Old Regime is something of a contradiction. In some ways it was at various points among the most successful governments in the history of France. Yet it was also at times faced with a lack of tranquility paralleled by perhaps no other country in the whole of Europe. The Old Regime was in many ways the precise illustration of a society in which there was political stability that often outlived its ataraxia. It was able to sustain itself, grow, and achieve power in Europe because its government was distant and benevolent. Its nobility, though possessing no small number of faults, were in numerous instances able to directly intervene in local affairs to the betterment of the public condition. Where tranquility was disturbed in the Wars of Religion by an inadequate political response to religious upheaval wrought by the self-interested machinations of the House of Guise, the government was able to reintroduce true stability in the public sphere, often with great success. That the Edict of Nantes was eventually repealed by that of Fontainebleau was equally a matter of ensuring tranquility. While the republicans decry the choice as one attacking the liberties of Frenchmen, it should be understood in its own time. The promulgation of Nantes was aimed at quieting the violence of religious war, which was an immediate crisis. By the time of Fontainebleau, that era had passed. The prevailing interest had become unity. A good government will respond to change, for it has no alternative but to do so.

Tocqueville writes that the centralization of French government created tensions within French society that resulted in revolution. I concur. As he notes, it was the condition of the late Old Regime that the countryside had been emptied of its strength and sapped of its local unity. Yet one ought to go further and observe that this also created a society in which there could be no tranquility. Without community, common participation, and the ability to resolve matters of personal issue with the immediacy that would have been proper for most of the history of those places. Worse yet, no French king of that time so much as contemplated adjusting to meet the crisis of those times. Government continued as it had done without properly reacquainting itself with the domestic character of its own country. It should come as no surprise, then, that the Revolution came as it did. As for its violence, the origin is self-evident. Both the Revolutions of 1789 and 1850 faced the same crisis in their inabilities to produce tranquility and its associated authority. Both governments did nothing more than shift from crisis to crisis. The only reason that the former outlasted the latter was that its unscrupulous leaders were more willing to terrify their people into submission and its superficial tranquility, something the latter’s leadership refused to attempt...

Briefly we might conclude by considering two other monarchies which also failed. The first of these, the Restoration of 1815, can be written off as a failure for precisely the same reasons as the Old Regime. Its government attempted a few adjustments, to its credit, but nothing of tangible benefit. It too attempted to rule according to the last vestiges of absolutism alongside a broken aristocracy and rural society, but such an attempt was doomed from the moment that it was initiated. With the benefit of hindsight, one can only conclude that it was hampered by a reverence for the Old Regime that bordered on obsession and which sentenced its brightest minds to the abyss of political obstinacy. The desire to return to life before the Revolution is no doubt sincere, but it is also pointless. It is a past condition to which we can never return—and even if we did, it would be one ill-suited for our current problems.

The Orléanist Kingdom of 1830 was and remains a bizarre occurrence. While there is no doubt that the Duke of Orleans has both his admirers and his critics, it is no person’s place to claim that he either had or did not have a right to the throne. The only test of his right to be king was the ability of his government to legitimate itself. Clearly, this was a failed endeavor. Why? There are many explanations, of course, but the most apparent is the perpetual disharmony of his government. Indebted as he was to the haute bourgeoisie, he erred in two regards. The first was by giving them preference in all matters of politics, which he did persistently, and which created resentment among those men who might have been better predisposed to serve as statesmen. And the second, that in doing this his governments also enabled men of commerce and industry to stifle and tarnish the successes and reputations of their would-be competitors. As for the matter of their laborers, so too is it apparent that the tendency of the time was toward mistreatment and negligence in the pursuit of mere wealth. The only people in the time of Orléans who were permitted any kind of tranquility were those men of such wealth and esteem that they could afford it. But the tranquility of a select few is not the tranquility of the whole and they too thus fell.

CHAPTER VI.
Constitutional Matters Pertaining to Strong Government
Having concluded that the sole adequate source of legitimacy for any government is its ability to produce and maintain a condition of ataraxia within society, it must follow that from the examples of France’s past a sense of the form of government most suited to success in our time can be derived. A cursory glance at the history of France reveals problems inherent to the extreme forms of both republican and monarchical government. There is, of course, also the democracy of the Greeks, but I must agree with Rousseau on the matter and leave it as a government for gods, not men. Further, it is the clear and plain truth that such a government is and will remain an impossibility in a united France...

The error of the republic and its chief weakness is that it generally lacks two extremely important characteristics of more successful governments. The first of these is a firm history of tranquility, which lends the public greater confidence in the government’s ability to rescue society from disharmony. As every republican government to ever rule France emerged from chaos and rebellion, this flaw has been a fatal one. Lacking the force of history to assure the public of its capacity to rule and address common concerns, republican government has to this juncture always been faced with two eventual alternatives—either to lose its republican character and violently impose tranquility on the masses or to collapse in upon itself. It is here that its second weakness emerges. Broadly, its leaders are either too cowardly or too sincere. By virtue of their governing philosophies and supposed rationales, republicans are often too resistant to do what must be done such that they might save their governments. This is to their merit, for Deflandre and La Marche’s alternative will always remain Robespierre and the guillotine.

The more viable alternative, then, is that of monarchy. A monarchy, properly constituted, possesses both the accumulated legal force of the past and the ability to adjust according to the demands of the present. Where the monarch himself is popular, a spirit of tranquility is even better served, for confidence in the monarch has historically extended to confidence in his government. It is, it must be said, precisely for this reason that no king should be involved in the daily management of government in any way. Where he is involved, it should be as a response to instability of such a high degree that it would be detrimental to public ataraxia if he did not directly assume control. This is, of course, a matter that places a great weight upon the monarch. As history tells us, it has been the fate of absolutism that it will only last if there remains a king possessing the character necessary to manage its affairs.

It might be that all kings should view the matter in this fashion—that the strength of their rule and succession collectively constitute the sole end of government, nothing else. And the condition that provides such strength is in fact the condition of tranquility that requires the king to cease his direct involvement in the mundane affairs of the state. Bonaparte’s undoing was not that he retained direct command over his country during a time of crisis. For this he should be credited. But it was the undoing of the Old Regime that Louis XIV ruled directly in times of prosperity, which made the successes and failings of the government inextricable from those of the monarch. When times of crisis did arrive, Louis XVI was already inseparably linked to the Old Regime’s practical policies in a way that prevented him from intervening properly on behalf of it. There is no reason that the Tennis Court Oath should not have come from the king himself, had he been free to act in the proper defense of his own rule.

The best form of government at this present moment appears to be one that is at its core built upon a constitution. This constitution must be free to be abrogated by its monarch in times of crisis, such that he can transition, if necessary, from a figure completely detached from the administration’s decisions to one exclusively committed to them. This power should be left seldom used, reserved only for those occasions where its use appears to be a matter of absolute necessity. Instead, daily government should be left to a government formed under a written constitution with clearly delineated powers. There should be no guarantees of rights under the document, for doing so would obscure its true objective—the maintenance of the state by the state. Rather, it should only include those provisions necessary for the daily administration of government and the participation of its people.

Absolutism, as a matter of fashion, has thus been outmoded. While it had its successes in prior eras, it has been the nature of learning, scientific advancement, and technology to render its better principles defunct. The era of the all-powerful king was a time prior to the telegraph, prior to railway and canal networks. It was a time to which we cannot return, and its discipline is an impossibility in our current environs. The replacement must be built around the community, for it is in the cultivation of common unity that tranquility emerges. Where individuals see their neighbors as fellow men, there exists the possibility for reconciliation and the elevation of the common soul. A strong government must cultivate this pattern of affairs. Therefore, a strong government in these times will possess something of Tocqueville’s democracy. Not for his professed ends of justice and liberty, it must be said, but for the creation of tranquility. Factionalism should, as a matter of course, be avoided however possible for the same reason...


It is to the end of tranquility that a well-constituted government, for our time and place—indeed, I make no claims on behalf of the future, although it is advantageous to that future if our present constitutes itself appropriately—will take on the character of a monarchy governed on a daily basis by a democratic government detached from the king’s direct influence yet organized entirely under his constitution. That constitution should be abrogated only in times of extreme crisis, for it is by continued rule under such a document’s provisions that said document is given the force of law. The king’s giving of a constitution should not be interpreted in Maistre’s language, as though a king had a moral right to give or take away his subject’s liberties. He possesses no such right, for neither can such liberties nor moral rights be known to exist. That the king remains as a symbol of the government is only for its practical ends, not for any higher principle. Accordingly, it might be noted that there is no reason to pursue one form of succession or another, although history has shown that only succession by an eldest child or a next-eldest relative provide any semblance of stability. That I produce the constitution or Charlemagne might would make no difference in the matter, for all that matters is the condition of being governed under a constitution derived from order and steely resolves, not from chaos and its associated tumult.

CHAPTER VII.
The Legal Objectives of the Same
While the foundation of the state remains the same, it is crucial to the project of building a more tranquil body politic (and, in turn, a more legitimate government) that the activities of government be reformed. Where previously the state constantly acted with an eye toward ensuring a more ethical or perhaps more Christian society, such goals have been proven to be impossible ones. It must, however, be said that they are not worthless, only impossible. It is here that one should also acknowledge that the attempt to govern the ethical often comes at the detriment of tranquility and therefore frequently weakens the state. The legal of objectives of government, then, should be placed elsewhere whenever possible.

Where governments have in the past ventured to ensure a more ethical disposition among their public, those governments have frequently faltered. Moral impositions create resistance and in turn threaten the ability of government to legitimate itself and for this reason ethical matters should generally be left apart from the government’s involvement. Questions of right and wrong living are bottomless pits from which government cannot escape and it is frequently in the pursuit of the secrets supposedly hidden at the lowest levels of these abysses that governments sacrifice the best interests of their own governing to moral and ethical ambitions of little value. For this reason and this reason alone, law should generally avoid discussions of morality. No law aimed at pursuing ethical objectives should ever find itself passed, for the passage of such generally comes at a harm to the tranquility of society.

This is not to say that laws should never interfere with moral decisions. To say such a thing would be acknowledge the existence of those rights which we previously established are too abstract to merit government consideration. It is for this reason that no government should constitute itself around the notion of protecting rights. That is not its legitimating end. It is only that the pursuit of morality has the frequent consequence of coming at the expense of the state’s legitimacy and as a result weakening its power. This comes at a detriment to domestic tranquility and is therefore frequently undesirable. The only laws of government should be those laws that expand and protect a social condition of ataraxia. All others will inevitably come at a detriment to the legitimacy of the state and are therefore not in the interests of government...

Rule according to ataraxia is not always in contradiction to moral ends. In the cases of murder and theft, it is quite reasonable to conclude that they should remain illegal. Although the prior reasoning might have been that God decries them, declaring “thou shalt not kill” and “thou shalt not steal,” or that they constitute violations of personhood, such rationales are by no means adequate. What is observable instead is that murder and theft both contribute to social disorder and consequently to instability. They are in this sense undesirable and should be made illegal. Where the state intervenes negatively, it must be as an attempt to pacify strife and promote order. Violence, self-interest, and their accompanying crimes are not clearly immoral, but they are clearly threatening to the ability of any government to govern and should thus be struck down by said government.

Where the state intervenes positively, it should be to promote a stronger sense of community. This community is not constituted according to principles of virtuous citizenship, brotherhood, or any other supposed ethical goal, but because community strengthens the state. Whenever the community is divided against itself, so too will be the government. The same is also true in reverse and it should be the persistent interest of government to pursue legal measures that will unify both its own constituent parts and those of the public. Where the people are concerned, government should work tirelessly to make them a coherent unit. Public coherence—not in pursuit of some moral objective, just of common respect and dignity—is requisite for true tranquility and in turn for a government capable of maintaining such a pleasant and serene state of ataraxia. The structure of law, then, should seek not to divide people against each other as it has done in the past, but to join them together according to the common interest...

It has been the nature of our past governments being constituted based on ethical claims to pursue laws aimed at imposing moral order. Doubtless, many have been motivated by the sincere interest of liberating their people from the cold cruelty of sin, despair, and immorality. But we must turn away from such impositions with all the immediacy of our common characters. No government has existed based on undeniably true higher principles, even if they all claim they do. In turn, no government should pursue the moral ends of such principles, for they cannot act with anything even approaching certainty of mind or spirit. As far as the government’s authority to rule is concerned, all that matters is the maintenance of tranquility among the public, such that they might be free from the arrogance of the state, free from concerns beyond the mundane. The only legitimate objective of law is the creation of this condition of ataraxia, for it is the only objective of law which properly executed will reinforce the law itself. There ought to be no other legal objectives for a strong government.

CHAPTER VIII.
The Nobility
The nobility, as we have discussed, have at times proved to be both a strength and a detriment to the political order and its ability to produce amenable conditions within society. This is unsurprising, as the estate is necessarily as diverse in spirit and character as its constituents. As the past attests, there can be a place for a hereditary aristocracy in a properly constituted state. When acting not as a hierarchically superior faction but as a part of the community committed its general interests and not simply their own, they do retain a place in well-constituted government. The precise scope of this position is of debate, of course, but as with elsewhere in this work I have attempted to refrain from making anything remotely approaching a ‘demand’ for things to be of one sort or another. Let us set the matter aside...

There is one point that must be firmly established—the attempts to abolish the nobility in our past served no purpose. The possession of a title is irrelevant to the human condition. Further, we should approach the notion of shared humanity, upon which the rejection of aristocracy and its associated symbols is frequently predicated, with caution. The more relevant test of the worth of the nobility is whether they and their institutions can benefit the public disposition. If they cannot, then there is no doubt that aristocratic privileges, to the extent that such things have existed, should likely be discontinued. But it is perhaps my conceit that the struggle is not the struggle of whether such individuals should possess a given station in society, but the extent to which the state should sanction that involvement. In this regard, it is to the institution’s credit that men have often found through experience that their affairs are best kept in order when their organizations possess firm and effective leadership. In fact, it appears more likely than anything else that the premise of égalité has been to this country’s detriment in the past. Must an example be presented to reaffirm Tocqueville’s belief that the obsession with égalité exerted a more negative force on the character of French society in the last hundred years than any other principle?

History has proven to us that there is a role to be played by men in the local management of society. Let the aristocracy be allowed to fill that role to which they are among the best suited. Should such a resolution be impossible, then allow their powers to be limited. Every institution should operate in concert for the betterment of our common disposition. Let that be our common principle for addressing these matters. Where the nobility is concerned, it must be an instrument of the public in the pursuit of the common well-being. As for the eternal pestilence of resentment, the aim of government should be to avoid it by making the nobility into a social, rather than a political force. In this regard the present course should be maintained, with members of the nobility occupying both the role of individual and the role of leader.

CHAPTER IX.
The Church
One of the most interesting questions that emerges out of this milieu is the question of how religion should relate to the state. While on an abstract level one could simply agree with Comte's general assessment of religion's role in maintaining proper social relations, that does not necessarily say anything about how religion should be related to the state. Of concern is the fact that while religion is generally desirable, it also creates numerous problems. If politically integrated, it has the potential to undermine the state. If reduced to the level of only one religion among many, it undermines any sense of community and too weakens the state.

There must be some sort of religion for it is quite often the case that religion pursues the common condition of tranquility that must rest as the center of our collective interest. Through common rituals and participation, a sense of community can be developed that cannot be created otherwise. This is an important pursuit for the well-being of the social unit because it has the potential to reconcile sources of disagreement and hatred. Certainly, while some might object to the behavior of the clergy in the past, their opponents often purport that all those honest and courteous men who have pursued the common good of society are to be attacked as if they were demons and sinners. That disposition is in fact one contrary to the pursuit of good, stable government.


Yet it must also be known that there cannot be a place for a state religion for much the same reason that any monarch must not be too directly involved in the daily affairs of the state. It is to the detriment of government to be associated too closely with any institution other than itself. Further, by our established principles concerning law, it cannot be ignored that the interests of the Church and the state are quite frequently at odds. Not as they concern the salvation of souls, but in the question of governing ethically as opposed to legitimately. The strength of the Church is the strength of the state, let there be no doubt, but the Church should refrain from intervening directly in matters of government. Allow their moral teachings to permeate society and create a more serene disposition—there is no reason not to do so. But make no mistake, the place of the state is to pursue the legitimacy of the state by supporting tranquility. Where moral and legitimate ends coincide, that conjunction should be pursued in its entirety. Where they do not, set the Church aside and allow it to pursue its own ends freely and without the involvement of government...

It must also be said that religion is quite frequently a destabilizing force. This is especially the case in those countries which have known many disparate religious groups within their borders. In some histories, such as that of the Germans, this contributed to decades of conflict. In others, a willingness to act and operate independently of the Church enabled prosperity. As for we in France, let us eagerly accept our current circumstances and set the issue aside. To this end, there ought to be two separate spheres: our religious affairs, provided that they be further enabled to operate independently of the state’s involvement and; and our political affairs, provided that they be further enabled to operate independently of the Church’s involvement.

With a strong, united religion, the question of policy regarding religion has been answered on our behalf. France benefits from its current affairs—although there is always the possibility of strengthening its position further—and should only significantly alter her course by relaxing the interaction between the Church and the state. As things stand and likely will remain, tranquility will not be possible despite our religious disposition but because of it. Although there is much more to be written on the topic than this cursory discussion, let theologians, priests, and scholars of the state pursue its elaboration. My contribution, as it has been in all other sections, has not been to declare an end to one order and a beginning to another. No, it has only been to describe things as they have been and suggest the origin of our seemingly endless struggles. Only by accepting our unwillingness to confront these things is it possible, I believe, to undo what has been done and create a government where people and king are freed from our present condition of slavery, where like chattel we have been shuffled from owner to owner with only death as an escape.


CONCLUSION.
I have doubtless offended many of my acquaintances and friends with some of the jaggedness of my ideas. For this, I apologize profusely. Not for having such notions of how things have been, are, and ought to be, but for failing to present them in a more comforting or soothing manner. I also have no doubts that I shall be criticized for undermining the legendary foundations of the state and especially of the monarchy, although such critics should think more carefully about what I have argued. Nowhere have I weakened the state in any physical way other than by noting all the weaknesses that history has already revealed to us. We are, many of us, the grown heirs of constant instability and disorder. No one who understands the events of the last century would see in my criticisms anything detached from reality.

The problem is what the problem has been. There is no comfort to be found in tradition, a social contract, or some vague notion of the brotherhood of man. The state exists in the form it exists in because the state has been able to maintain at least a semblance of ataraxia. But all government that fails to prioritize its own strength by working to further ensure social harmony will eventually fail and falter. If we are ever to escape a century of disorder, it will be by valuing a pacific country over an ethical one. To do otherwise would be to once again sentence ourselves and our descendants to an unpredictable and unpleasant world. Government must be continuously adjusted to suit its circumstances, otherwise its purveyors would be extremely negligent.

What I have argued for, in essence, are four propositions from which all other points regarding the best nature of the state and the foundations upon which it must rest in order to maximize and continue its legitimate rule emerge:

(1) It is impossible to know anything truly abstract, either divine or idealized, because we cannot conceive of anything beyond the confines of the material.

(2) Actions are not amoral, but their moral character is imperceptible and consequently cannot form the basis for government or for its laws.

(3) All theories of political legitimacy based in ethicality are false.

(4) The only true way of measuring the state's legitimacy is by the examination of its ability to produce and maintain domestic ataraxia.

The government that history and reason appear to indicate to us to be the most amenable to these premises is the constitutional monarchy. Such a monarchy should be structured around an active but respectful civic community. Its laws should only deal with matters of building tranquility and there should be no limitations on those laws. As well, matters of ethicality and liberty should be left unregulated in all circumstances where a lack of regulation would not harm public harmony. Finally, tradition, historical resilience, and stability should stand as testaments to the state, rather than the sources of its legitimacy. Where the King is concerned, let his people be concerned and where God is concerned, let his flock be concerned...

Let us aim to draw to an end the era that all of Europe and especially France has collectively experienced in its sufferings. This has been the time of strife. It has been an age in which few governments have properly carried any semblance of what might be called 'legitimacy' outside the musings most often found in smoke-filled Parisian cafes. Tranquility is a word that in our language has become as foreign and meaningless as any belonging to a distant and unrelated tongue. We must restore it to its meaningful place and reacquire for ourselves the accompanying reassurances it provides. Then, let us turn back toward ethicality and discover what we can of it while living according to our beliefs in what its precise qualities might be. Still, we ought not forget that the proper and adequate order of government is that order which legitimates itself. Reassess government, revise to eliminate its past mistakes, and then we might all be able to turn away from the cold loneliness of the long dark night, which is not yet over, but may pass soon.
 
Reuben Valentin Duval
2nd Baron Duval

b. May 9th, 1822
Marseilles

Positions Held:
Mine State engineer, Corps des mines (1858 - 1862)
Lake Fetzara Drainage Project & Mokta El Hadid Mining Complex (1858-1860)
Projects for the Suez Canal Company (1860-1862)
Deputy for Vienne, Conservateurs Ministériels (1862-)

Biography:
At an early age Reuben and his mother, Shoshanna, moved to his father Thibaut Duval's manor in the heart of Paris. Jacques Rothschild, a family friend, took an interest in young Reuben's education and the boy and his mother spent much of their time in the company of the industrialist's family in Paris. During the Three Glorious Days, an eight-year-old Reuben and his mother were staying at the Rothschild house when the Duval and Rothschild families were targeted for assassination by Les Hommes and its opportunistic leader, Roy de Brye, who had tried to take over the revolution. As the fighting died down and it became possible to travel again, his mother took him away from Paris and his father, fearing reprisals and political intrigue at the birth of the Orleans monarchy. Some unspoken event, of which Reuben was never privy, had occurred between his parents and his mother would never reunite with her husband. Thibaut Duval stayed in Paris while his son was raised in the provinces; at first in Marseilles but soon his mother used their considerable wealth to purchase a farm in Vienne, not a working farm of course but a hideaway to raise her son in exclusion.

Though his father had him baptized at birth, with dreams that the boy would be Prime Minister someday, Reuben's mother ensured that he was raised as a good Jew; at first among the Rothschilds in Paris, later in the company of his mother's extended family. With more than one professor in the family, the boy's education was guaranteed but he was far more interested in reading Roger Desnai adventure stories than Hebrew and Latin grammar. His only escape from his mother's vicelike affection were the wild, mostly untended grounds of the rustic idyll where she had deigned to raise him. Thus in his formative years he spent every moment he could get away from his tutor-relatives in the woods, studying the flora and fauna like an amateur naturalist; as well as other hobbies he picked up from his adventure books, like bowhunting and spearfishing. As an adolescent it was determined by his male relatives that as a wealthy heir he should have a tutor in manly arts such as horsemanship, fencing, and proper hunting with firearms. While a mediocre but acceptable horseman and swordsman, it was found that Reuben became paralyzed with fear at the sound of gunfire.

With the dreams of some of his relatives of further assimilating him into Christian French society through military school and army service totally dashed, the Duval heir's life became set on a course for academia. By 1840 he was matriculating in Berlin, making friends among radical students and professors, and beginning a courtship with Rene; a Berlin innskeeper's daughter of Polish extraction, and similarly mixed Jewish-Christian heritage to his own. The two wed in '44, bringing out Reuben's mother to Prussia as he continued his studies in the sciences. The revolutions of '48 across the Germanies and elsewhere in Europe might have delighted his friends and appealed to his own sensibilities, but fear for his family saw him resign his post as an assistant professor and ditch the academic life for a professional one. He moved his wife, his first child, and his mother to French Wallonia; where he became the assistant to a respected mining engineer in the coal industry.

The February Revolution of 1850 saw his mother return to Vienne on the request of her relatives who were trying to keep the property intact in the midst of socialist revolution and total uncertainty. She would never leave, becoming ill and bedridden. Reuben and his family remained in Wallonia, and by '53 he was a lead engineer on a mine-clearing project of his own. The news of his estranged father, The Baron Duval and Prime Minister of France, being stricken down by a stroke and confined to hospital moved the young Duval to return to France and take care of his mother, whose health declined propitiously upon hearing the news of her husband's condition. Reuben's mother died a year later and amidst the Restoration's mad frenzy of activity he quietly visited Paris several times to deliver the news to his hospital-bound father.

In 1856, the Baron Thibaut Duval, a pillar of French politics from the Second Restoration through the Second Republic, finally passed on. Despite his desire to keep to the farm in Vienne, Reuben used part of his dwindling fortune to purchase a respectable townhouse in Paris so that he and his family could move between the two residencies. They came to the city, altogether, so that he could take his father's place as the new Baron Duval.

A letter of recommendation from then Finance Minister Descombes led to Duval gaining the patronage of the Prince d'Orleans, Governor of Algeria. After two years in Algeria and two in Egypt he relocated his family back to the metropole and ran for office as a partisan of Lord Descombes, to whom he is eternally grateful.

Reuben Duval is a man of average build and height, dark complexion as far as Frenchmen go, and an icy if polite disposition. As opposed to his late father's love for the decadent and gaudy in all things, Reuben is a proponent of austere Oriental painting and ornamentation and the most banal and conventional of contemporary composers. He has a wife, Rene, and three children: Valentine (the eldest), Axel, and Greta.
 
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A Decent Indecent Talk
(M. Adelle Pauwels, Député du Hainaut - opposition dynastique)
Away from the eyes of the hypertensive Parisian society and in the comforts of a well-furnished house, through its wall were not so mighty as to completely block the trembles outside, Adelle Pauwels subsided on a diet of manufactured meats and preserved wine placed with care on his dinning table. Whereas such an existence would evoke horror in the eyes of his betters, the Walloon knew his base economics: in times of crisis cut pleasures. He thanked God that his wife understood his personal austerity. Alexia bore it with that manicured stoicism expected of her station – helped by his liberal purchase of certain novels that she certainly was not meant to read. A dabble of the troublesome republican in the distant world that was America and, of course, the bastard son of Chateaubriand. He personally couldn’t be bothered with the tomes and did not peak once or twice at it. On this, he swore his honest Catholic soul.

With the mild wine kissing Adelle’s lips, Alexia spoke up. “I suppose the honorable messieurs in the Chamber were as efficient as the clock.” A light sip came before his response. “The world must be shattering if they were not, my dear. I dare say we are more a Swiss factory than a legislative branch.” She allowed herself a smile at his humor. “Then I am a most happy wife to have so nice a cog in the machinery.” He allowed himself a laugh. “You ought to be, my most happy wife. This cog of yours has greater security than the factories that dot our heritage. No Englishman can outdo me in voting nay to Descombes.”

“It is a pleasure to have so Whiggish a husband.”

“I would not allow myself to lose your affections to a law clerk from Illinois.”

“It is a pleasure to have so Whiggish a husband.”

“I would not allow myself to lose your affections to a law clerk from Illinois.”

“Then are you to take the sword to pernicious slavers?”

“My dear, not a drip of Corsican blood run in my veins. I am a son of Wallonia.”

“And what shall a Walloon do to slavers?”

“Vote nay to Descombes.”

It was a blessing that only the two heard the chuckles that came after. So indecent yet the meal tasted better for it.
 
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London, 1863

À mon cher fils—

I hope that this letter finds you and your family well. At this time, I take great comfort in the continuing health of my children, and of my dearest grandchildren who are the source of such joy to your mother and me. As your father, I owe you the courtesy of honest and direct communication, and therefore it is my solemn duty to say that I write to you with grave news. Your mother's illness is showing few signs of improvement, and I fear even the best efforts of our doctors are proving ineffective. While we had hoped the move to Belsize Park would perhaps enliven her spirits, and the Hampstead air is, alas, doing her few favours. She has spent the last three days confined to her bed, and her energies are diminishing.

I am currently engaged with our friend Dr Morby over the question of a trip to Malvern to take the water cure. Dr Morby is quite convinced of its benefits, and would have your mother in the next carriage to the Midlands. I am dubious as to whether she has the strength for such a journey, but in these circumstances I have little appetite to argue with our physician.

Therefore I must be frank: it is quite likely that your mother and I will leave for Malvern on Monday morning. I am by no means optimistic that we will both return. I should be very grateful if you,
la baronne and les enfants would do me the kindness of a visit to Hampstead this weekend. Aside from all other considerations, I cling to the hope that the presence of her beloved son and grandchildren may revive your mother's spirits somewhat.

I have sent a letter to your sister in France, but I do not know how long it may be before she is able to travel to London. I pray that your mother endures long enough to see her daughter once more.

Be well my son. I shall anticipate your swift response.
Merivée, pére
 
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THE VOYAGE TO ALEXANDRIA

Having condoled the widow of the late Duc de Levis, no sooner had the Prince de Polignac returned to the Hotel de Crillon than he set out again, bidding his wife farewell at boarding an awaiting carriage which took him speedily to the Gare Saint-Lazare. Upon his arrival at the station the Prince was greeted by his nephew, Louis de La Rochefoucauld.

La Rochefoucauld, a boy of thirteen, had lived a rather tragic life. His mother, the Prince’s late sister, had died some years ago, shortly following the death of Louis’ elder brother. Louis’ sister, Polignac’s niece, was recently engaged to marry the Duc de Luynes, Charles d’Albert, and wanted to see as little of her younger brother as possible. Even Louis’ father, who had once doted on his son and heir, had since remarried, and turned his attentions and affections to his new family.

In view of the tragedies which had befallen the unfortunate child – the death of his mother and brother, the neglect and indifference of his sister and father – Louis had become something of a melancholy figure, and had taken to spending his days confined in the library of La Valee-aux-Loups. In addition to reading the many books within that grand library, young Louis had engaged in correspondence with his uncle, Polignac, and, in a series of letters, had convinced the Prince that Louis should accompany him on his next journey. Polignac had agreed, though with some reluctance, and the two had arranged to meet at the Saint Lazare station.

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Le Havre, France

From there, the pair travelled by train to the port city of Le Havre. Polignac hoped that travel would bring some cheer to the sad and lonely La Rochefoucauld. Arriving at Le Havre, together they boarded the passenger vessel, Léopard, of the Messageries Maritimes. Their destination: Alexandria.

Departing from French shores, the vessel sailed into the Channel, onward to the Bay of Biscay, rounding the Iberian Peninsula [stopping in Lisbon for provisions], and passing through the narrow Detroit de Gibraltar, where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Mediterranean Sea.

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View of Gibraltar (the rock)

To think, it was in these waters that the Battle of Trafalgar had been fought. It was here where the Prince’s long-time hero, the Lord Nelson, had breathed his last. Aboard the deck of Léopard, Polignac raised a toast to commemorate the late Duke of Bronté.

It was some days after passing through the Strait of Gibraltar and entering the Mediterranean that the distant shores of Egypt were at last sighted. The Léopard drew into the port of Alexandria, where, for untold centuries, the seafarers of Antiquity had in like fashion come ashore. The Great Harbour was bustling with stevedores, loading and unloading all manner of cargoes. Further up the coast, fisherfolk hauled in the day’s catch, each shouting to one another in the guttural tones of their language.


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Egyptian fisherfolk
Polignac and his nephew came ashore, and made directly for the coastal villa, which had become the Prince’s accustomed residence while in the city. Weaving through the busy streets of Alexandria, where the city’s many vendors loudly called to the throngs of eager shoppers, the young La Rochefoucauld was dazzled by the sights, sounds and smells of this exotic land. Nevertheless, fatigued from the long voyage, the pair made haste to their lodgings, and retired for the evening. La Rochefoucauld, though tired, could not fall asleep. Tomorrow promised new adventure: the journey to Cairo.

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Merchants in the city of Alexandria
 
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François Pierre Felix Christoper Victor, duc de Lévis
(formerly the Comte de Charlus)

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Monsieur le minister des affaires étrangères,

Pursuant to our previous conversation, I have tended my resignation as His Majesty's ambassador in Vienna. It is no longer possible to delay the management of my late father's affairs and estates. The first secretary will assume ambassadorial duties, per procedure, until a replacement is appointed.

Veuillez agréer l'expression de ma très haute considération,
Lévis
 
A Letter to His Majesty, the King of France ((@99KingHigh))

Your Majesty

For nearly half of my life, I have served France to the best of my ability; to ensure its prosperity and to ensure the safety and well-being of all her denizens. I served faithfully both the House of Orléans and the House of Bourbon in their administration of the nation. I have fought to protect the people of France against dangerous and chaotic forces throughout the lands. I have fought to ensure that France did not fall into the same deadly pitfalls that befell at the end of the 18th century for my entire career. It is with great honor and diligence that I have served you, Your Majesty, in leading two governments over the course of Your Majesty's reign, and for that I am eternally grateful and humble.

Yet, time has proven itself to be a great challenge to me. I started to serve the nation thirty years ago, and I have served it for those thirty years. To be blunt, I am growing old, Your Majesty, and while France may be immortal, I am not. I have watched my sons grow into capable men, eager to enter the world just like I was when I was their age. In my final years, I wish to teach them, to support them, and to ensure that when I depart this world for the next, that they make the Descombes family more prestigious than I could ever hope for, as any proud father of their sons would want.

As such, I humbly petition Your Majesty to retire from my position in the government. I do not ask this as a civil servant, but as an aging father wishing to be with his family before he passes on from this world.

Your Faithful Minister
Alexandre Descombes, the Baron Descombes
 
A Letter to His Majesty, the King of France ((@99KingHigh))

Your Majesty

For nearly half of my life, I have served France to the best of my ability; to ensure its prosperity and to ensure the safety and well-being of all her denizens. I served faithfully both the House of Orléans and the House of Bourbon in their administration of the nation. I have fought to protect the people of France against dangerous and chaotic forces throughout the lands. I have fought to ensure that France did not fall into the same deadly pitfalls that befell at the end of the 18th century for my entire career. It is with great honor and diligence that I have served you, Your Majesty, in leading two governments over the course of Your Majesty's reign, and for that I am eternally grateful and humble.

Yet, time has proven itself to be a great challenge to me. I started to serve the nation thirty years ago, and I have served it for those thirty years. To be blunt, I am growing old, Your Majesty, and while France may be immortal, I am not. I have watched my sons grow into capable men, eager to enter the world just like I was when I was their age. In my final years, I wish to teach them, to support them, and to ensure that when I depart this world for the next, that they make the Descombes family more prestigious than I could ever hope for, as any proud father of their sons would want.

As such, I humbly petition Your Majesty to retire from my position in the government. I do not ask this as a civil servant, but as an aging father wishing to be with his family before he passes on from this world.

Your Faithful Minister
Alexandre Descombes, the Baron Descombes
This was not pre-planned, but it's a fitting start to our game. February 22nd: Descombes resigns.
 
One Final Farewell
In one final speech to the legislature, Alexandre stands

Thirty-three years ago, when I was but a young man, I joined with revolutionaries to bring about the rise of the House of Orleans. Thirty-three years ago, I started my career as a servant of the French people. I have seen revolutions, uprisings, and restorations. I have seen monarchs fall and monarchs rise. I have borne witness to the beginnings of three regimes, and the ends of two of them. I was a Doctrinaire, an Orleanist, a Fusionist, a Deputy, a Senator, a Minister, and a Prime Minister. I have made friends with many a great politician, soldier, industrialist, banker, and noble, some of whom I saw pass on. I have made enemies of many such types as well. I have shook hands with men from the Second Restoration, did business with men from the June Monarchy, debated men in the Second Republic, and worked with men in the Third Restoration. I served Kings and Presidents, and a plethora of different ministers.

All of this time, I have put France above all else. I have tried my hardest to ensure its prosperity, its stability, its success. I have put the well-being of its citizens as a chief concern in all my capacities. I have done this across monarchies and republics.

Now though, I must bid you all farewell. I am retiring from this long career in politics. The reason is not political, it is personal. In my age, I realized that the most important job of mine is not one that is political or even financial, it is familial. That job is one of being a father, and potentially a grandfather. In my age, I wish to retire from this long political life, and to return to my family to prepare them for when I leave this world once and for all. To prepare my sons to inherit the Descombes family name, business, and title.

I do not know if history will remember me fondly, I do not know if what I gained my family will be around once I pass from this world. I wish though to state that everything I have done, was for the good of France, which though we as her citizens may be mortal, will never die and will last for eternity. There are many among you who are greater men than I, better men. Some will one day become this way, some already are.

I bid you farewell, my friends, as I leave for retirement

Vive la France

((New character sometime in the near future))

 
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À Sa Grâce le duc de Lévis – @Jackbollda

Monsieur le Duc—

Circumstance has not always been kind to the relations between us, but grief unites us all. It was with great sadness that I received the news of the death of your father, of dear and esteemed memory. His faith and enthusiasm for the cause of légitimisme, in France and abroad, were without equal; with the late duke's passing, not only does France lose a devoted and talented servant, but His Majesty and all those who wish his cause well lose a loyal and honoured friend.
I pray that the burden of grief does not weigh unduly heavy upon the Lévis estate. My condolences to you, Monsieur, and to your family.

I remain,

Bessin
 
Lièvremont addresses the Chamber

As many of my colleagues, both those who made express their sentiments and those who still have not had the chance to do so, I applaud the baron Descombes on the notice of his departure from the ministry, though I am surprised at the turn of events and already caught on a personal tinge of nostalgia. Having served alongside him for many years, even though our paths diverged on many issues, on principle or on method, I cannot hold less than utmost respect for the baron, for his ideals, and his actions as a defender of the social order.

Perhaps the baron's retirement comes at a time when such decisions hold weight on a symbolic level; we must remember that although the generations of French statesmen come and go, the logic of our government, that of order, legality and prosperity, must not wither. The law which rules the world cannot go against the law of the Lord. In times of dissension, let this example shine forth and call all of those well-meaning to serve France, each day more strongly than the previous.

As for myself, I remain a humble worker on this oeuvre called the century, and on this majestic building of our nation. Merci messieurs, and I yield the floor
 
Adelle Pauwels, Député du Hainaut

Chère femme,

I have just heard the saddest speech about the departure of M. Descombes into historical irrelevance. The old windbag made it sound less like a retirement and more like a eulogy from a penny-paid author. 'Thirty years!', he cried. 'Of service to nation.' I dare to think he could have shaved off thirty of those years to be of greater service to France. Alas, it was not to be. I clapped like everyone else there and sent the overfilled skeleton down one step to the practical graveyard. Speaking of which, if I ever start to act like that, please shoot me in the heart. Many thanks in advance.

Yours,
A. P.