We Three Princes
(Joint IC with @Sneakyflaps and @Michaelangelo)
[SECRET]
Hotel de Crillon
(Joint IC with @Sneakyflaps and @Michaelangelo)
[SECRET]
Hotel de Crillon
PARIS -- As the country once again entered into elections, three figures had gathered at the Hotel de Crillon. “Gentlemen,” remarked the Prince de Polignac, greeting the Prince de Rohan and, turning to the Prince de Condé, “Monsieur le President,” he said, with a smile, “welcome.”
The three princes had gathered in the principal Paris residence of the Prince de Polignac to discuss a number of matters, but, most importantly, to condole the young Prince de Rohan upon the recent death of his father, the Prince de Guémené, who had been a dear friend to the Condé and Polignac.
“It is with heavy hearts that we mark the death of your father,” began the Prince de Polignac, “please accept my condolences, and be assured,” he gestured towards the Prince de Condé, “that you may call upon your fellow princes to provide whatsoever assistance as may be needed in this time of shared grief.”
Princes de Rohan (left), de Polignac (centre), de Condé (right)
“Your father was a good man,” Polignac began, “a man of great wisdom and courage. On several instances and key matters of state I had occasion to consult him and to benefit from his advice.” Polignac noticed the seeming distress which came over the Prince de Rohan; he appeared to be in pain. “Perhaps we should sit,” remarked Polignac.
“It may be best.” Condé remarked as he looked over the young son of Rohan, a small smile creeping across the lips of the former president. “I don't imagine that when your father named you, he imagined that you would take after your namesake in so many ways… least of all this.” Philippe nodded to the limp, “I hope it has not given you much trouble, I know how it vexed my brother at times.”
“It does tend to cause me grief from time to time,” Henri said, frowning ever so slightly at the acknowledgement of his limp. He wished people would not notice, even if that seemed impossible, but he supposed it was better than people commenting on his height. “I have started getting used to it though. Just one more test God has put before me and my family.”
“Gentlemen, as we are in mourning, protocol demands that we do not partake in revelry or merry-making, but it would be remiss of me were I not to offer you both some refreshment.” No sooner were the very words spoken than a footman appeared, bearing a silver tray upon which three crystal glasses were perched. Within each shimmering goblet was a Beaujolais.
MacMahon
“A man most eager to speak about the cause of the ministry, he took time to write to me during these last few weeks for said cause.” Condé mentioned as he took the glass into his hands, “It seems that despite our mourning, the rest of the Kingdom feels different, with all the joys that the press and politicians alike have taken to the street and the pen.”
“Indeed,” replied Polignac, “I read one of M. MacMahon’s publications, on agriculture as it happens, and have struck up a correspondence with him. He seems most eager to develop a system of agricultural credit, or, as he calls it, the credit agricoles.” Polignac, about to sip his wine, recalled that no toast had been raised: “To what shall we drink?”
Henri gingerly took the glass from the footman, holding it between his fingers like he didn’t know what to do with it. He was not much of a drinker, having found that alcohol tended to wreak havoc on his digestive system. Still, it was impolite to insult the host by not partaking, so he said, “Well we must at least drink to His Majesty’s health, as all good monarchists do.”
“To His Majesty, and to the wisdom of his government.” Condé added, the later being a more key part of this election that was unfolding. Not only with the Liberal Union, but also that of Ministeralists themselves. “So what are these pamphlets that I have seen around Paris, the Catholic League?”
His Majesty, The King
“Vive le Roi!”[1] The toast was raised.
“As for the Catholic League, I too have seen the posters. An intriguing association,” Polignac mentioned,”I understand from M. MacMahon that the organization is principally focused on protections for rural France, and the interests of the inhabitants in the countryside.”
“A worthy goal,” Henri said after taking a small sip of his drink. “I know that my father always fought for the rural population, so they hold a special place in my heart as well. Too often do they get ignored by the government catering to the people of Paris, simply because their voice is the loudest.”
“And yet… the Catholic League.” Condé said, letting it hang in the air for the moment, “Henri, I would like for your opinion on this, and to know if it is just my mind that is bogled over the meaning of the name. The last Catholic League in France which springs to my mind was a coalition led by noblemen against the King, with such force that it almost prevented my good ancestor, Henri IV, from taking the Crown. Now, we have a new Catholic League, under the good King Henri V. A mere coincidence?” la Marche’s eyes going to Polignac.
“Indeed, the Polignacs took no part in that Catholic League, headed by the Duke de Guise,” said Polignac, “we sided with the King. Then as now, ever loyal to our shared interests.”
“On the subject of shared interests,” Polignac continued, “you will have heard great speculation with respect to the piercing of the Isthmus of Suez, but setting that matter to the side for a moment, there is another venture which I would bring to your attention.”
“The Messageries Maritimes has established a subsidiary firm, La sociéte des forges et chantiers de la Méditerranée, with the primary aim of constructing ships of war for the French and other navies.”
“Business must be booming as of late,” Henri said. “You’ve recently expanded your shipping empire and now are looking into constructing ships of war. That must be a costly venture.” Henri shifted in his seat, wincing a bit as the bullet lodged in his leg nudged a nerve. “It surely is a much needed one though. France’s military requires great attention, and a modern fleet will help ensure that she can protect her interests abroad.”
“And to ensure a modern fleet, the investment made by Polignac and I will need proper weaponry designs, innovation and ideas. Something which only one of us in this room is involved with to a great degree, who owns a company that has an illustrious history of supplying weapons following the recent American adventures.” Condé added.
“Yes, the Prince de Condé and I have invested in the Sociéte, and, we think that the Rohan-Descombes Manufacturing Company could produce a number of the armaments that would be necessary,” Polignac added, “would this be of interest to you?” he asked, patiently awaiting the views of the Prince de Rohan.
A ship
Polignac turned to Condé and nodded, as if to signal agreement, “The Naval Ministry has yet to place orders with the Sociéte, so your factory may be positioned to provide armaments or components of armaments for initial, anticipated requests.”
“Or equally important, designs for weaponry that can outproduce that of our competitors.” la Marche added, “Research and development so to speak.”
“Yes, indeed,” remarked Polignac, “the Sociéte would most certainly benefit from your knowledge of the detailed specifications of armaments.”
“Naval armaments,” Henri said, “are a bit outside what we have produced to date, so we would be starting from scratch when it comes to researching and designing new weapons, although we could surely manage once we had time to hire the right people and experiment a bit.” Henri licked his lips, thinking it over a bit before continuing. “I have been considering expanding operations, and perhaps this may be the excuse to do so. Perhaps a new factory to focus on this venture, with research and development commencing immediately with my existing artillery factory.”
“Splendid,” Polignac interjected.
Artist's depiction of the Rohan-Descombes Factory
“Very well, very well, it is good to understand your interest in the proposal; shall we confirm your position in a week's time?” Polignac inquired.
“That would be acceptable,” Henri said with a nod. “I had intended to meet with the board of directors anyway, so at least I will have something worthwhile to present to them this time.”
“Most excellent,” remarked Polignac, satisfied with the outcome, “let us meet again, seven days hence.”
[1] It was thought, quite unjustly, that Polignac initially raised the toast “Vive L’Empereur!” and then quickly corrected himself: “Le Roi! Vive le Roi!”
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