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Ultramontane

Alexandre Cazal's alpine journey


Between October 1821 and July 1822, Alexandre Cazal existed in a state of self-exile within Paris. The lustre of his reputation post-Aporie had been burnished by the fallout from Messidor, whose confrontational realism hit the salons hard in September 1821. They reacted, for the most part, by retracting the indulgence Cazal had been granted since the Restoration. Regarded in his youth as an exotic society figure, his novelty wore off as soon as it became apparent that he planned to use this outsider status to show Paris just what it looked like to the rest of the world.

It is perhaps logical therefore that, estranged from the heart of salon culture, he enjoyed one of the most productive spells of his career. Spurned on as much by pecuniary concerns as literary ones, Cazal all but shut himself away in his house on the Chaussée d'Antin and spent the winter of 1821 writing essays on his experiences of the provinces, current affairs pieces for Le Constitutionnel, and curiously modish vignettes of Parisian life published under his pseudonym ‘Outremer’. These went some way to restoring his standing with the students of Paris at the very least. His taste for whist tailed off in direct proportion with the salons’ taste for his work, which saw off one of the main sources of his debt. Coupled with a fortuitous patronage from government minister Henri, Monsieur de Bourbon, Cazal entered summer 1822 in a degree of financial comfort.

Cazal therefore did as was his habit when at liberty and left Paris. Having made the unlikely acquaintance of the Duc de Valence after his departure from government, Cazal left Paris for Vienna at the end of July. On the way, he detoured in Switzerland, spending a month in Zürich, before moving through the Alps to Innsbruck. From Innsbruck, he reached Vienna by November, staying until the New Year.

For his reading public back home, Cazal had segued from mercurial ‘humanist’ to perceptive travel writer. Those who had been turned off by his politics and his artistry found in his vivid descriptions of rural life renewed reason to read him. Free of the conventions of the novel, which was in 1820 diversion and not art, Cazal had better luck smuggling his humanism through essays and travel journals. Now his public felt they had reclaimed their agency, choosing to read about reality instead of having it imposed upon them.

Whilst travelling across the Austro–Swiss Alps, Cazal made sure not to let slip the opportunity for engagement with the communities he visited. Aside from essays of geographical and geological scope, a novelty in Cazal's output, he wrote of life in the Alps, continuing his investigation into the relationship between provinces and their metropoles. Switzerland, with its unique federal outlook, gave him a fresh perspective and he wrote plenty on the differences between the various cantons he visited, noting differences between them as much as commonalities. In Austria, meanwhile, he wrote with comparison to France—first in the rural areas, then in comparing Vienna to Paris.

In Vienna, Cazal's reception was buoyed by two factors: the first, his introduction to polite society by his connection to the French minister-plenipotentiary Valence; the second, by the happy fact that few people had read him. Whilst Aporie had made inroads into the Viennese bourgeois consciousness, Messidor would not leave France save sporadically until the start of the twentieth century. Hence he was welcomed as a curious addition to society. At the opera, which he frequented often, he was subject to the same exoticist prejudices that had been foist upon him in Paris a decade prior. In the coffee houses, the directness of his work titillated Biedermeier writers whose own dispatches from the provinces were imagined, depoliticised idylls. Cazal partook of the political discussion in Café Katzmayr, which he later wrote about and serialised in ParisIan hebdomadaires as Dialogues in Café Katzmayr.

On the other side of the coin, Cazal was much struck by Germanic opera, in particular the work of Haydn, to whom he had not been exposed in Paris. Cazal's experiences as a parvenu informed numerous discussions of cultural life, about which he had seldom written in Paris, and his essays on the opera and art of Vienna preview his writing from Italy later in the year.

Leaving Vienna in early January, Cazal elected not to return as he had come, but instead via Italy. From Vienna, he arrived first in Venice before moving to Rome via Bologna, then on to Florence and Turin. Travelling across Italy, he was as keen to document the country's cultural history as its political actuality. He wrote extensively on the architecture of Venice and the ruins of Rome, which inspired lengthy essays on the fate of empires and the idea of impermanence. In Florence, he began several monographs about Renaissance painters, after Vasari, though only finished an essay cycle about the contents of the Uffizi before leaving the city. After leaving Florence, he resumed a more social output, which reached a peak in Turin when he met several former carbonari whose activities and sympathies he described in a series of unpublished vignettes. (Not even Benjamin Constant was confident of their chances of sneaking such blatant material past the censors.) Instead, he transformed his experiences into a Romantic novelette depicting the mental torment of an Italian revolutionary whose activity places his family in danger, published within his Italian anthology as “Lorenzo Pasquale”.

Cazal arrived in Geneva in June 1823, where he spent some time organising the fruits of his travels with an eye to publishing immediately upon his return to Paris. In early August, two volumes were published in Paris in quick succession. The first, Ultramontane; A journal of alpine travels, collected his output from Switzerland and Austria. His Italian writings were anthologised as In Italy; Reflections on the society and culture of the Italian people.

The anthologies combined documentary travel writing; perceptive social studies and vignettes; political, philosophical and historical essays; art criticism; and a handful of short stories and a novelette. Together, they form a fascinating account of life in south-central Europe during a turbulent period of the nineteenth century. To his Parisian audience, the volumes presented Cazal refreshed and re-energised, in a far more optimistic mindset than after the publication of Messidor. Society received them …
 
Having, somehow, sourced a postal address, Cazal sends a letter to Henri de Bourbon:

(( @etranger01 ))

Cher Monsieur,


Finding you was not easy—and yet, after much effort, I pray that I have done so. I hope this letter finds you in good health and good spirits.

I appreciate you will have little time at the present for literary matters. Nevertheless, two years ago you showed me great kindness, without which this work would not have been possible. It is in dedication to your generosity, therefore, that I send you these two volumes. It is my hope that they provide all the diversion, stimulation and comfort you may require.


Avec amitié,

Cazal
Attached is a package containing dedicated copies of Ultramontane and In Italy.



Another letter is sent to Vienna:


(( @Syriana ))

Monsieur,


I hope you receive this letter in good health and spirits.

Without your gracious hospitality in Vienna last year, my work would have been far less enriched—and I with it. It is in deep gratitude for your welcome, therefore, that I send you these two volumes. Whilst in the past my writing has, I know, not been entirely to your tastes, I trust you will find in these pages some work of interest.


En gratitude, je reste,

Alexandre Cazal
Attached is a package containing dedicated copies of Ultramontane and In Italy.
 
((Hey y'all, if you're wondering why I haven't closed debate or voting, its only because I'm waiting for a time where I could write an update immediately after without a long wait.))
 
Condé finally had a smile on his face. The news from France from the settlement, having avoiding anything to rash and making the newspaper into a martyr, but more importantly the guns were on the way. The ships had finally arrived and two had been nearly stripped for their bigger guns. The soldiers had already been sent south with the horses to drag the cannons back here for the siege.

The Prince stood and looked through his spyglass at the walls of San Sebastian, the cannons they had so far had done some damage, but not nearly enough. It would take a decade at this pace before they were done with this blooded siege. Not much had otherwise happened, the Prince had been informed that a battle was to take place further south of some significance, apparently if we were to capture Madrid now or later would depend on it. If only the army had moved south at once, rather than letting the Spanish gather troops. Sadly that was too late.

As the troops finally arrived with the new artillery it didn’t take them long to position it east of the city, getting ready to fire within the hour as Condé gave the order and some proper damage could finally be done.
 
@Shynka ))
((private))
My friend and business partner,

I am as happy to see the continued success of your newspaper as I am saddened to hear of the perils many of your colleagues in the Young Franks are facing on the frontlines of the Spanish Expedition. It heartens me to know that in the void left by the Veterans League you will be watching after the wellbeing of the soldiery once they return home to France.

I am sure these chaotic times provide you with many pressing obligations, as a military man and a journalist, but there is much we need to discuss.

For one thing, concerning Banque de Seine, I hope it is not impertinent of me to suggest that we might consider selling it to a larger banking concern. As you may know, I am on the board of a coal concern with the former minister of finance, who is also on the board of Rothschild Freres. With your go ahead, I could broach the subject of an acquisition of our bank by his to him.

For another, I am friends...or friends of a common friend, with the former minister of the interior, Henri Bourbon. Now that he is an active duty Colonel in Spain, I fear he is safer than when he was in Paris. Ever since the attack that wounded him and took his fiance from this world, he has been the continued target of assassination attempts by enemies of liberalism and those who fear his unlikely inheritance of the Conde fortune. I can only hope in my heart that he joins your fraternity of officers, as in the company of armed veterans he might find the kind of protection he will need once he returns to civilian life in Paris.

Finally, it is another matter of bank business. As you know, when we opened the doors of Seine Bank I issued a promotional loan of 50,000 francs to Col. Jean-Luc Gottoliard. It has been years and he has not paid back any of that money, and he has used that loan to buy his way into the same coaling concern as myself, Charbon Francaise. When the war is over, I intend, with your permission, to on behalf of our bank seek a lien against his assets in the Parisian courts. If Seine Bank can gain control of his share of Charbon Francaise, it will open up a number of new possibilities for both of us.


Faithfully yours,
Thibaut Duval
 
Towards Ancient Times

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Between 1821 and 1823, the continental intelligentsia was afire with the fanaticism of christian nationality and classical relish. In France, many clergymen and university professors argued in the Universités et Grandes Écoles that that the modern Greeks were entitled to call upon their classical heritage as a reason for support, and that Greece could only achieve progress when it was liberated from the Ottoman Empire. The hail for intervention among these intellectual classes, which mingled the secular classicism and religious fraternity brewed by the Peloponnese Revolt, found considerable support among liberal and conservative forces alike, although generally the more romanticist revolutionaries were the most fervent in there support of the Greek revolutionaries.

Victor Durand, rehabilitated from his former political failures on account of the durability of his famous reforms, returned to Paris after hearing of the gruesome realities confronted by the Greek people in their military uprising. The return of the old Liberal reformer was entirely devoted to the invigoration of the Hellenic cause. In 1821, Durand declared to a forum of enthusiastic students a famous proclamation of moral support to the rebellion:

The struggle for independence of the Greek People against their Turkic Oppressors is one which cannot be ignored by any Nation or People claiming to be civilized. The great contributions of Athenian Democracy, found in the words Pericles and Solon, Greek Poetica and Historica, found in works Homer and Herodotus, and Greek Philosophy, found in wisdom of Socrates, Plato and Aristotle, to Western Society, forever indebted us to them. Like their ancestors, the Greeks have raised in defence of their Western Culture and Values against a numerically superior but morally inferior foe, and as all Greeks joined together to defeat the barbaric tyrant Xerxes and his Persian Hordes at Salamis and Thermopylae, all descendants of their wisdoms, works and words, all Western Societies should join together to defeat the tyrant Mahmud and his Turkic Hordes.”

However, as their descendants struggle on amidst the murderous barbarisms committed by the Turkic Mohammedans and their Arab allies, the Western Great Powers, including our own Kingdom, fail to assist both our cultural and intellectual brethren in this time of great peril. It is with this in mind that we call upon all good friends of the Greeks, Wisdoms and Civilization to join the Société Philhellénique française to assist the Greek People in their struggle for independence and the restoration of their people to the forefront in the March of Civilization.”

With the establishment of the French Philhellenic Society, Durand established three aims; encourage the intervention of the Kingdom of France on behalf of Greek Freedom Fighters, fund and arm the Greek rebellion, and encourage public opinion to the cause of the rebellion. In order to achieve this goal, members of the Société were encouraged to take up the cause of the Greek rebellion in public and private; in the galas and opera-halls of Paris society, philhellenics served as patrons to the encouragement of the cause, and introduced influential members of the political body of France to their mission. The procurement of influential Frenchmen, such as the comte de Pontécoulant, comte de l’Isle-Jourdain, duc d'Orléans, comte de Berstet, and the Archbishop of Reims confirmed a political synergy of support from different political factions and corridors of social life. Connections with such influential figures afforded the Société access to printing presses, armament producers, and financial sums. In January 1822, Durand published Jean-Jacques Barthélemy’s Travels of Anarcharsis the Younger in Greece from 1788, a learned imaginary travel journal, which had already greatly impacted the growth of philhellenism in France, and also sponsored large lectures on Greek classicism in the academic halls.

As the society developed, Durand became more and more convinced that a French example was required to spearhead the way for a possible French example. Durand decided that the Society would form a philhellenic compangie composed of French volunteers to fight in France. Jean-François-Maxime Raybaud was chosen to lead the effort, which included enthusiastic young combatants and venerable warriors alike. Victor Durand's own son, Achille Durand, participated in the terrestrial effort. Colonel Charles Nicolas Fabvier trained the volunteers in France, while Colonel Olivier Voutier prepared to lead a naval advisory to the Greek officials and bring a suitable private force to the rebellion. In total, the Society amassed two battalions of French volunteers, which were shipped off the Peloponnese in the Spring of 1823...
 
Lothaire grew tired of the prolonged siege and no action being done. He debated with his battalion commander, who in turn sent it to the regiment which again sent the recommendation to it's general.

((Letter to the staff of @Fingon888 ))

General. We recommand to send smaller forces ahead to the west of San Sebastian to the purpose of conducting axis-force-recon in our advance from EAST to WEST. Mission: Dominate local hilltops, find enemy advances, hinder them and cartographe terrain ahead. In order to ease our advance as the siege of San Sebastian is concluded, and give early warning of potential counterattacks in the area or slow them.

We also recommand to leak plans of naval bombardment and assault. Further leak plans that the Axis-recon are to be done for a further advance to the west, as the Naval assault are to relieve the besiegers so they can bypass San Sebastian alltogether. Purpose: shift their defenses to the sea while concentrating arty barrages from the SOUTH and DUNES for following assault. Current pace are making the men restless and in danger of desertion and dysentria. Meamwhile we lose the momentum which we need to sieze, and to secure to NORTH-WEST flank before it is issued to attack our friendly forces in the EAST, or reinforce the Center or attack the siege.

 
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((PRIVATE - @Noco19))

Henri Bourbon reaches Paris, having hitched a ride on the fast-mail coach from the Spanish front. He makes his introduction, somewhat disheveled from the road, to the Duke of Piombino's Breton manservant. Once ushered into the Duke's curtained sickroom, Henri stands a bit awkwardly, clearing his throat before speaking.

"Grandmaster? Are you awake?"
 
The Vicomte de Saint Fulgent had just received word that the Prince of Condé was positioning the guns requisitioned from the Neptune and Centaure. Understanding that the Xth army would breach the walls of San Sebastián at the same spot the British did in 1813 the Vicomte ordered his batteries to fire upon the walls of the fortress to cover his troops as they positioned themselves to enter the city. The 35th Infantry Regiment under Colonel Auguste-Marie Chagnon, the Vicomte’s nephew, would be positioned under the breach and would be the regiment tasked with taking the fortress first. Colonel Chagnon had sent him along a letter from one of his chefs de bataillon influenced by Capitaine Lécuyer. The Vicomte quickly wrote down a message with his orders to Colonel Chagnon and gave it to a messenger to take it down to the forward command.

Cher neveu,
I have the honor of granting your regiment first action in taking the fortress before us. I fully trust in your ability to take the fortress following the artillery of Condé’s breaching of the walls. I shall send the 22nd regiment behind to provide support. My one condition of this assault being placed in your trust is that the battalion of Hevré Labuze and more specifically the Capitaine Lécuyer’s column being placed in the most difficult and dangerous position. The Capitaine shall either prove himself in this battle or he shall face demotion for his gall in addressing a Peer, General, and Minister in such a presumptuous manner. I know that you shall honor your father’s memory and the name of Chagnon. May God be with you and our army as we rid the world of Liberalism’s sins.
Avec mes salutations, Le Vicomte de Saint Fulgent, Général et Ministre
 
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Lothaire recieved his orders for the coming assault. He were pleased. Finally they would be cast into battle and his Company had the honor to spearhead the assault. This honor would be earned in blood and Lothaire were sure he would triumph - or perish in the attempt. He rallied his men. He stood upon pieces of artillery elevating him above his men. By his side were his trusted Sergent-Major and Lieutenant. Both looked over their men with their sabers raised to the sky. The men below Lothaire and the two on his flanks, stood by closely. All of their muskets were as well raise to the air. The muzzles pointing to the sky, both to avoid having other men in their 45 degree sector, but also as a show of force and intimidation. Lothaire had summoned them to the "final Chief's hour". Lothaire had weekly Chief's hours with his men where he adressed several issues and laid out doctrines for them. But everyone knew what he meant with "final".

Lothaire looked over his men, looked at every single one of them. As he had let the gravity of the situation sink into them he started his speech. However as he spoke artillery commenced their fire and as such Lothaire had to shout loudly to not be deafened by the cannonballs flying over their heads and the explosions in the distance. But it was all accounted for, it was meant to further the adrenaline of his men, to fuel their battlefury.

"Soldiers! The hour have come. Our hour have come! Our King Louis threw his spear into the Lion's Fangs. The fangs are this city, San Sebastian. And we are the very tip of the Spear! We have been selected for our savagery, our brutality and our combat spirit to lead on the assault, to lead the Sons of St. Louis to glory! Make no mistake, this is a great honor. We strike first!" explosions lit up the backround and Lothaire paused as he let his words sink in. Then he continued with greater force and vigor than ever: "You are the Hunters! You are the Predators! And the Spaniards are your Prey waiting to be devoured!" Lothaire then raised up his saber as he shouted "Vive la Roi!", the shout were followed by the men shouting "Kill!" as they trusted their muskets to the heavens. Lothaire shouted Vive la Roi fice times, and each time his men repeated their cry and gesture.

Lothaire jumped down and gave his officers orders to organise his men into the desired formation. He also gave each Sergent special instruction to further incite the men with battlecries. Lothaire could smell the adrenaline and masculinity in the air. He inhaled the air, closed his eyes and shouted
"today, we go to war!" and were content that he had made his men into killing machines, eager to unleash themself into San Sebastian. They were his dogs of war, all he had to do were to give them their command and they would attack their enemy with great fury. As Lothaire recieved the order to attack he cried out "Let slip the dogs of war and cry Havoc!" to his men, and all 143 of his men cried havoc. The battlecries fueled the lust for war and battle among the men, and Lothaire hoped the opposing forces pissed on themself hearing the aggressive force that were to unleash on them...
 
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Before Lothaire's battlespeech. The diary of Lothaire.

I recieved the orders that the battalion I'm part of were to be the first to make the assault, and my company had been picked specifically to lead the assault. This is usually a great honor so I felt great pride. But some from the regimental staff approached me and the Chef. It seem so that the general staff of the higher ups did not like our initiative and recommendations. What have the Army turned into? We have a strict hierarchy, and that for a good reason. But there have always been room for sound advise and initiative. If one of my Sergents were to give me a recommendation during the heat of battle, or prior to one, I would be grateful. One of his tasks is indeed to give advise to those above him. But it is our job to asess that advise as we posess the full picture. And to deem the advise to be implemented or to not. The same go for the higher ups. When I led an Escadron I got many recommendations from those below me, some I went on with. Others I did not. Others I passed up to the regiment. And the regiment and my chef must have seen the advise to be somewhat sound as they passed it up to the higher ups. But they choose to punish initiative. They seem to think the army is their playground, while in fact it is an organism that is dependant on competent men. And those who led assaults used to be the most motivated men and most capable. In order to not let the offensive stall and create quagmire. Yet here this traditional honor, and vital element of the battle, are now used as a form of punishment. What do this say about the overall plan? Are we sent to our deaths just for fun? And how can I, mere Captain, be held responsible if the assault hold up or not? I who have been sent as a form of punishment. I weep for the French army if this is the overall dogma of it now. Hopefully soon the generals will see the Army for it is, and that input from those below, aside and above are most valuable. And that advise and recommendation are not a form of challenging's one's authority, but rather a means to help the Battalion, Regiment or whatever to achieve the common goal we are all so loyal to.

But at least I will be at the forefront, and I have been in battle before. If I die today, then so be it. But I will not show my hesitation here, I will do as I am trained to do. I will lead my men and I will inspire courage in their hearts as we storm the fort and claim it for our king.
 
image_029.jpg

A Fallen Giant
Hercule Vipond, duc de Piombino
@etranger01 | @Eid3r

From his bed, shrouded it be by draped cloth to keep out light which he had decried as blinding, the Duc de Piombino lay, teetering on the status between exhaustion and outright comatose. Though du Bourget had tried his best to speak to the Duc de Piombino, he was met only with the vaguest of mumbles, sometimes recognizable as pleas to the Lord and to his "son".

However, these great weight that befell the Piombino estate seemed to almost evaporate with the arrival of Henri de Bourbon. As the man awkwardly called out, with a strange jolt of energy, the withered hand of the Duc de Piombino thrust itself from beneath his coverings and into prominent view. His voice, once a mild mumble, was now a seemingly delirious chorus of questions and groans.

"My son? Is that you? Have you come for me? I am so sorry, so terribly sorry for leaving you..."

One could audibly hear the Duc de Piombino choke back violent sobs as his hand reached about aimlessly and with the fraility of a dying man.

"Henri, where are you Henri," he asked still crazed in his tone.

With a heavy accent and deep voice, the Duc de Piombino's Breton manservant offered them privacy, going to the kitchen to fetch them sustenance.
 
Near Sigüenza

De Moncey was on his horse, overlooking the dire straits of the battlefield. He had not expected his cavalry to get attacked by Reigo's artillery as they crossed the river. His field cannons on the verge of being destroyed, severely hampering the war effort, and his reputation.
"Order the hussars to quickly move back across the river and come to the aid of our own artillery. No need for them to get ripped apart, we also have no knowledge how deep the river is. Meanwhile, the artillery will fire a mix of grapeshots and normal cannon balls (not in the same cannons of course) to rip Reigo's cavalry apart, and also buying time for the hussars to arrive.
When the situation is once again under control, we will turn the cannons towards the enemy to rip them apart and force them to rout. We will follow them and stay out of the range Reigo's artillery and hopefully we are able to bombard his artillery positions, which is vital because sending in men before they are gone would be a massacre."
 

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF MONSIEUR AND MADAME D'ANTIN

Cut off from the Marseilles avante-garde satirical puppetry scene, the Duval couple sought relief from the wartime dreariness and cultural stagnation of Ultra-Royalist Period Paris in the live theater scene. However, despite Thibaut's plentiful funds and attractiveness as a patron of the arts, they found the acting troupes and playwrights of the capital at a loss without France's greatest contemporary theatrical geniuses, who were all naturally commissioned officers serving at the front.


shadow theatre.jpg


With no writers, the Duvals would support experimental, improvisational theater; even participating themselves. Appearing only as shadowy profiles in order to preserve their middle-class sense of privacy and shame, the couple would take to the stage pseudonymously as Monsieur and Madame d'Antin - a stereotypical Parisian bourgeoisie couple, making humorous observations about their class and French society as a whole.
 
Beauty and the Beast: Part VII

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The travel back to the castle had been long and hard, thoroughly exhausting the poor horse that was forced to carry two people. The Beast had been bleeding the whole way, even though Belle had tried to staunch the blood. When they had finally arrived, she had graciously handed him over to the servants, who dragged him off to his chambers to care for him. He spent the following weeks in recovery, slipping in and out of a state of delirium. She could sometimes hear his moans of pain from the other side of the castle. When he wasn’t announcing his agony openly, he was overtaken by a fever, nearly comatose as he drenched his bed in sweat. Belle received all this news of his condition second-hand from the servants, for she did not dare to go near his bedchambers. She was uncertain on what terms she was on with the Master. Their last encounter and the Beast’s injuries had been a result of her fleeing the castle, so for all she knew he was not pleased with her. Better to avoid his presence until he felt the need to summon her. Now that time had come.

Belle cautiously approached the West Wing. The last time she had dared enter this section of the castle, it had not been a pleasant experience. Memories of the Beast’s fury still fluttered through her mind. Hopefully time had worn down that anger. Mme Potts waited at the door to the Master’s chambers, calmly watching the young woman approach. She beckoned for Belle to enter, a polite smile on her face. That smile gave Belle the confidence to enter, a way of telling her that everything would be all right.

The Beast was sitting up in his bed, reading a book. He had half a dozen pillows propped up behind him to keep him upright. He wore only a simple white shirt, one that clung to his body, already drenched in sweat. Belle could understand why, since a fire was blazing in the fireplace against the wall, making the temperature absolutely sweltering. The sweat-drenched state of his shirt also gave Belle a glimpse of what lay underneath. The noble had a well-chiseled body, something she had been too busy to notice when she had tried to tend to the wound on her travel back to the castle. She blushed a bit as he looked up from his book, hoping he hadn’t noticed her gaze.

“Thank you for coming to see me,” the Beast said, putting his book down and smiling at her.

Belle awkwardly shuffled from foot to foot. She found it hard to meet the gaze of his piercing blue eyes. The deep-seated sadness that usually dwelled within them was not present for once. He seemed cheerful, unusual considering his condition.

“Was there something you wanted?” Belle finally managed to say, unsure what else to add.

“I just wanted to thank you,” the Beast said. “I would have died in those woods if it wasn’t for you.”

“You wouldn’t have been hurt if I hadn’t fled.” Belle blushed at her own words and tilted her head towards the floor. She still felt guilty about that. Despite everything, she had never wanted to see him harmed, yet her actions had caused just that.

The Beast fiddled with the edge of his bed sheet. He opened his mouth to speak, but apparently thought better of it and stopped. It was only after a minute of silence that he chose to respond. “It is not your fault. I haven’t been the most gracious of hosts. Please forgive me.”

That response prompted Belle to look him in the eye for once. She instantly regretted that decision. Those deep blue eyes, the way they looked at her, made her knees go weak. She was surprised she didn’t collapse right then and there. How did he have this effect on her? She tried to formulate a response, but ended up sputtering out some nonsense. The corner of the noble’s lip curled up in a smirk, forcing Belle to blush at her own behaviour.

“I want to make it up to you,” the Beast said after it was clear that Belle wasn’t going to say anything understandable. “You are my guest here. As such, you are free to go wherever you like, whether it is in the castle or on the grounds.”

Belle’s ears perked up. Did that mean she could leave if she chose to? If she was allowed out on the grounds, there wasn’t much that could keep her from leaving the estate, after all. He had a much more solemn look on his face now, but he seemed sincere. He must have detected what she was thinking, for he then said, “If you want to leave, to go back home, there isn’t much I can do to stop you and keep you happy. I hope though that you’ll choose to stay.”

Belle wiped at the corner of her eyes, expecting that she was crying. Fortunately she was not, but she felt like she should be. She could finally be free at last. She could go home and see her father again. A smile tried to force its way onto her face, but she held it back so as to not offend the Beast. She knew it would hurt him if she ran away, so the least she could do was be respectful about the possibility.

“Thank you,” Belle said, her voice breaking as she spoke. She almost felt like a sob was coming on, but it never came.

The two remained there for a few moments, exchanging glances, before Belle finally gathered the courage to leave. She nodded her thanks towards him as she approached the door. She could almost feel the fresh air from outside as images of Morlaix filtered through her mind. Just as she grabbed the doorknob, a polite cough from behind drew her back to reality.

“Before you go,” the Beast said, staring intently at Belle, “I just want you to know that I’ve enjoyed having you around the castle. I’ve never quite met someone like you.”

Belle dared to look back, another mistake on her part. She was drawn back into those blue eyes, like those of a puppy begging its master not to abandon it. The forlorn longing lurking in them was palpable. She knew he suspected she would leave and that he wanted her to stay, for reasons she did not quite understand. He had never shown any overt sexual desire for her. Why was he so interested in her? If it wasn’t her body he wanted, what did he want from her? This was not something she had encountered before, and the fact she couldn’t figure out this man intrigued her.

As Belle turned to leave and left the Master’s bedchambers behind, his eyes watched her the whole way. She could feel his gaze the entire time and it sent a pleasant tingle down her spine. Perhaps it was worth staying around for a little longer. It couldn’t hurt to get to know this nobleman who seemed so fascinated with her. And it’d be downright rude to leave while he was still injured. The least she could do was stay until he had recovered so as to not hurt his feelings. By the time she had reached her chambers, Belle had come up with more than enough excuses to stay.
 
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Pour la Société Philhellénique française

Ελευθερία ή θάνατος
Liberté ou Mort

((Private - @Firehound15))
Addressed to the Office of His Excellency Monsieur le comte de Berstett, Ministre de l'intérieur
Your Excellency,

After your great reception of my previous letter and in eager hope of response, I turn to Your Excellency once again on the matter of the Greek cause. As a fellow Philhellene, you understand the undeniable importance in providing the public the information on the Greek cause to invigorate their good hearts. The means with which this is done include, but are not limited to, posters, newspaper articles, pamphlets and plays, which require the approval of your Ministry.

It is therefore that I write to Your Excellency this letter, as the value of such approval can, as I have pointed out before, not be denied. Thus, the Société Philhellénique would be honoured if it received the approval by Your Excellency to conduct its programme of invigorating the French public in favour of the Greek cause and I beg and move you to extend such approval.



Please deign to accept, Sir, this expression of my most humble sentiments,
Victor Henri Marie Louis Durand
Président de la Société Philhellénique française
Préfet et Député du Nord

((Private))

Dear father,

The fighting has been fierce here, we get few good nights of sleep here, but it has been worth it. Colonel Raybaud has appointed me Capitaine du Quatrième Compagnie du Premier Battalion, after my platoon assisted our Greek friends at Karpensi.
The Company seems to have recieved the nickname "Myrmidons", after Achilles' people, among the other commanders, eventhough the Company has little similarity with the Followers of Achilles in Troy; I hope the similarities will come with time.

How are mother and my sisters?

Yours,

Achille

 
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Voting closed. Update forthcoming. Apologies for the delays, everyone.
 
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l'Élan Journal
On the Canonisation of Louis the Martyr

The case on the canonisation of the martyred King, Louis XVI, is one that has yet to be delivered to the common French citizen. Indeed, it has not gone beyond the imagination of the few monks that ponder the greater course of the Lord, and those He blesses with unique and holy gifts. In life as in death. To which, the canonisation of Louis XVI would be not only appropriate for one whose gifts have healed the weak and sick, but apt for growing the Church, Royal Family, and average Frenchman together into a greater society under the Lord.

A saint is foretold by the Church as anyone under heaven, and from there, any bearing an exceptional likeness unto the Lord would be canonised properly as a Saint of the Church. To meet the qualifications of a martyred Saint, one had to be murdered in the Grace of God by unbelievers and for religious reasons. To which, the martyrdom of Louis XVI perfectly fits into the place of Sainthood, and thus should be considered by the Holy See as to the appropriateness to bringing our fallen King into the proper pedestal in which he is deserving.

Louis XVI, under threat by the Godless members of the National Committee and their Satanic leaders, was executed in support of Satan's goal of national anarchy. To which it did occur, until the Snake's own devious plans resulted in self-coups and murderous plots most foul, which resulted in the rise of the Tyrant. The descent of France, the dearest daughter of the Church, to such filth and debauchery was a direct result of the execution by one of the foremost defenders of the Church in France, that of Louis XVI.

Although some might wrongly deride his death as wholly political in nature, one should never underestimate the godless nature of the revolutionary scum that sought to overthrow the natural order of France. They sought nothing less than a perversion of Eden, unto the levels of Sodom or Gomorrah. As such, that our King, Louis XVI, the Martyr, to be uncanonised is an overlooked issue of great ponderance. Louis the Martyr should not be abandoned by the Church, for he never abandoned even unto his death.