“But why?”
“That is a more intelligent question. What you have just witnessed here, Eliza, is the spark that ignites the pan, that fires the musket, that ejects the ball, that fells the king. If you do nothing else today, fix that clearly in your mind. Now I have no choice but to make Britain mine. But I shall require troops, and I dare not pull so many of them from my southern marches while Louis menaces me there. But if, as I expect, Louis decides to enlarge his realms at the expense of the Germans, he’ll draw off his forces on his Dutch flank, and free me to send mine across the North Sea.”
“But what has this to do with Liselotte?”
“Liselotte is the grand-daughter of the Winter Queen-who, some say, sparked the Thirty Years’ War by accepting the crown of Bohemia. At any rate the said Queen spent most of those Thirty Years just yonder, in the Hague-my people sheltered her, for Bohemia was by then a shambles, and the Palatinate, which was rightfully hers, had fallen to the Papists as a spoil of that war. But when the Peace of Westphalia was finally signed, some forty years ago now, the Palatinate was returned to that family; the Winter Queen’s eldest son, Charles Louis, became Elector Palatinate. Various of his siblings, including Sophie, moved there, and set up housekeeping in Heidelberg Castle. Liselotte is the daughter of that same Charles Louis, and grew up in that household. Charles Louis died a few years ago and passed the crown to the brother of Liselotte, who was demented-he died not long ago conducting a mock-battle at one of his Rhine-castles. Now the succession is in dispute. The King of France has very chivalrously decided to take the side of Liselotte, who, after all, is his sister-in-law now.”
“It is very adroit,” Eliza said. “By extending a brotherly hand to Madame, Le Roi can add the Palatinate to France.”
“Indeed, it would be a pleasure to watch Louis XIV go about his work, if he were not the Antichrist,” William said. “I cannot help Liselotte and I can do nothing for the poor people of the Palatinate. But I can make France pay for the Rhine with the British Isles.”
“You need to know if Le Roi intends to move his regiments away from your borders, towards the Rhine.”
“Yes. And no one is in a better position to know that than Liselotte-if not precisely a pawn, she is a sort of captured queen, on France’s side of the board.”
“If the stakes are that high, then I suppose the least I can do is contrive some way to get close to Liselotte.”
“I don’t want you to get close to her, I want you to seduce her, I want you to make her your slave. ”
“I was trying to be delicate.”
“My apologies!” William said with a courtly bow, looking her up and down. Covered in salt and sand, and wrapped up in a bloody dragoon-coat, Eliza couldn’t have looked delicate at all. William looked as if he were on the verge of saying as much. But he thought better of it, and looked away.
“You have ennobled me, my prince. It was done some years ago. You have grown used to thinking of me as a noblewoman, even if that is only a secret between you and me. To Versailles I am still a commoner, and a foreigner to boot. As long as this remains true you may be assured that Liselotte will have nothing to do with me.”
“ In public.”
“Even in private! Not everyone there is as much of a hypocrite as you seem to think.”
“I did not say it would be easy. This is why I am asking you to do it.”
“As I said, I am willing to give it a try. But if d’Avaux has seen me here today, going back to Versailles would seem unwise.”
“D’Avaux prides himself on playing a deep and subtle game, and that is his weakness,” William announced. “Besides, he depends on your financial advice. He will not crush you immediately. ”
“ Later,then?”
“He’ll try to,” William corrected her.
“And he will succeed.”
“No. For by that point you will be the mistress of Madame-Liselotte-the King’s sister-in-law. Who has her rivals and her weaknesses, true-but who is of infinitely higher rank than d’Avaux.”
To Leibniz, February 3, 1688
Doctor,
Madame has graciously offered to send this letter to Hanover along with some others that her friend is carrying personally to Sophie, and so I’ll dispense with the cypher.
You may wonder why Madame is offering such courtesies to me now, since in the past she has always viewed me as a mouse turd in the pepper.
It seems that as the King of France was rising one day recently, he remarked, to the nobles who were attending his getting-out-of-bed ceremony, that he had heard that “the woman from Qwghlm” was secretly of noble blood.
It was a secret even to me until an hour or so later, when I heard someone calling for “Mademoiselle la comtesse de la Zeur,” which (as I slowly figured out) is their way of trying to pronounce Sghr. As you may know, my island is a well-known Hazard to Navigation, recognizable, to terrified sailors, by its three towers of rock, which we denote by that name. Evidently some courtier, who had been so reckless as to sail within view of Qwghlm at some point, remembered this detail and concocted a title for me. To the Court ladies here, especially those of ancient families, it has a savage ring to it. Fortunately there are many foreign princesses here who do not have such exacting standards, and they have already sent minions around to invite me to parties.
Of course Kings may ennoble commoners whenever they please, and so it isn’t clear to me why someone has gone to the trouble of making me out to be a hereditary noble. Here is a clue, though: Father Edouard de Gex has been asking me questions about the Qwghlmian Church, which is not technically Protestant in that it was founded before the Roman Catholic Church was established (or at least before anyone notified the Qwghlmians). The Father speaks of going to visit Qwghlm to seek out proofs that our faith is really no different from his and that the two should be merged.
Meanwhile I keep hearing expressions of sympathy from various French nobles, who cluck their tongues over the barbaric occupation of my homeland by England. In fact, every Qwghlmian would be pleased if Englishmen did come and occupy our Island, for presumably they would bring some food and warm clothes. I suspect that Louis knows he may soon see a sworn enemy sitting on the throne of England, and is making ready to out-flank that foe by shoring up relations with places such as Ireland, Scotland, and that flyspeck of rock where I was born. It has been ages since Qwghlm had hereditary nobles (nine hundred years ago the Scots rounded them all up and sealed them into a cave with some bears), but now they have decided I am one. Mother would have been so proud!
According to the date at the top of your last letter, you penned it while you were paying a visit to Sophie’s daughter at the Court of Brandenburg around the time of Christmas. Please tell me what Berlin is like! I know that many Huguenots have ended up there. It is strange to consider that only a few years ago Sophie and Ernst August were offering their daughter’s hand in marriage to Louis XIV. Yet now Sophie Charlotte is Electress of Brandenburg instead, and (if the rumors are to be believed) presiding over a salon of religious dissidents and free-thinkers in Berlin. If the marriage had gone the other way she would bear a measure of responsibility for putting the very same men to death or slavery. I can’t help but suppose she is happier where she is.
They say that Sophie Charlotte participates in the discussions of those savants with ever so much poise and confidence. I can’t help but suppose that this is because she grew up around you, Doctor, and listened to the conversations you had with her mother. Now that I am reckoned a Countess, and am considered fit to exchange chit-chat with Madame, I have begged her to tell me what you and Sophie talk about at Hanover. But she only rolls her eyes and claims that erudite talk makes no sense to her. I believe that she has spent too much time around self-styled Alchemists, and suspects that all such talk is rubbish.