The Eternals Rivals

A tense atmosphere had settled over the Château de Versailles for the past few days. Gone were the carefree times when balls, banquets, plays, operas, and fireworks were organized. Even in the splendid salons of the most beautiful palace in the world, people barely dared to exchange jokes.

Everyone feared receiving bad news from Saxony and Hanover, where it was said that His Majesty's armies and their valiant allies were fiercely clashing with the formidable Prussian troops. The nobility that populated this immense palace, which seemed particularly somber under the relentless rain, held its breath.

The latest news indicated that the King of Prussia was turning back after days of trying to escape the powerful army assembled to destroy him, and he was now threatening to eliminate the scattered units of the two commanders: Prince de Soubise and General Hilburghausen. A massive battle had likely taken place, but the outcome was still unknown, even though it was already November 12th!

His Majesty, Louis XV, who had been nicknamed "le Bien-Aimé" (the Beloved) after surviving an illness in 1744 with the help of God and his grateful people, was more impatient and nervous than usual. He had not been seen like this since the birth of his last child in 1737, twenty years earlier.

This nervousness, a highly contagious ailment, had eventually reached his ministers, who had previously shown confidence. Even his mistress, Madame de Pompadour, was beginning to worry about not receiving any news from the man she had suggested for this extremely prestigious office.

If Prince de Soubise failed, it would be her name that would be tarnished. Ultimately, she would be blamed for all the losses suffered, even though she was miles away from the front.

Louis XV was pacing back and forth in his study, passing briskly in front of his closest advisors. His Minister of War, Antoine-René de Voyer de Paulmy d'Argenson, nephew of the previous minister who had been exiled earlier that year, watched him, but refrained from saying anything that could be misinterpreted. He did not want to lose his position just a few months after obtaining it.

This man was not very impressive in appearance, but his mind was sharp. He was known for his remarkable library, which was said to be the largest privately owned collection. He chose his books with extreme rigor. He was also known for his peculiar gaze; while one eye looked to the right, the other looked to the left. It was said to be very strange to converse with him face to face because one could never tell if he was looking at you or elsewhere.

The Abbé Bernis was also present as the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, along with several high-ranking generals. His son, the Dauphin Louis of France, was also there.

The only sounds in the room were the King's footsteps, the ticking of a clock, and the rain against the windows.

Then there was a knock at the door, and a valet entered, holding two small envelopes sealed with wax. With the utmost respect, the man bowed before the divinely ordained monarch and handed him the precious letters.

"One is from Prince de Soubise," the King said anxiously, standing before a painting of himself as a glorious leader of men. "The other is from the Duke of Richelieu. I'll open the Prince's letter first."

With trembling hands, he broke the seal bearing the Prince's coat of arms and pulled out a sheet of paper covered in fine but perfectly legible black ink writing. He immediately began to read the message in silence, closely observed by the men present. They all wore the same expression, subtly blending anticipation and fear.

Louis XV's lips moved slightly as he read, but it was impossible to discern what he was saying. Finally, he stopped. The ministers, generals, and the Dauphin held their breath. The King read the letter again, visibly shocked, and the more he read, the more his emotions showed. Everyone could see the joy on his face, marked by the years.

The King straightened up, a rare smile on his lips, and declared in a clear voice: "Gentlemen, listen to this news from the battlefield."

The ministers all took a step closer, their full attention focused on the trembling monarch, who was almost ecstatic.

"Your Majesty, today, November 5, 1757, your troops achieved a great victory in Saxony, near a village called Rossbach. Our forces inflicted a crushing defeat on His Majesty's enemies, from which they will not recover. Half of Frederick's army is dead, incapacitated, or captured. All seventy-nine of the enemy's artillery pieces have been seized, along with a large number of their flags and standards. His Majesty Frederick II of Prussia and His Highness Prince Henry of Prussia have been captured and will be safely escorted to one of our strongholds until, if it pleases Your Majesty, a ransom is demanded. I took the liberty, Sire, of sending a letter to Berlin today to inform our enemies of the situation and to await further orders. Your devoted servant, Charles de Rohan, Prince de Soubise."

All were stunned beyond words upon hearing all these news. Saying they were good would be an understatement. These were wonderful news. If they were dreaming, none of them wanted to wake up.

"Congratulations, Your Majesty, on your great victory!" exclaimed the Minister of War, the first to applaud the King, who was as happy and proud as ever.

"Congratulations, Your Majesty!" echoed the others behind him. "The news will soon spread across Europe and then the world! All those who doubted your armies and your officers will have no choice but to hide in the hope that they are forgotten!"

"Haha! Well said, Abbé! Ah, this letter has made us thirsty. Everyone, take a glass!"

The King, contrary to protocol, served drinks to his advisors, not forgetting his son, who deserved the nickname "Beloved" far more than he did.

"Um, pardon me, Sire," said a tall general with a serious face, "but what does the other letter say?"

"Oh, that's true. We had forgotten. A letter from Marshal de Richelieu… also dated November 5th."

The men stopped drinking and resumed a dignified position around the King of France.

"Your Majesty, I have the honor of informing you that our forces achieved a great victory over the Prussian enemy near a village named Rossbach today. As I had the honor of recounting in my letter of September 30th, after capturing the fortified town of Magdeburg, abandoned by the Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg, and seizing in your name the supplies and equipment useful to his armies, we set out on November 2nd, and not on the 1st as planned. As I had the honor of explaining, we learned that the French and Imperial armies were threatened by Frederick II's army, augmented by the Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg's army. We therefore marched south for four days and arrived near Rossbach as your armies and those of the Emperor, despite their numerical advantage, were on the verge of losing the battle. Our squadrons immediately struck the enemy from behind, sowing chaos in the Prussian cavalry and infantry ranks. Our regiments arrived shortly after, having expended all their remaining energy in this battle for the glory of Your Majesty. The enemy, taken by surprise between two forces, was unable to regroup and hastened to flee when they realized all hope of victory was lost. At the same time, the Picardy Regiment, commanded by Sieur de Bréhant, led the assault on the hill from which His Majesty the King of Prussia was commanding his troops and where all his artillery was located. Quickly encircling this hill, they managed to capture a great number of officers, including His Majesty and His Highness Prince Henry. It is undoubtedly a great victory for Your Majesty, and I am delighted to have made my modest contribution. The enemy seems to be retreating towards Leipzig; it will likely take us a few days to recover and resume our march to take possession of this city in your name. Your devoted servant, de Richelieu."

Once again, the ministers and generals were speechless. There was such a discrepancy between the two letters recounting the same events that even the King no longer knew what to think. While the second letter clearly indicated that the victory was due to the intervention of Richelieu's troops, he was not mentioned at all in Prince de Soubise's letter!

It was incomprehensible!

"Is it thanks to His Grace the Duke of Richelieu that we won this great victory? Why is this not mentioned in Prince de Soubise's letter? And what letter is he referring to? Did you know that he had captured Magdeburg, Your Majesty?"

"Certainly not! I thought he was still in Halberstadt!"

There was another knock at the study door, and another valet appeared, out of breath as if he had run through the entire château.

"A-a letter from His Grace the Duke of Richelieu!"

"Give it to us," the King ordered, breaking the wax seal.

The man obeyed and disappeared through the same door he had entered.

"It's the letter dated September 30th," the monarch sighed. "No matter, it is a great victory that we have won! We will quickly sort this out and reward those who deserve to be rewarded! Ah, what I wouldn't give to see the face of that old grouch!"

Imagining the reaction of his old rival, the King of Great Britain, Louis XV's smile grew even wider.

"Let's organize a grand celebration! We want our laughter, music, songs, and dancing to be heard all the way to London!"

***

This November 14th had begun with a thick fog, but by now it was raining so heavily that it was impossible to set foot outside without risking illness in the coming days. The streets of London were as gray as the Thames or the sky, so much so that one might have thought night was about to fall. Yet it was only early afternoon!

A few people could still be seen here and there, walking briskly on the slippery cobblestones while avoiding muddy areas and the piles of dung left by horses. They walked close to the buildings to take advantage of the shelter they offered, as it was customary for the upper floors to extend over the streets.

Although there were still lights on in the shops, it was, in many cases, a big waste, as customers were not venturing out in such dreadful weather. Not only was it raining heavily, turning the streets into rivers, but there was also a steady and powerful wind blowing from the west. At times, it mercilessly whipped the unfortunate passersby, blowing into their coats and knocking off their tricorn hats.

In St. James's Palace, an old red-brick building constructed two centuries earlier and seemingly untouched by time, a massive fire was burning peacefully in a fireplace, slowly warming the occupants of a large room dimly lit by chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.

This palace could not be compared to the Berliner Schloss or the Palace of Versailles, but behind each brick lay a story. Great kings and queens had passed through, slept within its walls, and signed important decrees for the future of this kingdom, which seemed to have weathered everything.

The dancing flames cast grotesque and distorted shadows on the walls adorned with paintings of monarchs, princes, and princesses. The air, only slightly warmer than in the neighboring room where no fire burned, felt heavy.

Anyone entering the room at that moment might easily think that the few occupants were plotting some heinous conspiracy.

Perhaps they would have preferred that, for at least they could act and easily rectify the situation. Here, that was not the case. The reason for this palpable tension was a hastily written letter from His Majesty's British ambassador in Berlin.

Alas, the news was not good: their only ally on the continent had been defeated a few days earlier. No, it would be more accurate to say that they were crushed. Their army had been reduced by half, perhaps more if they tried, as was written, to hold out in a siege at Leipzig. Worse, the King of Prussia had been captured!

"This is a disaster," croaked the King of England, Scotland, and Ireland like a raven. "We have no one left on the continent to retake Hanover."

My precious Hanover... The land where I was born...

The ministers, especially the Duke of Newcastle in his capacity as Prime Minister, refrained from reminding him that he was King of Great Britain before being Elector of Hanover and that his duty was to prioritize the British people.

"Your Majesty, do not worry," the Duke replied with surprising calm. "The war is only just beginning."

"And that is precisely what worries me, sir. This war is only just beginning, yet it has already cost us so much! Parliament must absolutely vote to raise funds to send troops to Hanover, or it will fall in a matter of days, weeks at best!"

"I completely understand, Sire," the Prime Minister began diplomatically. "Unfortunately, our resources are limited, and we are under attack everywhere, particularly in North America. With our recent failure at Rochefort, Parliament will hesitate to send more troops to the continent, especially if it's not to directly harm France. Hanover, I fear, is not the priority for these people."

"I know that, alas, all too well..." the King sighed, suddenly weary.

George II settled into a chair near the fire, with a large hunting dog beside him that didn't even bother to lift its head. He slowly took his face in his hands and remained motionless for a long moment that seemed to stretch into eternity.

Cursed Parliamentarians! Even those of the Whig party! They understand nothing! They don't care what happens to Hanover. To them, it's not 'home'! They only think about Great Britain and its interests! Why?!

"They prefer," the King resumed as if answering his own questions, "to focus all our resources on our colonies, our islands, and our trading posts rather than on this territory they don't recognize as their own. They would rather abandon it to our enemies than deploy troops there. But they don't seem to understand that if they truly abandon this territory, a second front for the Kingdom of France, we will be truly alone against the storm."

"As I said, Your Majesty, the war is only just beginning. Did not our ambassador say that several high-ranking officers of Frederick II managed to escape and retreat safely to Leipzig? They could cause significant damage, force His Majesty the King of France to send or maintain a large force there, and perhaps even change the minds of your Parliamentarians. And if that doesn't work, we can always recover what was lost later, once we have won this war."

George II said nothing.

Never before had the old king, who was over seventy, felt so alone, weak, and powerless. More than ever, he felt like a vase, a decorative object that could be replaced from time to time. His rival, Louis XV, wielded real power. Even if he had his own problems with his parliaments, he could move his troops as he pleased.

Slowly, he nodded, his gaze lost in the comforting glow of the flames rising from the large logs in the fireplace.

Fortunately, we have an excellent army and the best navy in the world! No one disrespects us without paying a heavy price!

"Very well. I trust you."

But make those French pay for this affront! Let their ports burn along with all their ships! Let there be nothing left but ashes! I want the name of King Louis to be remembered as the destroyer of his own kingdom! Louis the Accursed! Louis the Weak! Louis the Hated!