In Dutch (2)
Lycaon pictus
Donor
I'll get to that in an upcoming post.
August 15, 1838
Throne Room, Buckingham Palace[1]
Even in here, you could hear the rain. After a month of lovely blue skies, now they were getting a month’s worth of bad weather all in one afternoon.
Queen Charlotte and Prince-Consort Leopold sat side by side on their thrones atop the dais. The Queen wore an ermine-collared red cape over her royal blue dress (not a full robe of state, for which the servants were no doubt grateful). The Prince-Consort was in dress uniform, sporting the magnificent muttonchops that half the young men in London had spent the last decade trying with varying degrees of success to emulate. Neither of them betrayed the slightest hint that they might have better things to do than this.
Seated at the Prince-Consort’s right hand, just beyond the dais, was Prince Christian Duke of York—which was just as well, as since his fifteenth birthday his height had stretched to the point where he was nearly as tall as his father or brother, and was having to learn all over again how to stand up straight. He had his eyes focused at the far end of the room, somehow not looking around or fidgeting.
Seated at Queen Charlotte’s left hand was the lovely Princess Amelia[2], now eighteen and in urgent need of a royal marriage before she perpetrated a scandal. Sitting next to her, in order of descending size like spoons in a complicated dinner set, were twelve-year-old Princess Caroline and nine-year-old Princess Sophia.
Henry Brougham stood at Prince Christian’s right hand. Royalty sat. Non-royalty stood. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was the royalty that was standing in front of the Queen with his translator on hand, telling them all about how his own people had betrayed him and what they needed to do about it.
At the king’s right hand was Abraham Capadose, Minister for… no one seemed to know. He wasn’t the prime minister. The Netherlands had no Prime Minister. Didn’t the Dutch once eat their prime minister after a spot of particularly bad governing? Brougham tried, but failed, to remember the details of the story. Admittedly, this Capadose looks none too appetizing, but it would be good if someone found a way of getting some use out of him.
In an attempt to sound well-informed, the king was now giving a tactical report. Brougham was at least as well aware of the situation as the king himself—that was how he’d known to have ships ready to save him. As of the last report, the rebels held North and South Holland, Utrecht, and parts of Flevoland and Gelderland. In the rest of the country, things were chaotic.
“My son and daughter should be in Berlin by now,” said the king’s translator. “They will seek an audience with the king there in the hope of raising an army to win back our throne.” He stopped, as if awaiting a response. A truer translation, thought Brougham, would be “If you don’t help us, they will.” And he knows we can’t let him regain his throne as a Prussian puppet. Putting the Netherlands in the Nordzollverein—ports, empire, and all—would give Prussia far too much power.
“There are many strong young men in Berlin,” said Charlotte. Everyone in the room made a mighty effort to keep a straight face—except Princess Sophie, who was too young to get the joke. It was well known, but never spoken of, that Prince William of the Netherlands much preferred strong young men to young women of any sort. That was one of the reasons Charlotte had been disinclined to marry him, back when she was a princess.
A flash of movement in the corner of Brougham’s eye told him that his daughter Elphinstone, standing close by, had had to cover her mouth to conceal her delighted smile. The sparkle in her dark eyes could not be hidden at all. As a lady-in-waiting who was very close to the Princess Royal, of course she would be here. Yet another reason for the Prime Minister to be on his best behavior despite the rage coursing through him.
Brougham couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this angry. People thought he must have been in a towering temper when Charlotte undercut him during the Caroline affair, but that had been more of a relief than anything else—a civil war in which he’d been up against the Duke of Wellington would have been a greater test of his cunning than strictly necessary. Perhaps it had been when he’d found out Thomas Young was right about light waves. No. That was shame, not rage. Mostly. Perhaps it had been during various defeats suffered over the course of the long campaign to end the slave trade and slavery itself. Or in that business with poor John Glasgow, or when he’d found out that Canada was in revolt.
But even then he’d had his voice. Even then he’d been able to speak—if anything, with greater freedom than he could now… or perhaps with less fear of unintended consequence.
That was at the core of it. All his work in the service of maintaining the balance of power in Europe was in jeopardy now, thanks to the blunders of fools in high places. Utter, utter fools, who knew he was the man to talk to but still demanded a royal audience in the Throne Room itself, out of some warped sense that Queen Charlotte should have been the one with the real power. And not only was he uncertain he would be able to set matters right, but diplomacy required he hold his tongue rather than tell these fools what fools they were and how they should at least feel sorry for the trouble they were causing him.
All was not lost. At this very moment, while they all wasted time in this royal audience that both the king and the more-royalist-than-the-king Capadose had insisted upon, Palmerston was speaking with John Gijsbert Verstolk van Soelen, the Dutch foreign minister. Perhaps something would come of that conversation. No “perhaps” about it—it must. If only the Dutch had had the decency to proclaim a republic, we might have tolerated that. Many would have welcomed it. But they had to declare for a prince of House Bonaparte. The loss of Antwerp to France at the end of the last war was quite bad enough. If the whole Netherlands falls into the French orbit… if I were to allow that to happen, I would deserve the vote of no confidence I’d surely get.
And King William knows it. Or perhaps he doesn’t, but his advisers know it. Fools though they surely are, they know we cannot ignore them. Another damned stupid king who bungled away his throne, no different from the Turk or Louis the XVIII or Francis of the Two Sicilies or any number of hapless Italian lords cast down by Murat… yet we cannot treat him so.
Much as he deserves it.
At this point Capadose, apparently not content with being merely thought a fool, requested permission to open his mouth and remove all doubt, which the Queen granted. “Your Majesty, I remind you of the Declaration of Pillnitz: ‘als einen Gegenstand eines gemeinschaftlichen Interesse für alle europäische Souverains.’” Unlike his daughter, Brougham knew no German. He did, however, know what the Declaration of Pillnitz had been, and quietly marveled that this donkey seemed to think of it as a good precedent to cite, rather than as an example of good intentions gone horribly awry. Austria might have simply guarded the borders. Prussia might have simply pledged its support to Austria in case of war. They might have let France stew in its juices. Instead they made it their business who ruled in Paris. And God forgive all fools, we did the same. So many years of war, so many lives thrown away, so much wealth sunk, to so little end…
Capadose, from the sound of things, was still quoting the Declaration: “‘…in vollkommenster Freyheit die Grundlagen einer monarchischen Regierung zu bevestigen, die den Rechten der Souverains eben so zuträglich sey, als dem Wohl der’—the Dutch nation, in this case.” Brougham wondered if it was true what he’d heard, that communities of Jews rid themselves of unwanted or useless members by coercing them into conversion.[3] It would explain Abraham Capadose. Alas, it would not explain why his fellow Christians ever chose to pay him any heed… especially on the subject of bodily health, which was not his area of expertise, to the extent that he had one.
“Thank you for that elucidation of the Declaration of Pillnitz, Mr. Capadose,” said Charlotte. Whatever else she might have learned from her mother in the little time they had together, Brougham was certain she hadn’t learned German.
***
After many further hints, Queen Charlotte finally managed to persuade Capadose to direct his attentions toward the British Prime Minister. Brougham gritted his teeth. There were so many things he was aching to say to this jackanapes, but he could not say them.
Elphinstone gave a half-curtsy to the Dutch minister. “Goede dag, Meneer Capadose.”
Capadose turned to Elphie with sudden interest. “Jij spreekt Nederlands?”
“Een beetje.”
Capadose lowered his voice. “Ik hoop dat uw vader Zijne Majesteit zal helpen.” Word order aside, that sounded enough like I hope that your father will help His Majesty that Brougham got the general idea. “Hij is Gods uitverkoren koning.”
Elphie lowered her voice a little more. “Ja. Als God wilde… dat Nederland een goede regering had… hadden ze die gehad.” Brougham had no idea what that meant, but every single member of the Dutch retinue suddenly turned to stare, looking aghast. Apparently she hadn’t lowered her voice quite enough to get away with whatever that was. Oh dear. Must I thrash you, Elphie? Eighteen is surely old enough to know better.
Every member, that is, except for Capadose himself. He nodded, said, “Heel wijs,” then turned to Brougham and said, “Your daughter is a most sound theologian.”
“Young Miss Brougham is one of the greatest scholars of her generation, and we are indeed privileged to have her in our court,” said Charlotte. “And we really must not keep her from her studies any longer.” She gave Elphie a quick glance, as if to say I have no idea what mischief you just managed, but you’d better not be here when I find out.
“Perhaps we might speak privately?” Brougham gestured toward the Green Drawing Room.
“You find us at an unfortunate moment,” said Brougham as soon as he was reasonably sure they were far enough away that no one was listening. “Our armies are called away on many errands against powerful foes.” You fool. You idiot. You God-bothering nincompoop. There are tyrants with less blood on their hands than you and King William have accumulated with your pious incompetence.
“I don’t see the problem. You already have a foothold in the Netherlands.”
Brougham bit his tongue. Yes, the Royal Navy had captured the Frisian Islands, and was currently holding them in the name of King William. The trouble with the Frisian Islands was, well, they were islands. That made them easy to capture if you had a large, powerful navy. It also meant that having gone to all the trouble of an amphibious landing to capture them, you then had to perform another one—and probably a more difficult one, now that the enemy was forewarned—if you wanted to make any further progress. It took a mind like Capadose’s to miss such an obvious point.
“Our Navy can more easily defend the islands than attack from them,” said Brougham. By now they were at the colonnade. The noise of the rain should defeat any eavesdroppers. “But so long as we hold them, the rebels can never claim to rule all the Netherlands. And if we can come to a settlement in North America”—A cease-fire. With that slave-driving idiot Berrien. So that we can defend a bad king and his worthless advisors from the consequences of their misgovernment.—“we can begin moving our forces into Europe. Hanover, I think, would be a better staging ground, if their king and Parliament are willing.” Unless they want to be caught between France and Prussia, they had damned well better be. Then again, who knows what King Victor will do? They say he’s a romantic fool.
“Surely that rabble can’t stand against your army.”
“The first problem, as I understand it, is that at least half your army has already joined that ‘rabble,’ if not more.” Because they have had enough of you. Because many a soldier has nephews and nieces in the poorest parts of your cities. Do the congregants of the Dutch Reformed Church put out their lights when the sun goes down and sleep in the open under winter stars? I think not. The Lord may have sent the rain—He seems to have sent rather a lot of it today—yet we all carry umbrellas on days such as this. It is Man’s right and duty to seek remedies for every ill which uncaring Nature inflicts upon us, you insufferable halfwit. Vaccination is but the latest such remedy.
“The second problem is of course that France may choose to intervene in order to defend the Bonapartist claim. That would require more force than even a united Netherlands could muster. Possibly more than the Netherlands and Prussia together.” And there would go our whole policy in the Balkans, where we and the French are cooperating to keep Russia out of the Mediterranean. Of all the nations to succumb to the silly notion that none must ever dare presume to alter the world in any way from the original divine plan… the Netherlands? Is this a joke? On which day did God create your famous dikes? How much of your country was once fen or lakebed? Or ocean? Now it is good farmland and prosperous towns, because your people chose to make it so.
“I begin to think it’s true what old Willem said,” said Capadose. “Willem Bilderdijk, I mean. He always said that the End Times were coming, and the Reformed Church and the House of Orange would play a crucial role in the great battle against the Adversary.”
So much for any hope of sanity in this quarter, thought Brougham. A cease-fire across the pond, then. And this time, let us make sure the war has entirely stopped before we begin the peace talks. Seizing New Orleans in the midst of negotiations won us a small ally and a bitter and growing foe. Not the sort of success I’d care to repeat.
At the same time, it would be good if Palmerston took his time with the negotiations. And if we do manage to resolve this Dutch mess, let us send Berrien an offer he can’t accept. If we must resume the war later, I think our treasury can endure it longer than his.
[1] As IOTL, King George IV decided to turn Carlton House into townhouses and sell them, using the money to start turning Buckingham House into Buckingham Palace. Charlotte had the place finished, but didn’t move in until 1836, when she gave Claremont House to the Prince and Princess of Wales.
[2] For royalty and title trivia buffs, Amelia is the current Princess Royal. She was granted the title in 1829, after Queen-Consort Charlotte of Württemberg died and her mother became the reigning British monarch.
[3] I encountered this idea, or possibly prejudice, in Robert Browning’s poem “Holy Cross Day” (“See to our converts—you doomed black dozen—/No stealing away—nor cog nor cozen!/You five, that were thieves, deserve it fairly;/You seven, that were beggars, will live less sparely”) but I couldn’t say if it was current among Christians before then. Having read some of Capadose’s apologia, I can say that he really felt the need for some kind of religion in his life and came from a politically liberal Jewish family that practiced only perfunctory worship.
