“Not bad,” Maria Anna said judiciously. “A person can almost envision the editor frothing with righteous indignation as he writes.”
Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar, brother of the new USE prime minister who has so ineffectively responded to the recent spate of Committee of Correspondence-instigated riots, with equal sanctimony, has seen fit to occupy southern Lorraine. Officially, he also has disguised this act of sheer political opportunism as a response to the Pechelbronn raid and Monsieur Gaston’s adventurousness. What the USE now faces, therefore, is a bastardized “joint protectorate” over Lorraine, the specific terms of which were, we hear, negotiated by Maria Anna quondam archduchess of Austria now claiming the title of queen and Claudia de’ Medici quondam grand duchess of Tuscany, now claiming the title of grand duchess of the county of Burgundy.
This time, it was Maria Anna who giggled. “Is that why Bernhard picked that particular title, really? So he would be equal to the one you had by birth?”
“It’s as good an explanation as any. Personally, I think it’s the result of being the youngest of the surviving sons. He wants to score off his older brothers by ending up with more than they have. More land. More prestige. Umm–not more endless forms of address on his correspondence. More, more, more. It’s one of those tendencies I will have to try to moderate with time. He’s really quite brilliant in his own way,” Claudia said kindly. “He was just at the wrong age when his mother died––not quite thirteen. He needs a woman’s influence.”
Both participants in this travesty have stationed occupying forces in Lorraine.
Maria Anna peeked out the window at streets filled with marching men. “Why, what do you know? So they have.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Jacques Callot produced a series of engravings to supplement the one of some years earlier, The Horrors of War.
The past couple of years had created enough new horrors to make it worth his while. Now there were such things as the death of Hans Richter in his flying machine, the death of the diver in Copenhagen, the sinking of the ironclad ship––the new technologies to insert as a counterpoint to the continuation of the “traditional” types of horror in this spring’s Lorraine campaign.
Balthasar Moncornet produced a series of not-necessarily-flattering engraved portraits of the important guests and visitors. Like van de Passe, he had purchased the copies of Daumier drawings that were published from photographs taken in Grantville.
Both did reasonably well from the current turn of events. As Moncornet said, the van de Passes weren’t the only people in Europe who were capable of producing graphical comments on society and politics. Both sets also sold quite well at the Frankfurter Buchmesse, making a substantial profit for both the artists and the publisher––their very own Lorraine ducal court printer, right here in town.
Nancy had its own resources when it came to satire.
✽ ✽ ✽
Bernhard strode into Claudia’s private room. “My Lady Wife, we have a guest. A rather unwilling guest, but a guest nonetheless.”
Claudia looked up. “Dr. Volmar?”
Dr. Volmar, formerly chancellor of the Tyrolese administration in Alsatian Ensisheim, was clearly rather unwilling to be a guest. Each of his arms was firmly held by a rather large member of the grand duke’s uniformed bodyguard.
“We––well, Moscherosch, to be precise, along with some of his friends who are prone to publish the occasional supposedly funny political commentary––have determined that he is the author of the satires.” Bernhard did not seem inclined to be amused.
“The ones about the new constitution in Tyrol? I suspected as much, but aren’t they covered under the new ‘freedom of speech’ and ‘freedom of the press’ provisions?”
“Those,” Bernhard said, “And yes, they are. But that is not all.”
Volmar was looking sicker and sicker.
“He also wrote the rude satires on our marriage,” Bernhard said. “The obscene ones. The ones which insulted your dignity, your...”
“My decision to marry a French-allied Lutheran,” Claudia said. “Dr. Volmar’s pro-Austrian sympathies are well-known.”
“Your honor, your virtue,...”
“The fact that I have been married three times now, with some unfortunately spicy allusions to the probable events of our wedding night.”
“I found the allegations based upon the fact that several years ago, the Tyrolese commander of Breisach had named two of the bastions ‘Leopold’ and ‘Claudia,’ combined with his comments on my conquest of the fortress, particularly rude and offensive. He will now,” Bernhard said, “do penance. Very suitable, since he is, after all, a Catholic, and thus may regard it as an opportunity for contrition on his part rather than retribution on my part. Let us move this discussion to the grand salon and send for every important person who is still in this city.”
✽ ✽ ✽
The grand duke had copies of the satires. All of them. No individual pamphlet was particularly thick, but together they amounted to quite a pile of ink-printed rag paper.
The personal satires, only. The grand duke invited impartial witnesses to observe that the purely political satires on Tyrol’s entry into the USE, no matter how venomous, were not included in the stack.
“No,” the grand duke said in answer to the chancellor’s stammered request. “You may not boil them. You do not deserve the courtesy of a kitchen. Neither may you have water, beer, or wine with which to wash them down.”
“My Lord and Husband,” Claudia protested. “The man is past fifty years of age.”
“Old enough to think before he picks up his pen to write. He will swallow his literary productions uncooked.”
In the presence of the assembled dignitaries, Dr. Isaac Volmar ate his words.
Magdeburg
“So Charles IV remains titular Duke of Lorraine,” Philipp Sattler said.
“God in heavens, why?” Prime Minister Stearns was not happy.
“Something to do with the principle of legitimacy,” Francisco Nasi answered. “Both Claudia and Maria Anna apparently consider it to be important. Would you care to apply your excellent mind, Michael, to figuring out why that is the case?”
Sattler kept going. “He’s titular duke of a Lorraine which somehow during the negotiations has absorbed the intermixed former ecclesiastical principalities of Metz, Toul, and Verdun and any number of French enclaves. Their bishops will remain bishops, but no longer sovereign princes––not that they have have actually been sovereign princes since the French occupation, in any case. That’s old news. The French have held all three dioceses since 1552––the Holy Roman Empire has just refused to recognize the occupation as legal for the past eighty years.”
Nasi nodded. “I’m sure that seemed familiar enough to the king in the Low Countries. He’s already absorbed Liège. I expect the left-bank territories of the Archdiocese of Cologne to vanish in the same direction just any minute now, since Gustavus is preoccupied in the east. If Essen doesn’t nibble some of them up, of course.”
“I agree,” Sattler said. “The emperor has been made aware of these developments.” His face took on a frustrated expression. “By the time the emperor has time to consider the implications, it will probably be too late for him to intervene outside of outright war.”
“Which the USE cannot afford. No two fronts.” Stearns said it, but Wilhelm Wettin would have if Stearns hadn’t gotten there first. If neither of them had said it, Hermann of Hesse-Rotenburg would have. There were a few topics on which the USE cabinets, current and shadow, were pretty much unanimous.
Nasi kept going with his original train of thought. “The Spanish don’t have these independent ecclesiastical principalities that were dotted through the old Holy Roman Empire. Fernando doesn’t like them. Plus, being a Habsburg, he can make a colorable claim that he’s merely righting a past injustice to imperial principalities.”
Sattler cleared his throat. “A very pastel shade, to be sure. I assure you tha
t neither Fernando nor Bernhard had, from the beginning, the slightest intention of returning Charles IV from Brussels to his hypothetical domains. Not given his rather clear lack of talent for either civil administration or military enterprise, combined with his overweening self-esteem, not to mention his matrimonial and extra-matrimonial tangles. Duchess Nicole has indeed, as rumored, petitioned for a legal separation.”
“So?” Stearns drummed his fingers on the table.
“For the time being, they have established Lorraine under a ‘joint protectorate’ of the king in the Low Countries and Grand Duke Bernhard, with Claudia de’' Medici as the official regent. Not only is her mother Christine of Lorraine, which makes her the first cousin of this whole generation of the ducal house, but the theory appears to be that she’s likely to look out for the interests of both her current husband and the Habsburg relatives of her prior husband and her children––the king and queen in the Low Countries being among such relatives. For day-to-day administrative purposes, she will be represented on-site and in practical military matters by Johann Aldringen. They’ve hired him jointly.”
“Aldringen?” Wettin exhaled with surprise. “That’s... Really, that’s a brilliant choice. If I were still a field commander, mind you, I’d prefer not to be facing off against Aldringen. But with Franz von Mercy out of the picture––if Aldringen is going to be facing off against someone, I’d far rather see him in Lorraine opposing the French than also working for Ferdinand III with the prospect that he might be facing Gustavus some time soon.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s really convenient for the USE military,” Mike Stearns said. “But why so brilliant?”
“Born at Thionville and his father worked as a municipal lawyer in Luxemburg, so acceptable to Isabella Clara Eugenia,” Nasi said. “Former imperial commander, loyal to Ferdinand II, so acceptable to Fernando––or, at least, to Maria Anna. He fought in the Netherlands, of course.”
Mike snorted. “Didn’t everybody?”
“That war did go on for eighty years,” Hermann of Hesse-Rotenburg said mildly. “It’s not surprising that so many professionals got their early training in that theater.”
“There’s even more than what Francisco has told you. He worked for Archduke Leopold at the Tyrol court in Innsbruck, so he’ll be acceptable to Claudia, not to mention that he’s fluent in Italian. He’s experienced in both flatland and mountain fighting. Experience under Wallenstein, though the king of Bohemia never liked him––called him an ‘ink drinker’ because he started as Madruzzi’s secretary rather than as a fighter. Since his wife died last year, he’s no longer tied to Gallas because they married sisters, not that he was ever given to wine, women, and song the way Gallas was.” Wettin laughed suddenly. “And once upon a time, in your other world, he was roundly defeated by one Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar. His grace in dying in battle under those particular circumstances should make him acceptable even to my brother.”
“How old is he?” Stearns asked.
“Close to fifty,” Nasi answered.
“Children whose interest interests he’ll be pushing?”
“His own children, two boys, died as an infants. Brothers and sisters, though not as many nephews and nieces as you might expect from a family that large.” Nasi looked around. “Are there any?”
Hermann made a vaguely negative motion. “One of his brothers––Paul, I think his name is––is the suffragan bishop of Strassburg. That means he does all the diocesan work for Maria Anna’s little brother Leopold Wilhelm, who’s been the politically appointed bishop there since he was twelve years old. That should make coordinating with Bernhard and Claudia when it comes to confessional problems easier. The other brother is also a bishop, but not of a wealthy or prominent see.” He glanced around for assistance.
“Marcus,” Philipp Sattler said. “He’s bishop of Seckau, over in Austria. Out of the picture for us. There were several sisters, but I think that only two married. One is a nun in Cologne. At least one of the girls who married has children and she’s still young enough to have more.”
“Not highly born, then?”
Amalie shook her head. “Respectable, certainly. Middle-class. Snobs tend to refer to his father as a ‘city clerk,’ and not to mean it as a compliment.”
“Hell,” Mike said. “Maybe he really is a brilliant choice.”
“We down-timers do have our moments.” Francisco Nasi took off his glasses and polished the lenses.
Nancy, Lorraine
“It’s a formal letter of congratulations on your marriage, from Landgrave Wilhelm of Hesse-Kassel and Landgravine Amalie.” Michael John entered it into his ledger of letters received and placed it on the desk.
“Anything special?” Bernhard grunted absentmindedly.
“The landgravine references your prior occasions of working together with her brother Philipp Moritz, and encloses a separate letter for the grand duchess.”
Claudia reached out a slender hand. “Let me see.” She read aloud:
Please call upon Philipp if he can be of assistance to either Bernhard or Fernando in Lorraine, since he is still in Metz. His wife Sybille Christine has left Metz and gone to Jena, to see if the physicians at the new hospital there can enable her to bear stronger children, since only the one little girl born two years ago is still alive and she is expected to deliver soon. I hope the up-timers can be of assistance, for if our line fails, Münzenburg will fall to the Hanau-Lichtenberg line, which is Lutheran. With the new USE constitution’s requirement for freedom of religion, that might not be so disastrous to our people’s Reformed faith as it would have been otherwise, in that other world, but still, I would prefer to see the succession of my nephews. Wilhelm Wettin’s wife Eleonore strongly recommended this course of action to her sister, which I find generous, considering the religious situation in the principality.
She laughed. “Layers of political implications in and beneath every word.”
Bernhard nodded. “As always.” He paused. “I really like Amalie.” Then he stretched. “I’ll be so glad to get back to Schwarzach. I just loathe getting dressed up for these diplomatic things.”
Schwarzach
“What is this?” Claudia asked.
She, Bernhard’s French correspondence secretary Feret, and the monks of Schwarzach were deeply involved in writing thank-you letters for wedding presents. There may not have been many guests, as important weddings went, but there most certainly were a lot of presents. As the courts of Europe caught up with the news, the presents kept arriving, piled in the abbey’s corridors and, once acknowledged, shipped on to Besançon, where more of the grand duke’s clerical staff, under the leadership of another secretary, were doing the same.
At some time, they would have to coordinate the two lists.
“Hmmn.” Bernhard picked up the package. “It’s a book, from Friedrich Hortleder and wife Catharina. Why am I not surprised that it’s a book? Hortleder is my old tutor. He’s head of the County of Saxe-Weimar chancery now, working out of Jena.” He gave her one of his rare smiles. “And doing double-duty by still providing all of us Saxe-Weimar boys with a constant stream of indubitably excellent advice. I have no doubt that he will continue that practice until he dies, which he shows no sign of doing––he kindly double-checked all the legalities having to do with the modus vivendi after my own staff thought it was finished and caught a couple little points. Certainly, he would like to have seen me better educated than I am.” He pulled off the remainder of the wrappings and thumbed through the pages.
“A hymnal.” He looked more carefully at the title page. “University of Jena, Printed for the Ducal Saxe-Weimar Academy of Evangelical Church Music, 1635. Hot off the press, too.” He leaned against the wall.
“What is the, aahh...?”
“Academy. One of Ernst and Albrecht’s inspirations, if I recall rightly. One of the up-timers had a Lutheran hymnal, with an accompanying handbook. The compilers were thorough. Kind enough, from our perspective, to pr
ovide not only the names of the authors of the lyrics––including the Bible verses on which each set of lyrics was based––and composers of the melodies, but also their dates of birth and death, with short biographies containing such useful information as where they were born. So we––well, they, since I am not directly involved––are out beating the bushes for the already-born-but-still-very-young leading hymn writers of the century, in order to provide them with the best possible musical education that can possibly be afforded. We––they––are planning to bring in the best poets and musicians of this generation to teach them. The theory, I believe, is that since they will not be called upon to write what is in this book––he waved the hymnal in the air––having already done so in that other world, we will prepare them to do even better.”
He pushed himself away the wall again. “Ah, Teschner’s music for Valet will ich dir geben. One of my favorite tunes. I learned it when I was with Great-Uncle Johann Casimir at Coburg, between Jena and the army. After our mother died, that was, I guess, the best year of my life. The music was brand new then––he kept wonderful musicians in his Kapelle. I’m sorry the old man is gone.”
He examined the page more closely. “But new words, and based on my own motto from Romans: Si Deus pro nobis, quis contra nos? by some fellow named Paul Gerhardt who’s working in Magdeburg since the rebuilding got started and in that other world would have written this”––he peered more closely at the tiny print of the notes at the bottom of the page––“some twenty years from now.”
He started to hum, then to sing in a surprisingly tuneful baritone,
If God Himself be for me,
I may a host defy;
For when I pray, before me,
My foes, confounded, fly.
“Now there’s a sentiment with which I can concur wholeheartedly. I only wish it worked that way. It would be a lot less effort than making sure every single man in every single regiment knows exactly where he is supposed to be when the assault starts. Give me a piece of paper, Lady Wife, and I will thank the Hortleders in person. And borrow the book.”
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