“You want money?”
“I do want money, but money isn’t all I want.”
“I’ll bring you the support of England.”
“Because of your wife? Hasn’t done you any good so far. They’ve left you in the lurch. Do you think I’m stupid? Do I look like someone who believes the English are suddenly going to come running now just because you call them?”
“When I reclaim the Electoral Palatinate, I’ll be the head of the Protestant faction in the Empire, and then they’ll come.”
“You’ll never again be the head of anything.”
“How dare—”
“Quiet down, poor fellow, listen. You played for high stakes, that’s good, I like that. Then you lost, and in the process you set off this whole terrific war. These things happen. Some play for high stakes and win. Like me. A small country, a small military, over in the Empire the Protestant cause seems lost, and who advised me to stake everything on one card, to raise the army and march to Germany? Everyone advised against it. Don’t do it, let it be, you can’t win—but I did it, and I won, and soon I’ll be in Vienna and will tear off Wallenstein’s ears, and the Kaiser will kneel before me, and I’ll say: Do you still want to be Kaiser? Then do what Gustav Adolf tells you! But it could have turned out differently. I could be dead. I could be sitting in a boat and rowing back across the Baltic Sea in tears. It doesn’t do any good to be a real man, strong and clever and fearless, because you can lose anyway. Just as someone can be a fellow like you and can win all the same. Anything is possible. I took a risk and won, you took a risk and lost and then what were you supposed to do? Yes, you could have hanged yourself, but that’s not for everyone, and besides, it’s a sin. That’s why you’re still here. Because you have to do something. And so you write letters and make requests and demands and come to audiences and speak and negotiate as if you still had any relevance, but you don’t! England isn’t sending you any troops. The Union isn’t coming to your aid. Your brothers in the Empire have abandoned you. There’s only one person who can give you back the Palatinate, and that’s me. And I’ll give it to you as a fief. When you kneel before me and swear allegiance to me as your lord. So what do you say, Friedrich? What’s it going to be?”
Gustav Adolf crossed his arms and looked the King in the face. His bristly beard trembled. His chest rose and sank. The King could hear his breathing clearly.
“I need time to think,” the King stammered.
Gustav Adolf laughed.
“You can’t expect…” The King cleared his throat, didn’t know how to continue the sentence, rubbed his forehead, implored himself not to lose consciousness again, not now of all times, not now at any price, and started over: “You can’t expect me to make a decision like that without—”
“That’s exactly what I expect. When I called together my generals to intervene in the war for better or worse, do you think I mulled it over endlessly? Do you think I consulted with my wife? Do you think I prayed first? I shall decide now, I said, and then I decided, and immediately forgot why, but that didn’t matter either, because it was decided! And now the generals were standing in front of me and shouting ‘Vivat!’ and I said: I am the Lion of Midnight! That just occurred to me.” He tapped himself on the forehead. “Things like that just come. I’m not thinking about anything, and suddenly it’s there. The Lion of Midnight! That’s me. So accept the Lion’s offer or decline it, but don’t waste my time.”
“My family has had sovereignty over the Electoral Palatinate as well as imperial immediacy since—”
“And you think you can’t be the first of your family to be given the Palatinate by the Swede as a fief. But you’ll see, I’m not a bad fellow. I’ll tax you lightly, and if you don’t feel like coming to Sweden for my birthday, send your chancellor. I won’t hurt you. Take my hand, put it there, don’t be a shoe!”
“A shoe?” The King wasn’t sure whether he’d heard correctly. Where had this man learned German?
Gustav Adolf had stretched out his arm, and his small, fleshy hand was hovering in front of the King’s chest. All he had to do was clasp it, and he would see Heidelberg Castle again, see the hills and the river again, see the thin rays of sun again that fell through the ivy in the colonnades, see the halls again in which he had grown up. And Liz would be able to live in a manner befitting her again, with enough lady’s maids and soft linen and silk and wax candles that didn’t flicker and devoted people who knew how to speak to royalty. He could go back. It would be like before.
“No,” said the King.
Gustav Adolf tilted his head as if he were having trouble hearing.
“I am the King of Bohemia. I am Elector of the Palatinate. I won’t take what belongs to me as a fief from anyone. My family is older than yours, and it is not proper for you, Gustav Adolf Vasa, to speak to me like this or to make me such a despicable offer.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Gustav Adolf.
The King turned away.
“Wait!”
The King, already on his way out, stopped. He knew that in doing so he was destroying any effect he had, and yet he couldn’t help it. A spark of hope flared in him and couldn’t be smothered: it was actually possible that he had so impressed this man with his strength of character that he would now make him a new offer. You’re a real man after all, he might say, I was wrong about you! But no, the King thought, nonsense. And nonetheless he stopped and turned around and hated himself for it.
“You’re a real man after all,” said Gustav Adolf.
The King swallowed.
“I was wrong about you,” said Gustav Adolf.
The King suppressed a fit of coughing. There was a pain in his chest. He was dizzy.
“Go with God, then,” said Gustav Adolf.
“What?”
Gustav Adolf punched him in the upper arm. “You have it in the right place. You can be proud. Now shove off, I have a war to win.”
“Nothing else?” the King asked with a strained voice. “That was the last word, that’s alclass="underline" Go with God?”
“I don’t need you. I’ll get the Palatinate either way, and England will probably even stand by my side sooner if you’re not with me; you only remind them of the old disgrace and the lost battle outside Prague. It’s better for me if we don’t do it. It’s also better for you—you keep your dignity. Come!” He put his arm around the King’s shoulders, led him to the exit, and pulled the flap aside.
When they stepped into the waiting room, everyone stood up. Count Hudenitz took off his hat and bowed deeply. The soldiers stood at attention.
“What sort of fellow is that?” asked Gustav Adolf.
It took the King a moment to realize that he meant the fool.
“What sort of fellow is that?” the fool repeated.
“I like you,” said Gustav Adolf.
“I don’t like you,” said the fool.
“He’s funny. I need someone like that,” said Gustav Adolf.
“I find you funny too,” said the fool.
“What do you want for him?” Gustav Adolf asked the King.
“I wouldn’t recommend that,” said the fool. “I bring misfortune.”
“Really?”
“Look who I came with.”
Gustav Adolf stared at the King for a while. The King returned his gaze and fell into a fit of coughing, which he had been suppressing the whole time.
“Go,” said Gustav Adolf. “Go quickly, shove off, hurry up. I don’t want you in this camp a moment longer.” He backed away as if suddenly afraid. The flap fluttered shut; he was gone.
The King wiped away the tears that the coughing had brought to his eyes. His throat hurt. He took off his hat, scratched his head, and tried to understand what had happened.
This had happened: It was over. He would never see his home again. And he would never return to Prague either. He would die in exile.