Beyond Polignac the figure (5) which formerly represented Louis XIV. is now put to humbler uses, and merely represents a French herald. The paper in his left hand, which originally enumerated Louis’ forces, now bears the gratifying legend:
Bonne Paix De l’Anglois Me rend guai.
The lady in front of him (6), who formerly stood for Catherine of Braganza, now represents Maria Louisa of Savoy, the first wife of Philip V. of Spain (fortunately for him not such a firebrand as his second wife proved to be). She turns to her handsome young husband (7) (here somewhat libellously represented by the whilom “Old Hatchet Face”) who has just renounced for himself and descendants all claims of succession to the crown of France. His right hand rests on the scroll of “charters” as before, but the document in his left now bears the legend: “Leli afstand onder Conditie” (The lily to surrender under conditions).
Passing almost to the extreme right of the picture, the eagle-helmeted figure (8) which {213} before represented the Emperor Leopold I. now represents his son Charles VI., “Le Seigneur juste de la Cour d’Orient et Occident.” Clutching his huge sword, he expresses the anger of the Imperialists at the project for peace between England and France. In the end he refused to concur in the peace of Utrecht, and continued at war with France until 1714.
On either side of him are two figures numbered alike (9, 9). That on his right, which bears the word “Wigh” engraved on his hat, represents the Duke of Marlborough, the deposed military leader of the Whigs. That on his left is one of the Duke’s followers, who, by his drawn sword, points the allusion of the librettist to the “Pacificateur par le fer.”
To the extreme right of the picture (10) the Pope, now Clement XI. in place of Innocent XI., encourages Polignac in his efforts for peace, and promises him “La Pourpre” as his reward.
Returning to the middle background of the crowd we find (11, 11) two Jesuits. The one who looks over the left shoulder of No. 7 was in the first state of the plate a doctor of the {214} Sorbonne. The index number of this figure is now on his hat. Originally it was on the pillar above him. This the adapter has apparently attempted to turn into a rough ornamentation by the addition of parallel strokes. Becoming dissatisfied, he has crossed out the whole by irregular horizontal lines. To the left of figure 7 is seen (12) the Pretender, the surreptitious infant of the original, now grown to manhood, whispering in Philip of Spain’s ear that though he claims as a Protestant the throne of his father, he is in his heart of the Romish faith. This figure originally represented the midwife, but has been metamorphosed by the addition of a man’s hat, wig, and ruffles.
To the extreme left of the foreground of the picture the erstwhile Father Petre is now transformed (13) into a Jesuit confessor, who amorously converses with (14) “La Courtisane de Bourbon,” Madame de Maintenon. This cruel aspersion on the character of one who was really, though secretly, Louis XIV.’s wife, and whose nobleness of character is now fully established, was characteristic of the times. The Plan de Paix, {215} which was so obnoxious to the author of the satire, would seem to have just fallen from her fingers, and doubtless he is right in recognising that she had a hand in its consummation. Beyond the table sit a monk and friar (15, 15), as formerly, except that the removal of the cradle has necessitated an extension of their figures. In the background, against the left-hand pillar, is (16) the “Harlequin de France.” In front of him the three figures (17, 18, 19), originally Quakers, are now referred to as “Esprits Libres.” The man with the telescope (20) is “The Observer of Foreign Countries.” The other subordinate figures are the same as before, save for the addition, in some cases, of index numbers.
It is interesting to notice that this plate was so successful in its adapted state that it was made the basis of a design engraved for a German broadside of the following year entitled “Der Fridens-Hoffzwischen der Rose und der versöhnten Lilie,” with which it has many points in common.
I have treated of this plate at considerable length because it is the most important of the palimpsest plates of this period. I shall close {216} this chapter by reproducing one other remarkable example designed in its first state to expose the same supposed wicked plot. In the next chapter I shall give another dealing with the birth of the Old Pretender, from which we shall gain some idea of the extent to which this clever stratagem of the adapted copperplate was made use of in the deliberate days of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.