What’s left of Lilibet

(London) “Are you sure it’s there? Do you want to check the address? asked Ayman, the driver, as he dropped me off outside 17 Bruton Street in uptown Mayfair, central London.

At this address, there is a faceless office building flanked by another with boarded-up windows. Around the corner, in Bugatti, Ferrari and Bentley dealerships, girls in stilettos are selling luxury cars. On the other side of the street, there are only prestigious ready-to-wear brands. Elie Saab, Zimmerman, Kenzo. It’s a paradise for colorful costumes, long dresses and flashy watches.

But there is no mistake, it is here that Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor was born. The daughter of King Edward VIII’s brother. The one her father Bertie called Lilibet.

The one who thought she was leading a privileged life, but relatively far from the spotlight and the throne. So far, that his parents did not think it necessary to give him the name of his grandmother, Victoria, as was the tradition for aspirants to the crown. her

A cold December evening turned everything upside down. The girl was only 11 years old when her uncle abdicated to marry a divorced American. That day, her father became George VI and the child, Crown Princess. It is said that she prayed that God would give her a little brother who would have supplanted her in the line of succession. His wish was never granted.

At 11, Lilibet gave way to Princess Elizabeth, then, 14 years later, to Queen Elizabeth II. The woman has disappeared behind the title that has been assigned to her and which, even if offered on a diamond platter, very often looks more like a gilded prison than a place of exercise of power. More like a sacrifice than a divine gift.

Arriving in London on Thursday morning, less than 24 hours after the announcement of the death of the British sovereign, I wondered what remained of Elizabeth before Elizabeth. Of the human being behind the role.

Not a stone remains of her childhood home, of her carefree life, but if you look closely, you will find two small commemorative plaques marking the birthplace of the monarch. Discreetly.

“I’ve been working under the plates for four years and I didn’t notice them until last week,” Elmo, a doorman at the chic Chinese restaurant Hakassan, also housed at 17 Bruton Street, told me. Passers-by sometimes stop to read the inscriptions.

However, it’s just a mile away that they leave mounds of flowers. Outside the gates of Buckingham Palace, where Elizabeth’s father was king, where she was queen and where now her eldest son is sovereign. A place where human beings are ultimately interchangeable.

Over the next two weeks, Britain will pay tribute to its late sovereign. To the one who carried the crown for 70 years without ever complaining about the weight on her shoulders. To the one who was an anchor even when the sea became terribly stormy. That is.

For my part, it is Lilibet that I will think of and all that she had to set aside to embody the State. Because now that her son has succeeded her, Elizabeth II is again Elizabeth Alexandra Mary Windsor.