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                          Transcriber’s Note:

This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_. Superscrtiped
letter are prefixed by ‘^’ as in ‘y^e’.

Footnotes have been renumbered sequentially, and have been moved to
follow the paragraphs or letter in which they are referenced.

Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding
the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation.




                     THE LOVE OF AN UNCROWNED QUEEN

[Illustration:

  SOPHIE DOROTHEA.
  _From a painting formerly at Ahlden._
]




                             THE LOVE OF AN
                            UNCROWNED QUEEN
                     SOPHIE DOROTHEA, _CONSORT OF_
                 GEORGE I., and her Correspondence with
               PHILIP CHRISTOPHER COUNT KÖNIGSMARCK (_Now
                  first published from the originals_)


                                   BY

                             W. H. WILKINS
             _M.A._ (_Clare College, Cambridge_), _F.S.A._

  _Author of “Caroline the Illustrious, Queen Consort of George II.”_


                       _NEW AND REVISED EDITION_

                           WITH ILLUSTRATIONS


                        LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
                       39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
                          NEW YORK AND BOMBAY
                                  1903




                    PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION.


When this book was first published in April, 1900, I had no idea that it
contained any of the elements of popularity. The subject which it treats
had been of interest with me for years, and my researches were made from
love of the work. In my quest I followed as closely as possible the
footsteps of Sophie Dorothea during her life. I visited Celle where she
was born, Hanover where she lived during her unhappy marriage, and
Ahlden where for more than thirty years she was imprisoned. To Hanover I
went again and again, and in connection with this book I also visited
Berlin and Dresden. But it was not until six years ago, in 1897, that I
lighted by chance (while turning over old volumes in a second-hand
bookshop at Leipzig) upon the fact that an unpublished correspondence
between Sophie Dorothea and Königsmarck existed. For a long time I could
not find where these letters were deposited, and went in vain search to
Upsala, but at last I learned that they were reposing in the library of
the little university of Lund in Sweden. To Lund accordingly I went, and
with the permission of the university authorities carefully examined the
manuscripts. The result of my investigations is described at length in
the chapter on “The History and Authenticity of the Letters”. It was the
finding of these letters which determined me to write this book; it is
built up around them.

Even when the book was written I published it with misgiving, thinking
it would have little interest for any except the few who love the
untrodden paths and byeways of history. But, contrary to expectation,
the book attracted a good deal of attention both in England and America.
In France and Germany too it called forth comment, and in a short time
several editions were exhausted, until at last it ran out of print.

By that time I had learned something from my critics, more especially
from those in Germany, and I determined not to issue another edition,
until I had the opportunity of testing what I had written in the light
of further historical research. I was then working at another book,
_Caroline the Illustrious, Queen Consort of George II._, which also
treats of the Hanoverian period, at a little later date, and until that
book was finished, I had not the leisure to follow up fresh clues in
connection with this one. Hence the publication of this revised edition
has been delayed, for the book has been out of print some little time.

Another consideration has also weighed with me, namely the fact, of
which I was ignorant when the first edition was published, that a
further instalment of the correspondence between Sophie Dorothea and
Königsmarck is preserved in the Secret State Archives at Berlin. The
letters herein are all from Lund, and found their way into Sweden
through Amalie, Countess Lewenhaupt, Königsmarck’s sister, who married a
Swedish nobleman and eventually settled in Sweden. But there are others.

It was known that, after the catastrophe of July 1, 1694, the Hanoverian
Government seized many of the letters that had passed between the
lovers, and these were used against the Princess with crushing effect,
to bring about her divorce on Hanover’s own terms. As Leibniz says,
“They would never have believed at Celle that she was so guilty had not
her letters been produced”.[1] The fate of these letters has long been a
mystery. It was known that Duke George William wished them to be sent to
Celle to be destroyed, but the Elector Ernest Augustus refused and kept
them at Hanover. It was afterwards rumoured that George II., on his
first visit to Hanover after his accession to the English throne, burned
them with his own hands, to conceal all traces of his mother’s disgrace,
but the rumour was unfounded. It now appears that all, or nearly all, of
them are in existence, and some are those preserved in the Secret State
Archives of Berlin.

-----

Footnote 1:

  Written by Leibniz on the margin of an account of the divorce sent by
  the Duchess of Orleans to the Electress Sophia (_vide_ Köcher’s _Hist.
  Zeitschrift_, vol. xlviii., p. 233, note).

-----

The exact way in which these letters reached Berlin is unknown, but they
have been there a long time. According to the Calendar of the Secret
State Archives they were found among the private papers of Frederick the
Great at Sans Souci, after his death. The luckless prisoner of Ahlden
was his grandmother, her daughter, the second Queen of Prussia, was his
mother. It is known that the Queen of Prussia was much interested in the
fate of her unhappy mother, she corresponded with her secretly, and at
one time sought to obtain her release. It is probable, therefore, that
these letters (a part of the incriminating correspondence seized by the
Hanoverian Government) were sent to Berlin by order of George I. to
convince his daughter, the Queen of Prussia, of her mother’s errors and
so disarm her sympathy. After the Queen’s death the letters were not
returned to Hanover; they passed into the hands of Frederick the Great,
and thence into the safe keeping of the Berlin State Archives.

The correspondence between Sophie Dorothea and Königsmarck is very
voluminous. The greater part of it (six hundred and seventy-nine sheets,
one hundred and ninety-nine from the Princess and four hundred and
eighty from Königsmarck) is preserved in the university library of Lund.
The letters at Berlin number sixty-five sheets, fifteen from the
Princess and fifty from Königsmarck. It is certain that the letters at
Berlin and those at Lund spring from the same source, the exact
similarity of the writing, the use of the same cypher and the same
nicknames, the identity of sentiment and style, and the fact that some
of the Berlin letters seem to be answers to some of those at Lund and
_vice versa_, prove this beyond doubt. Clearly they stand or fall
together. Applying to the Berlin letters the same tests as applied to
those at Lund, they yield absolutely the same results.

The Berlin letters afford little historical interest outside the
politics of the petty courts of Hanover and Celle. Like those at Lund
they are alternately full of jealous reproaches and passionate avowals
of love. They shed no fresh light on the events immediately preceding
the catastrophe of July 1, 1694, for they appear to be written prior to
the visit Königsmarck made to Dresden before he returned to Hanover for
the last time. Letters must have passed between the lovers in the months
preceding the tragedy, and these are still needed to make the
correspondence complete. But they are not at Berlin, they are not at
Lund, they are not at Hanover. The question remains, Where are they?

Last summer, when in Germany, I learned that more love-letters of Sophie
Dorothea and Königsmarck still existed, over and above those at Lund and
Berlin. I learned this important fact from a trustworthy source which I
am not permitted at present to make public. These remaining letters were
preserved at Hanover until 1866, not in the Royal Archives, but among
the Guelph domestic papers at Herrenhausen. When the late King of
Hanover, George V., was wrongfully despoiled of his kingdom by Prussia,
and forced to live in exile, he rightly took his family papers with him
into Austria. Among those papers was some of the correspondence between
his ancestress Sophie Dorothea and Königsmarck. These letters are now in
the possession of his son, the Duke of Cumberland, _de jure_ King of
Hanover, at Gmünden. What their contents are I am unable to say, but it
is probable that they contain the missing links wanted to make the chain
of the correspondence complete. It is my desire some day to translate
the whole correspondence at Lund, at Berlin, and at Gmünden, and arrange
it in chronological order with the aid of first-hand documentary
evidence drawn from other sources. (But this, of course, depends upon
the necessary permission being granted.) For this reason, and because
they shed no fresh light on the tragedy, I have not given herein any of
the Berlin letters. On the contrary, I have omitted from this edition a
few of those letters published in the first, which were merely a
repetition of others; their great similarity of style and sentiment
tended to weary rather than to edify.[2]

-----

Footnote 2:

  I have also condensed the later chapters which deal with the death of
  the Electress Sophia and the accession of George I. to the English
  throne. These events are not strictly germane to the history of Sophie
  Dorothea, and moreover I have treated of them much more fully in
  _Caroline the Illustrious, Queen Consort of George II._, which may be
  regarded as a sequel to this book.

-----

I should like to repeat that this book is largely based upon papers
found in the Hanoverian archives and elsewhere, duly specified in
footnotes. The despatches of Sir William Dutton Colt, of Cresset and of
Poley, English envoys at Hanover during the period under consideration,
and of Stepney, sometime English envoy at Dresden, now preserved in the
State Paper Office, London, have also been drawn upon freely. To this
list of hitherto unpublished documents there remain to be added many
letters from the correspondence at Lund, translated from the French of
the original documents. These have never before been published in
English and (except for a few unimportant extracts in a Swedish book
long since out of print) have never been published in any language. I
may claim to be the first to edit and arrange this correspondence in
something like chronological order, and to compare it with historical
documents of undoubted authenticity with a view to proving its
genuineness.

Every effort was made in the first edition to render this biography as
complete as possible. I have now in the light of subsequent knowledge
revised the text. I find little to add and little to take away. My
additions are chiefly in matters of detail, and will be found in notes
scattered throughout the volume. These notes for the most part either go
to prove further the genuineness of the letters, or to quote fuller
authorities for the text—to specify more clearly what is founded on
first-hand historical evidence, and what is derived from less
trustworthy sources.

In this I should like to acknowledge the help I have derived from my
critics, more especially from the writer of the review of my book in the
_Edinburgh Review_,[3] and the essay by Dr. Robert Geerds, the eminent
German critic and historian in the _Allgemeine Zeitung_.[4]

-----

Footnote 3:

  _The Love of an Uncrowned Queen_, _Edinburgh Review_, January, 1901,
  No. 395, pp. 56-86.

Footnote 4:

  “The Letters of the Duchess of Ahlden and Count Philip Christopher von
  Königsmarck,” by Dr. Robert Geerds (Supplement to the _Allgemeine
  Zeitung_, 1902, No. 77).

-----

The writer in the _Edinburgh Review_, an expert who has himself examined
the contested letters at Lund, and the admittedly genuine ones at
Hanover, and compared them, says in contravention of a doubt cast on
their genuineness:—

“Allowing for the interval of time and for the difference of
circumstances under which the [Princess’s] love-letters to Königsmarck
and her formal letters to the Electress were respectively written, we
have no hesitation in saying that it is impossible, after placing the
handwritings side by side, to assert that there is no resemblance
between them. We have also had an opportunity of comparing a photograph
of Königsmarck’s abbreviated signature with photographs of genuine
signatures of his preserved at Lund and at Hanover respectively, and no
doubt whatever is left in our mind as to the genuineness of the
(abbreviated) signature in the impugned correspondence.”

And again:—

“After much careful consideration we feel bound to express our belief
that the probability of these letters having been written by Sophie
Dorothea and Königsmarck is a very strong one indeed”....

Dr. Robert Geerds, who has examined and compared the letters at Lund
with those at Berlin as well as Hanover, says:—

“The writing of some of the Lund letters ... corresponds so noticeably
with the Hanoverian writing that it is impossible to doubt they were
written by Sophie Dorothea”.

And again, after reference to my discoveries of the undesigned
coincidences between incidents mentioned in the letters and in Colt’s
despatches:—

“No unprejudiced person can any longer doubt that in this
correspondence, which has been called into question, we have the true
and genuine love-letters of the unfortunate pair whose tragic fate has
met with such universal sympathy”.[5]

-----

Footnote 5:

  I quote from these critics because they have examined the letters
  themselves and can speak with first-hand knowledge. I do so with more
  freedom because they have not been slow in pointing out my
  shortcomings. I should also like to express my indebtedness for many
  other critical reviews, notably to the _Athenæum_, to Monsieur de
  Wyzewa for his essay in the _Revue des deux Mondes_, and to Mr. Andrew
  Lang in _Longman’s Magazine_.

-----

I should like to thank Dr. Carl Petersen, Assistant Librarian at Lund
University, for his courtesy and assistance; Count Carl Lewenhaupt
(sometime Swedish and Norwegian Minister in London) for procuring me the
portrait of Aurora Königsmarck, now in the possession of the elder
branch of the Lewenhaupt family; Count C. G. von Rosen for permission to
reproduce the portrait of Philip Christopher Königsmarck; Count
Kielmansegg for allowing me to see Lady Darlington’s patent of peerage
at Gülzow; and Count Erich Kielmansegg for calling my attention to a
slight error in the history of the Lund letters, corrected in this
edition.

As an edition of this book has been published in America without my
knowledge or consent, and as it is, moreover, full of grammatical and
other errors, for which I am not responsible, I take this opportunity of
saying that this is the only authorised edition for sale in America.

In conclusion, I should like to repeat what I wrote in the preface to my
first edition: “The story of the romantic life of this uncrowned Queen
has been shrouded in mystery, and she has been even more misrepresented
than Mary Queen of Scots. Her imprisonment in the lonely castle of
Ahlden was longer and more rigorous than Mary’s captivity in England,
and the assassination of Königsmarck was as dramatic as the murder of
Rizzio.”

                                                      W. H. WILKINS.

_March, 1903._




                               CONTENTS.

                          CHAPTER I.                                PAGE

 THE ROMANCE OF THE PRINCESS’S PARENTAGE                               1

                         CHAPTER II.

 THE PROGRESS OF ELÉONORE                                             13

                         CHAPTER III.

 THE WISDOM OF SERPENTS                                               25

                               CHAPTER IV.

 PRINCE GEORGE GOES A-WOOING                                          38

                               CHAPTER V.

 THE SACRIFICE                                                        47

                         CHAPTER VI.

 THE COURT OF HANOVER                                                 59

                         CHAPTER VII.

 THE POWER OF COUNTESS PLATEN                                         70

                        CHAPTER VIII.

 ENTER KÖNIGSMARCK                                                    82

                         CHAPTER IX.

 PLAYING WITH FIRE                                                    94

                          CHAPTER X.

 THE EMBROIDERED GLOVE                                               107

                         CHAPTER XI.

 HISTORY AND AUTHENTICITY OF THE LETTERS                             118

                         CHAPTER XII.

 THE DAWN OF PASSION                                                 139

                        CHAPTER XIII.

 CROSSING THE RUBICON                                                156

                         CHAPTER XIV.

 THE PRINCESS’S LETTERS                                              172

                         CHAPTER XV.

 DOUBTS AND FEARS                                                    189

                         CHAPTER XVI.

 THE BATTLE OF STEINKIRK                                             204

                        CHAPTER XVII.

 THE VISIT TO WIESBADEN                                              217

                        CHAPTER XVIII.

 KÖNIGSMARCK RETURNS FROM THE WAR                                    233

                         CHAPTER XIX.

 THE TRYST AT BROCKHAUSEN                                            256

                         CHAPTER XX.

 LOVE’S BITTERNESS                                                   277

                         CHAPTER XXI.

 THE CAMPAIGN AGAINST THE DANES                                      302

                        CHAPTER XXII.

 THE GATHERING STORM                                                 325

                        CHAPTER XXIII.

 THE MURDER OF KÖNIGSMARCK                                           340

                        CHAPTER XXIV.

 THE RUIN OF THE PRINCESS                                            352

                         CHAPTER XXV.

 THE DIVORCE                                                         371

                        CHAPTER XXVI.

 THE PRISONER OF AHLDEN                                              388

                        CHAPTER XXVII.

 THE FLIGHT OF YEARS                                                 405

                       CHAPTER XXVIII.

 CROWN AND GRAVE                                                     421

                        CHAPTER XXIX.

 RETRIBUTION                                                         437

 APPENDIX                                                            445

 INDEX                                                               447




                         LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


 SOPHIE DOROTHEA. _From a painting formerly at Ahlden_   _Frontispiece._

 ELÉONORE D’OLBREUSE, DUCHESS OF CELLE. _From a          _Facing page_ 8
   painting at Herrenhausen_

 THE CASTLE OF CELLE                                       ”      ”   26

 PRINCE GEORGE LOUIS OF HANOVER (AFTERWARDS   GEORGE I.    ”      ”   40
   OF ENGLAND). _From a picture at   Hanover_

 THE ELECTRESS SOPHIA. _Photographed from the statue       ”      ”   56
   in the gardens of Herrenhausen_

 THE ALTE PALAIS, HANOVER. _From a photograph by   the     ”      ”   74
   Author_

 KÖNIGSMARCK. _From the painting at Herrenhausen_          ”      ”   94

 THE LEINE SCHLOSS, HANOVER                                ”      ”  110

 THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY, LUND, SWEDEN                      ”      ”  128

 FACSIMILE OF ONE OF KÖNIGSMARCK’S LETTERS TO THE          ”      ”  146
   PRINCESS. _Photographed from the original manuscript
     in the University Library of Lund_

 FACSIMILE OF ONE OF SOPHIE DOROTHEA’S LETTERS TO          ”      ”  174
   KÖNIGSMARCK. _Photographed from the original
   manuscript in the University Library of Lund_

 SOPHIE DOROTHEA. _From a painting formerly at             ”      ”  190
   Ahlden, now at Herrenhausen_

 FACSIMILE OF ONE OF THE PRINCESS’S LETTERS TO             ”      ”  206
   KÖNIGSMARCK. _Photographed from the original
   manuscript in the University Library at Lund_

 PHILIP CHRISTOPHER COUNT KÖNIGSMARCK. _From a painting    ”      ”  224
   in the possession of Count Gustav Lewenhaupt_

 THE COUNTESS AURORA KÖNIGSMARCK. _From the painting in    ”      ”  244
   the possession of Count C. G. von Rosen_

 HERRENHAUSEN                                              ”      ”  270

 THE ELECTOR ERNEST AUGUSTUS OF HANOVER. _From an old      ”      ”  290
   print in the British Museum_

 THE MURDER OF KÖNIGSMARCK. _From an old print_            ”      ”  348

 THE CASTLE OF AHLDEN AS IT WAS WHEN SOPHIE DOROTHEA       ”      ”  362
   WAS IMPRISONED THERE. _From an old engraving in the
   Castle_

 THE CASTLE OF AHLDEN AS IT IS TO-DAY                      ”      ”  376

 SOPHIE DOROTHEA’S WING OF THE CASTLE OF AHLDEN. _From     ”      ”  400
   a photograph by the Author_

 SOPHIE DOROTHEA, SECOND QUEEN OF PRUSSIA (DAUGHTER OF     ”      ”  424
   SOPHIE DOROTHEA AND GEORGE I.). _From the painting
   by Johann L. Hirschmann_

 THE CHURCH AT CELLE, WHERE SOPHIE DOROTHEA IS BURIED     ”      ”   438

 THE CASTLE OF OSNABRÜCK                                   ”      ”  442




                               CHAPTER I.

                THE ROMANCE OF THE PRINCESS’S PARENTAGE.

               Life, like a dome of many coloured glass,
               Stains the white radiance of Eternity.
                                                SHELLEY.


Sophie Dorothea of Celle, the uncrowned queen of the first of our
Hanoverian kings, came of the ancient and illustrious family of
Brunswick, which was descended from Henry the Lion, Duke of Bavaria and
Saxony, who, it is interesting to note, married Matilda, eldest daughter
of King Henry II. of England. It is not necessary to dwell upon the
glories of the House of Brunswick, but the immediate ancestry of Sophie
Dorothea may be of interest.

After the Treaty of Westphalia, which was somewhat disastrous to the
Brunswick princes who took part in the Thirty Years War, this family was
divided into two branches, Augustus Duke of Brunswick representing one,
and Frederick Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg representing the other.

On the death of Augustus, his territories were divided amongst his three
sons, with only one of whom we are concerned, Duke Antony Ulrich of
Wolfenbüttel. It is necessary to mention him, as he played a not
unimportant part in the life of his cousin, Sophie Dorothea of Celle.
From this branch of the family the Dukes of Brunswick are descended, and
it gave another uncrowned queen to England in the person of the
unfortunate Caroline, consort of George IV.

Frederick Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg died in 1649, leaving the four sons
of his brother, Duke George, his heirs. Of these, the eldest son,
Christian Louis, was given the sovereign principality of Celle, then the
most important; the second son, George William, subsequently the father
of Sophie Dorothea, was given the sovereign principality of Hanover. The
two younger sons, John Frederick and Ernest Augustus, had no territory
at first.

When the four ducal brothers, all young men, entered upon their
inheritance, changes took place in the sedate and simple courts of
Hanover and Celle. Hitherto they had been typical of the petty German
courts in the Middle Ages, untouched as yet by foreign influences.
According to Vehse, at the schloss of Celle meals were served daily in
the great hall, at nine in the morning and at four in the afternoon. The
retainers were summoned to meals by a trumpeter on the tower, and if
they did not appear punctually they had to go without. As they ate, a
page went round “bidding every one be quiet and orderly, forbidding all
swearing, and rudeness, or throwing about of bread, bones, or roast, or
pocketing of the same”. The butler was warned not to permit noble or
simple to enter the cellar; the squires were allowed beer and
“sleep-drinks,” but wine was only served at the Duke’s high table. All
accounts were carefully kept, and bills paid weekly. The court was one
big family, and the Duke was the father of his people. But this
well-ordered household was in the days of the old Duke Christian, a
predecessor of the four young princes who now divided the possessions of
Brunswick-Lüneburg.

The eldest, Duke Christian, settled down to a fairly quiet life at
Celle; “his only fault,” we hear, “was drinking,” a very venial offence
in those days. But the second brother, Duke George William, found life
at Hanover unbearably tedious. He had little liking for the stiff and
monotonous routine of his German court; the simple lives of his subjects
bored him, and their rude manners and coarse habit of living disgusted
him. Though all his life strongly anti-French in his politics, he
belonged to the newer school of German princes and affected the society
and fashions of the French, so much so that on one occasion a French
envoy said to him at his own table: “But, Monseigneur, this is charming;
there is no foreigner here but you”. Though a young man, George William
had already travelled in Italy, and acquired a certain polish of manners
and superficial refinement not usually to be found among German princes
of his time. The first use he made of his freedom was to escape from the
tedium of his uninteresting little principality, and, in company with
his youngest brother, Ernest Augustus, who was then his boon companion,
and largely dependent upon his bounty, he made another tour in Italy,
visiting Milan and Venice. At Venice, then at its zenith, the brothers
plunged into the delights and dissipations which the gay city offered.
George William formed an intimacy with a Venetian woman, one Signora
Buccolini, by whom he had a son. For many years he was devoted to her,
and maintained her in considerable affluence; for, with all his faults,
he was of a generous disposition. But the lady was of so passionate,
jealous, and exacting a temperament that at last she tired the patience
of her protector. After many quarrels he made an arrangement by which he
settled a sum of money upon the mother, and took the charge of the boy’s
education upon himself. This was the final separation. He took back the
young Lucas Buccolini with him to Hanover, clipped his Italian name into
Bucco, or Buccow, and found him a place in his household.[6]

-----

Footnote 6:

  On attaining to man’s estate, this youth filled the office of Master
  of the Horse at the court of Celle; later he became a colonel of the
  dragoons. He seems to have been of a jealous disposition, and was
  always grumbling because his putative father did not do more for him.

-----

George William’s subjects did not appreciate these frequent absences of
their liege lord, nor did they approve of the Italian singers and
dancers and the Venetian son whom he brought back with him to his prim
little court. They became exceedingly restive, and pointed out that
there was need of a duchess and an heir. Duke Christian of Celle was
unwed, and Duke George William of Hanover, who was next in succession,
was a bachelor too. Their subjects, both of Celle and Hanover,
considered this a neglect of duty on the part of their princes, and,
remonstrances having no avail, at last the members of the state in
Hanover threatened to cut short George William’s allowance if he did not
marry forthwith. Moreover, knowing his predilections, they intimated
plainly that they wished no foreign bride, and suggested that the
Princess Sophia, the orphan daughter of the luckless Frederick Prince
Palatine, ex-King of Bohemia (by the beautiful Elizabeth, daughter of
James I. of England), would be a suitable duchess.

The Princess Sophia was well past her first youth, and was understood to
be anxious to settle herself in life. She was then living with her
brother, the Elector Palatine of the Rhenish provinces, at Heidelberg.
The household was not a happy one, for the Elector and his wife were
leading a cat-and-dog life, and Sophia’s lot, as a poor relative, was
hardly enviable. She was a healthy little body, decidedly good-looking,
though she had not inherited the beauty of her mother, “The Queen of
Hearts”. “My hair,” she writes, “was light brown and in natural curls;
my general appearance gay and lightsome; my figure good, but not very
tall; my deportment that of a princess. I take no pleasure in
remembering all the rest, of which my mirror shows me nothing left.” She
had sharp wits and a sharp tongue, and the life she had led, travelling
about Europe in the poverty-stricken court of Queen Elizabeth, had
developed both to an unusual degree. Yet notwithstanding the financial
troubles of her youth, “my spirits,” she continues, “were so high in
those days that everything amused me; the misfortunes of my house were
unable to depress them, although at times we had to make repasts richer
than Cleopatra’s, and nothing was eaten at court but pearls and
diamonds”. This is one of Sophia’s figures of speech, for it is to be
feared that the pearls and diamonds had long since gone to the Jews.
Despite her poverty, or perhaps in consequence of it, Sophia was
inordinately proud of her birth, especially her English ancestry, on
which she was never tired of expatiating. At one time she had been put
forward as a suitable wife for her first cousin, the Prince of Wales,
afterwards Charles II. of England, and with that view had been carefully
trained in the English language and English ways. The match fell
through, and so, in the after years, did many others, some good, some
indifferent, which had been projected for her by her relations. As
Sophia was very ambitious, the failure of her matrimonial chances was a
great disappointment to her. She was now twenty-nine, and her good looks
were somewhat impaired by an attack of small-pox; she was therefore
quite ready to meet the husband whom the Hanoverians had proposed for
her, half way.

George William, seeing that his subjects’ minds were made up, shrugged
his shoulders and submitted to the inevitable. If it had to be, Sophia
would do as well as any other. He therefore started for Heidelberg, on
the way to his beloved Venice, accompanied again by his brother, Ernest
Augustus. Without ado he proposed for Sophia’s hand, and she “did not at
all hesitate to say _Yes_,” as she admits in her autobiography. He made
no pretence to any affection, and she required none. A marriage contract
was drawn up and duly signed, with the single proviso that the betrothal
should not be made public for a little time.

The business having been settled, George William hurried on to Venice,
and revelled in his brief spell of freedom. But his approaching marriage
hung over him like a pall; he thought over the matter, and one morning
he came to the conclusion that after all he could not take upon himself
the restraints of matrimony with a woman for whom he had not a particle
of affection. The situation was difficult, for, if he did not wed her,
his subjects were determined to reduce his income, and to the
pleasure-loving Duke this was an equally unpleasant alternative. In this
dilemma he bethought himself of Ernest Augustus, his youngest brother,
and suggested to him that he should act as his substitute. All that his
subjects wanted was an heir, and with this Ernest Augustus would be able
to furnish them, through Sophia, as well as he. Ernest Augustus was
nothing loth to take his brother’s place—for a consideration. He was
favourably disposed towards the Princess, with whom he had flirted in
his youth; they had met at the Hague and had played the guitar together,
but as he was a younger son, Sophia nipped the flirtation in the bud. A
deed was drawn up between the two brothers, in which George William
undertook to surrender certain of his revenues, and bound himself not to
marry, so as to leave his inheritance and all his rights to the brother
who would act as substitute for him in the matter of his intended bride
and ducal obligations. Just as the contract was signed the other
impecunious brother, John Frederick, came into the room, and, on
learning its contents, fell into a rage because the chance had not been
offered to him first; he tried to tear away the document from Ernest
Augustus, George William looking on with amusement. This happy-go-lucky
way of choosing a bride was quite in keeping with the traditions of the
House of Brunswick; an ancestor of these princes cast dice with his
seven brothers for a wife on somewhat similar conditions, and won the
prize—a princess of Hesse-Darmstadt.

The next thing was to acquaint the Princess Sophia with the arrangement;
that lady, having satisfied herself that the terms of the agreement were
equally advantageous to her and her possible heirs, raised no objection
to being handed over like a bale of goods, and though her pride was hurt
she skilfully concealed her resentment. Her brother, the Elector
Palatine, glad to be rid of her and her sharp tongue, told her that he
thought she was better for the change of brothers, a remark with which
she agreed, adding that “A good establishment is all _I_ cared for, and
if this be secured to the younger brother, the change is a matter of
indifference”.

These negotiations from first to last took two years; in September,
1658, the marriage was celebrated with some pomp at Heidelberg, and in
November the Duchess Sophia took up her abode at Hanover, where she was
the first lady in the land, and treated with every honour. She was
always a great stickler for etiquette, and insisted on every tittle of
the respect due to her rank and illustrious ancestry. Curiously enough,
if we may believe her memoirs, no sooner was she married to Ernest
Augustus than George William became attracted to her, thereby arousing
the jealousy of her husband, until she begged the elder brother, “for
the love of God,” to leave her in peace.

In 1660 her eldest son, George Louis (afterwards George I. of England),
was born at Osnabrück, and the arrival of the much-wished-for heir
increased her importance. The following year Ernest Augustus succeeded
to the bishopric of Osnabrück,[7] and Sophia’s prospects were the more
improved.

-----

Footnote 7:

  Osnabrück was a see founded by Charlemagne. Luther had many followers
  among the citizens, and at the Treaty of Westphalia, 1648, which was
  concluded at Osnabrück, it was arranged that the Prince Bishop should
  be alternately a Lutheran and a Roman Catholic, the selection of the
  Lutheran bishop being left with the chapter, restricted, however, to
  the family of Brunswick-Lüneburg. This arrangement resulted in some
  very odd bishops. The last member of the English Royal Family to hold
  the title was Frederick Augustus Duke of York, son of George III.

-----

Meantime George William had overcome his belated _penchant_ for Sophia,
if indeed it ever existed save in her imagination, and was gratifying
his pleasure-loving soul by making a tour of many cities. Among others,
he went to Breda, an exceedingly gay place at the end of the seventeenth
century, albeit money was somewhat lacking there. It was the chosen home
of political refugees, exiled princes, and deposed monarchs, who kept up
their spirits despite their fallen fortunes, and maintained phantom
courts on nothing a year. Here Charles II. dwelt for some time in his
exile with many celebrated cavaliers; here, too, his aunt, the Queen of
Bohemia, had held her shadowy court; here, too, was concluded the peace
between England and Holland. All these things contributed to the
importance and the gaiety of Breda; there were feasts, masquerades, and
revelries, and plays with after-suppers and dances. Among the gayest of
the gay was the Princess de Tarente, an aunt of the Duchess Sophia, a
German princess who had married a French prince. One of her most
cherished _protégées_ was Eléonore d’Olbreuse, only child of the Marquis
d’Olbreuse, a nobleman of ancient family, of Poitou. He was one of the
many French Huguenots who, after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes,
were persecuted by the government of Louis XIV. As he would not recant,
his estates were confiscated, he was sent into exile, and found an
asylum in Holland.

Before the persecution of the Huguenot nobles Eléonore d’Olbreuse had
figured at the brilliant court of Louis XIV., where she was greatly
admired for her wit and beauty. She was endowed with an exquisite
figure, dark brown hair, regular features, and a brilliant complexion.
At this time she was in the first bloom of youth, and her loveliness was
only equalled by her sprightliness and charm of manner.[8] George
William met her at a ball at the Princess de Tarente’s, and being of an
amorous, though not of a marrying disposition, he fell in love at first
sight. He became a constant visitor at the Princess de Tarente’s, and a
closer acquaintance with the accomplishments and graces of the
bewitching Eléonore only served to rivet his chains. He affected a great
zeal to perfect his French, and the fair Eléonore willingly consented to
give the good-looking Duke lessons, thereby offering fine opportunities
for flirtation. What progress George William made with the French
language is not recorded, but in the art of love there is no doubt he
made rapid advances, for after a few lessons in the conjugation of the
verb _aimer_, he avowed his passion in most extravagant terms, and swore
that he could not live without her. He found that the citadel did not
yield to the first attack. Eléonore d’Olbreuse was of a very different
calibre to Signora Buccolini; she had only two available assets, her
beauty and her virtue, and she was well aware of the value of both. She
was not versed in the _menue galanterie_ of the court of the Grand
Monarque for nothing. George William was fervent in his protestations,
prodigal in his promises of devotion, and what was more to the purpose,
most liberal in his proposals as to settlements; but Eléonore held firm.
Her birth was noble, though not royal, and, despite her poverty, she
held that a French marquis of ancient descent was not so very inferior
to a petty German prince. George William could not be expected to take
this view, for, though indifferent to the trappings of rank, he, like
all German princes, was inclined to over-estimate his own importance.
But he could not give her up; he who had been accustomed to command in
love was now its humblest supplicant; he who was indolent, easy-going in
temperament, now developed an ardour and determination altogether
foreign to him; he who was slow of speech now became more eloquent in
the language of love. Eléonore had worked a transformation. So
infatuated was he that he would willingly have married her then and
there but for the document he had signed when the marriage was arranged
between Ernest Augustus and Sophia. Eléonore knew nothing of this
arrangement, but she positively refused to entertain any proposals short
of marriage.

-----

Footnote 8:

  There is a portrait of her, dressed in a blue robe, in the Guelph
  Gallery at Herrenhausen, as she was in middle life—a beautiful woman,
  with masses of dark brown hair and a superb figure.

-----

[Illustration:

  ELÉONORE D’OLBREUSE, DUCHESS OF CELLE.
  _From a painting at Herrenhausen._
]

In this dilemma George William thought of a morganatic marriage,[9] and
offered handsome settlements. The Princess de Tarente advised her friend
to yield. The Marquis d’Olbreuse put no pressure on his daughter; but
she was well aware of the straits to which poverty had reduced him, and
could see that in his heart he favoured the Duke’s suit. If she
consented she would secure for her father a comfortable provision for
his declining years. Eléonore, too, was really in love with George
William; but still she held back.

-----

Footnote 9:

  A marriage _ad morganaticum_, sanctioned by the Church, but so far
  disallowed by law that the children of such wedlock were _infantes
  nullius_, and could succeed to no inheritance.

-----

To bring matters to a climax, the Princess de Tarente gave a brilliant
entertainment in honour of the birthday of her friend and _protégée_,
when she presented her with a jewelled medallion of her lover. The
result seemed inevitable, for she who hesitates is lost; when suddenly
couriers came hot-foot from Celle with the news that George William’s
elder brother, Christian, was dead, and his younger brother, John
Frederick, who owed him a grudge for having been cheated out of Sophia,
had seized on the castle of Celle and established himself in the duchy.
George William had to post in haste to Celle to uphold his rights and
turn out the usurper, but before leaving Breda he placed a paper in the
hands of his beloved Eléonore, in which she found that he had settled on
her, in the event of his death, the whole of his private fortune with
the exception of a few legacies.

It took some time for George William to arrange things satisfactorily at
Celle; but at last he persuaded John Frederick to relinquish the duchy,
and gave him compensation, for his frequent absences had weakened his
rights. George William then became Duke of Celle, and John Frederick
succeeded to Hanover, Ernest Augustus remaining Bishop of Osnabrück.

When affairs of state were settled satisfactorily George William’s
thoughts once more turned to love. But there were many difficulties. He
could not leave his duchy so soon again, he could not return to Breda to
see the object of his affections; while she, on her part, refused all
entreaties to come to him. In this dilemma he confided in his
sister-in-law, the Duchess Sophia, of whose judgment he had great
admiration. Sophia sympathised, softened, doubtless, by one of those
little presents whereby George William was in the habit of buying the
complaisance of the court at Osnabrück, and promised to see the affair
through, provided that nothing were done to impair her rights. It could
hardly have been a congenial task to Sophia, and her jealousy showed
itself early by her scoffing at Eléonore’s airs of virtue, which she
declared were only assumed to increase her value. But she was not one to
allow sentiment to stand in the way of substantial benefit. Sophia’s
prospects had again distinctly improved by the death of Duke Christian.
John Frederick was still unwed, and likely to remain so;[10] and if she
could tie George William down to an amour without legitimate heirs, in
the fulness of time she or her children might reign not only at
Osnabrück, but also at Hanover and Celle. So the illustrious Duchess
Sophia, the descendant of kings, the great lady of Osnabrück, wrote a
specious letter to the poor exiled Eléonore, asking her to come,
assuring her of respect, and offering her as a pretext the post of
lady-in-waiting at her court. Eléonore still hesitated. She was very
proud and very poor; but she was very much in love, and wearied with
importunities. The Duchess wrote again, even more urgently. These
attentions from one who was known everywhere as a great princess
flattered Eléonore’s pride, and the prospect of joining her lover
gratified her love. She consented and came.

-----

Footnote 10:

  He married later, 1668, but his wife brought him no children.

-----

Eléonore was received with every mark of respect. Sophia, accompanied by
George William, met her at the foot of the grand staircase of the
castle. She was led up to the Duchess’s own chamber, where coffee and
salt biscuits, an unusual honour, were offered her, and she was then
conducted to her apartments. No one could be more affable than the
Duchess; everything seemed straightforward, and it is no wonder that
Eléonore, a stranger in a strange land, was outwitted. She soon found
that she could not draw back without compromising her reputation, so she
yielded to advice, not altogether reluctantly, and accepted at last the
left-handed marriage offered her. A contract was drawn up, worded almost
as if it were a regular marriage; but carefully guarding the rights of
Sophia, her husband, and her children; and the signatures of Ernest
Augustus and Sophia were written under those of George William of Celle
and Eléonore d’Olbreuse. After the ceremony, which took place in
September, 1665, Eléonore was granted the title of Madame von Harburg,
so called from an estate of the Duke’s, and her nominal place of
lady-in-waiting was filled by her sister Angelica, whom she later
married to the Comte de Reuss.

In her memoirs Sophia declares that at first she was agreeably surprised
to find Eléonore a very amiable person, of modest and even retiring
manners, and she no doubt thought she would be easily kept in her
place—not a high one. She soon found herself mistaken. For some months
after the morganatic marriage—the _anti-contrat de mariage_ Sophia
contemptuously called it—Eléonore continued to live in the household of
the Duchess, and was not treated with any great honour, and certainly
not admitted to an equality of rank. For instance, at meal-times she did
not take her place at the ducal table, and had to sit on a low chair,
without anything to eat, at a respectful distance from Sophia and George
William and Ernest Augustus, who ate their food while Madame von Harburg
looked on. But she was allowed to remain seated when any princes were
present, and this was considered a great concession. Her pride was much
hurt at this etiquette, nor did the heavy living and coarse manners of
the German court appeal to her finer tastes. In her interesting letters
to her uncle she complains that “her heart was sadly turned” by the
enormous dishes brought before the princely eaters, their _menu_
consisting chiefly of greasy sausages thrown in lumps on red cabbage,
and a farinaceous mass of ginger and onions. This was washed down by
cloudy, heavy ale, of which they drank freely. “Now,” the Duchess Sophia
would exclaim after she had eaten her fill, mopping her face with a
napkin, “you may go, my dear, and help your ‘angelic’ sister with her
saucepans.” This was a jeer at the habit of Eléonore and Angelica
preparing for themselves a little meal after the French _cuisine_ in
their dressing-rooms.

Madame von Harburg was not stinted in her establishment; she was allowed
a chariot drawn by six horses, but she was never seen abroad with the
Duchess Sophia or the Bishop of Osnabrück. She was not, however, a lady
content with the second place, and as her influence with her husband was
great, and grew greater as his love increased, she had little difficulty
in persuading him to take her away with him to the schloss at Celle,
where she was safe from the patronage of the Duchess Sophia and could
develop on her own lines. George William was glad to take up his abode
at the capital of his duchy, and, thanks to his morganatic wife, he
abandoned his roving habits and settled down as a model duke, making
plans for the improvement of his castle and the better government of his
people.

After they had been a few months at Celle, Eléonore set the seal on her
influence with her husband by presenting him with a daughter—Sophie
Dorothea.




                              CHAPTER II.

                       THE PROGRESS OF ELÉONORE.
                              (1666-1676.)

            Oh, were I seated high as my ambition,
            I’d place this naked foot on necks of monarchs!
                                                WALPOLE.


Sophie Dorothea was born in the castle of Celle on September 15, 1666.
On the anniversary of her birth two hundred and thirty-two years later
it chanced that the writer visited Celle. It must have been on just such
a September morning that Sophie Dorothea was born, with the sun blazing
down on the yellow-washed walls and shining into the chamber where the
birth-bed was, with the limes and silver beeches in the garden flecked
with the gold of autumn, and the blue-green reeds waving on the edge of
the sluggish moat. The fine old schloss had changed little with the
flight of centuries. The drawbridge and portcullis had gone; but the
moat, filled with water from the Aller, still flowed dully about the
walls, separated from them only by a strip of garden. The great
courtyard, with its high yellow walls, timeworn sundial, and pyramid of
cannon-balls in one corner (doubtless the spoil of one of George
William’s many campaigns), even the flock of white and purple pigeons
fluttering down on the rough stones, all seemed to breathe the spirit of
the seventeenth century. And looking up at the north wing, where Sophie
Dorothea was born, it required little effort of the imagination to
people again the deserted courtyard with lackeys and squires, to conjure
up the clatter of hoofs and the clank of spurs, the bustle of
congratulation, the arrival and departure of messengers and doctors, all
of which signified to the little town of Celle that a daughter was born
to the head of the great House of Brunswick-Lüneburg, and, though they
knew it not, an ancestress to two of the mightiest monarchs of the
modern world—the King of England and the German Emperor.[11]

-----

Footnote 11:

  Short genealogical table showing descent of King Edward VII. and the
  Emperor William II. from SOPHIE DOROTHEA of Celle.

                          SOPHIE DOROTHEA,
     married her first cousin, George Louis (afterwards George I.);
     they had two children—_viz._
                                  |
                  +———————-+——————-+
                  |                             |
           George II.                 The Queen of Prussia.
                  |                  +—————+————+
       Frederick Prince of Wales.    |                   |
                  |               Frederick    Prince William Augustus.
           George III.            the Great.             |
                  |                            Frederick William II.
        The Duke of Kent.                                |
                  |                            Frederick William III.
         Queen Victoria.                                 |
                  |                            Emperor William I.
           Edward VII.                                   |
                                               Emperor Frederick.
                                                         |
                                               Emperor William II.

-----

The little town of Celle, at least that part of it which clusters around
the base of the castle’s mighty walls, has also changed little since the
days of Sophie Dorothea. The old brick church where the babe of that
bright morning now sleeps with her fathers remains the same. The
triangular market-place and the quaint little streets which branch off
from it, many of them narrow and irregular, bear the marks of the flight
of centuries. The old part of the town still stands with houses dated
from 1600 to 1700, having outer beams carved with curious and uncouth
mottoes. Celle, though a fairly prosperous town, has not shot ahead like
Hanover. But in those days Celle, with its magnificent schloss, the seat
of the elder brother’s duchy, was a place of considerable importance. It
was a veritable Naboth’s vineyard to Ernest Augustus and Sophia, his
spouse, who, from their little court at Osnabrück, looked towards it
with longing eyes.

The news of the birth of a daughter was not welcome to them, but they
consoled themselves with the thought that the child was the fruit of a
morganatic union, and, after they had cracked a few coarse jokes,
dismissed the subject from their minds. But they were soon reminded
rather rudely. The infant was given the names of Sophie Dorothea, and
the christening was celebrated with much ceremony and many festivities
and rejoicings. Ernest Augustus angrily remarked that if the infant had
been a princess instead of only the daughter of his brother’s _madame_,
they could not have made more fuss about it; and that was true, for,
from the first moment Sophie Dorothea drew breath, though in strict law
she was a person of no importance, expressly excluded from holding any
rank at Celle, the same honours were paid to her as if she had been
heiress to the duchy.

From this time onward the rift between the Duchess Sophia and Eléonore
gradually widened into an open feud. As long as she had to think only of
herself Eléonore had borne patiently Sophia’s insults and humiliations;
but now that a child was born, she determined to spare no effort to
raise herself and her daughter to a recognised position. She played her
part with consummate skill. She had to fight against not merely the
uncompromising hostility of Ernest Augustus and the jealous hatred of
his Duchess, but the forces of custom and precedence which bind the
petty German courts with an iron band. She had to beat down the jealousy
and prejudice against herself as an alien and a stranger, and win the
support and recognition not only of her husband’s subjects, but of the
neighbouring princes, and even of the Emperor himself. When we consider
the forces against her, we are lost in admiration of the courage,
patience, and sagacity of this woman, who year after year toiled for the
end she had in view, and at last found her efforts crowned with success.

Success did not come in a night. It took Eléonore ten years before she
obtained the object of her desire—ten years of constant effort; for her
arch-enemy and rival, the Duchess Sophia, was ever on the alert to check
her moves and foil her plans. One great advantage Eléonore had at this
time, she was sure of her husband’s love; and as George William was as
easy-going as his wife was energetic, and as contented as she was
ambitious, she soon managed to gain a mastery over him—the mastery of a
strong mind over a weak one. Her next duty was to cultivate the arts of
popularity and win the good-will of her husband’s subjects, no easy
matter, for the prejudice against “the Frenchwoman” and morganatic wife
was strong in the little German principality. But her tact and
affability soon won her golden opinions in Celle. From the first she
seemed to take the townsfolk into her confidence; she drove about the
town with her infant daughter, radiant with bows and smiles, and soon
the inhabitants began to regard the little one as their own child, and
to be as jealous of her rights as they were of their own. This devotion
of the honest townsfolk of Celle to Sophie Dorothea never wavered, but
lasted all through her life.

Not content with sowing the seeds of her child’s popularity in her
infancy, Eléonore used other means to endear herself to her husband’s
subjects. At her instigation Duke George William proceeded to restore
the old schloss on a scale of considerable magnificence, taking care
always to employ local workmen. The little theatre[12] in the castle, so
long unused, was opened again for plays and musical performances, and to
these entertainments gentle and simple were bidden, and seated according
to their rank. Thus, after many years, a lady was once more _châtelaine_
at the schloss of Celle, and again there might be said to be a court
there.

-----

Footnote 12:

  The theatre is in the old part of the castle at Celle, approached by
  vaulted, stone corridors, with walls five feet thick, and has a large
  stage and a number of little boxes, the Royal box of course occupying
  a position of prominence. The decorations are simple; most of the
  theatre is whitewashed. Like the rest of the castle of Celle, it has
  changed little, though the castle has witnessed many changes. On the
  death of George William, the castle passed into the possession of
  George III., and through him to successive kings of England. On the
  accession of Queen Victoria, the schloss became the property of the
  King of Hanover, Ernest Augustus (Duke of Cumberland), who altered it
  somewhat inside, not for the better, and it remained in the possession
  of the Royal Family of Hanover until the Revolution of 1866, when it
  was seized, together with other Hanoverian possessions, by Prussia,
  and merged into the Province of Brunswick. For some time it was used
  as one of the summer palaces of the present Prince Regent of
  Brunswick; but he rarely goes there now, and the schloss is almost
  dismantled of furniture, but well kept and in perfect order.

-----

George William warmly seconded all these effort of his wife, and so
great was his love for her and the little child that his one idea seemed
to be how best to advance their interests. The rival court of Osnabrück,
queened over by the descendant of kings, regarded all these innovations
and the “mock court” at Celle with open ridicule yet concealed
uneasiness. Sophia was presenting her husband with a numerous family,
and she was anxious that nothing should be done to prejudice the rights
of her offspring.[13]

-----

Footnote 13:

  Table showing descent of Sophia from James I. of England, and her
  children.

                                  James I.
                                     |
                              Queen of Bohemia.
                                     |
                                  Sophia, m. Ernest Augustus (afterward
                                     |         Elector of Hanover).
        +—————-+———-+————+———+————-+———+
        |           |       |        |      |         |      |
  George Louis,     |   Maximilian   |   Charles      |   Ernest
  b. 1660, d. 1727  |   William,     |   Philip,      |   Augustus
  (afterward        |   b. 1666,     |   b. 1669,     |   Duke of York,
  George I. of      |   d. 1726.     |   d. 1690.     |   b. 1674,
  England), m.      |                |                |   d. 1728.
  Sophie            |                |                |
  Dorothea of       |                |                |
  Celle.            |                |                |
                    |                |                |
                Frederick         Sophia           Christian,
                Augustus,         Charlotte        b. 1671,
                b. 1661,          (Electress of    d. 1703.
                d. 1691.          Brandenburg
                                  and first Queen
                                  of Prussia),
                                  b. 1668, d. 1705.

-----

Ernest Augustus held the security of his brother’s promise not to enter
into a legal marriage, and believed in it implicitly; but he naturally
asked himself to what end Eléonore was working. He heard much of George
William’s boundless generosity to his morganatic wife, and he liked not
the diversion of his private property from what he thought its proper
direction, to wit, himself.

Within the next few years Eléonore bore her husband three more
daughters, but they all died in infancy. Her hope of an heir, long
cherished, despite the bitter derision of her enemies, came to nothing,
and Sophie Dorothea remained the spoiled darling of her parents’
affections. So devoted was her father to the child that the mother’s
influence grew day by day; and when the little girl was five years old,
George William, knowing that by his thoughtless contract with Ernest
Augustus he had shut out his wife and daughter from all succession to
his dominions, began to purchase land to bequeath as he pleased. To this
end he bought five domains, and settled them upon Eléonore and Sophie
Dorothea, so as to make provision for them in case of his death. But
even this reasonable arrangement was not carried through without a bribe
to satisfy Ernest Augustus, who would only tolerate his brother’s
liberality to his wife and daughter on the understanding that he
received a handsome commission for himself. This was the first marked
step in the progress of Eléonore, and a little later she sounded the
Emperor Leopold I. about the possibility of legitimising Sophie
Dorothea. The Emperor returned a favourable, if somewhat guarded, reply;
it was evident she could obtain her heart’s desire if she could manage
to pay the price. We find her, therefore, instigating George William to
send troops to help the Emperor in sundry campaigns. This was done, and
George William so distinguished himself that the Emperor received him in
private audience, and most graciously inquired after his “Duchess,”
pretending not to know the true state of affairs.

The Emperor’s condescension reached the ears of the Duchess Sophia, and
the embers of her jealousy burst into a blaze. Eléonore’s conduct was a
model of wifely devotion; so, as the Duchess Sophia could not bring any
charge against her after her marriage, she raked up some old slander,
and accused her publicly of having simultaneously carried on two
intrigues when she was at the court of France. She represented her as a
designing adventuress, who, while doing her best to marry Colin, a
page-in-waiting of Elizabeth Charlotte Duchess of Orleans, tried to
catch George William as the bigger match of the two. These charges were
not very damaging or convincing, but malice went further. We find the
Duchess Sophia writing to her niece, the Duchess of Orleans: “Never
would any respectable girl have entered the house of the Princess de
Tarente, for, though she is my aunt—to my intense disgust—she is not a
person with whom any one can live and remain clean. However,” she added,
“d’Olbreuse being a nobody, it did not matter much.” George William
treated the tale about the intrigue with the contempt it deserved, but
the statement that his wife was “a nobody” seems to have rankled; so he
and his lady thought of a very poor means of defence. They paid two
thousand thalers to a French genealogist to make out an elaborate family
tree, to prove that Eléonore d’Olbreuse was descended in an almost
direct line from the kings of France. The Duchess Sophia received the
pedigree with scorn and derision, and transmitted it to the Duchess of
Orleans, who, being malicious and a wit, made out a caricature, in which
she clearly showed that her head cook was a descendant of Philip the
Bold. Naturally these tactics did not tend to smooth matters between
Sophia and Eléonore, who were now not on speaking terms, nor were they
successful in winning George William from the object of his affections.
Manlike, the more his wife was attacked the more he defended her; and
Eléonore, who had her share of vanity, was so upset and wounded by being
thus flouted that she became quite ill, and had to take a cure at
Pyrmont, then a fashionable watering-place, to restore her health.
George William was worried, too, and by way of a consolation he
purchased for Eléonore another and yet more valuable estate, including
the fertile island of Wilhelmsburg, in the Elbe, near Hamburg. This he
settled upon her for life, and made arrangements for it to become, after
her death, the inheritance of Sophie Dorothea. Again Ernest Augustus
protested, and again he was bought off, this time with a bribe of
eighteen thousand thalers. But all the same, the victory remained with
Eléonore. If she could not get the genealogy, at least she had
substantial consolation. The possession of a property like the island of
Wilhelmsburg naturally aroused comment, not only at Osnabrück, but the
neighbouring courts. It was regarded as open evidence of Eléonore’s
influence; she became a person of consequence outside the little circle
of Celle, and all the German princes began to wonder what would happen
next.

They were not left long in doubt. A few months later the Emperor Leopold
sent to the court of Celle the letters patent which granted the
legitimising of Sophie Dorothea, and gave the title of Countess of
Wilhelmsburg to Eléonore. If the memoirs of the time are to be believed,
this Imperial message came as a surprise even to George William, who,
though evidently pleased, looked askance at his Eléonore and grunted,
“Hum, hum!” as though he fathomed the source whence the Imperial
condescension sprang. He was right, for the support which Eléonore had
given to the Emperor in influencing her husband to send troops to the
campaign, and a charming letter she had written to him, had won the
Emperor over to her side, and he graciously acceded to her desire.

The next few years went by uneventfully. It seemed to the outside world
that Eléonore was resting on her laurels, but in reality she was working
for more. Meanwhile Sophie Dorothea was growing up a lovely child,
petted and spoiled by her parents and the court of Celle. There is a
picture of her, painted about this time, at Herrenhausen, the portrait
of a beautiful child crowned with flowers and holding a great bundle of
blossoms in her arms—a happy, winsome, radiant face; and, making
allowance for the flattery of court painters, it is certain that she
must have been exceptionally lovely. The knowledge that the little girl
was to inherit a large fortune made rumour already begin to find her a
husband among the scions of the nobility. Among Sophie Dorothea’s
playmates in the gardens of Celle was a handsome youth of some sixteen
years, Count Philip Christopher Königsmarck, son of a wealthy Swedish
noble. The youthful Königsmarck was receiving his military training at
Celle, and was staying there for a few years. It was not unusual at that
time for a soldier to be trained in different courts and serve in
various campaigns, and so acquire a thorough knowledge of warfare. Count
Philip came of a family with a brilliant military record. His father had
held the office of Minister-General of Artillery in the service of the
King of Sweden; his uncle, Count Otho William, was a marshal in the
service of Louis XIV., and at the court of the Grand Monarque became
acquainted with Eléonore d’Olbreuse. He was a Huguenot like herself.
This acquaintance probably formed the link which brought his nephew to
Celle. Eléonore, though popular among her husband’s subjects, was
devoted to the land of her birth; she was always “the Frenchwoman,” and
was fond of appointing her compatriots to little places in her husband’s
court, thereby causing some small jealousies.

There is little doubt that the boy and girl were thrown together, and a
friendship sprang up between them; but at Sophie Dorothea’s age we can
hardly suppose that there was any deeper affection, though Königsmarck,
for his part (and he was older), afterwards avowed that he had loved her
from childhood.[14] At the most they could only have been boy and girl
playing at lovers. Count Philip, as we have seen, came of a
distinguished family, even in his boyhood he was endowed with great
personal beauty, and he was known to be heir to considerable wealth.
Sophie Dorothea was an heiress too, and she was then far removed from
the rank of a princess. The possibility of a match between the two was
not so remote as might have been imagined—at any rate their names were
linked together even at that early period in the little court of Celle.

-----

Footnote 14:

  The authority for this statement is to be found in the Protocol of the
  trial of Knesebeck, published in Cramer’s _Memoirs of Aurora
  Königsmarck_.

-----

It is scarcely likely that Eléonore, Countess of Wilhelmsburg, shared
these views for her daughter—in fact, we know that she looked higher.
Among the neighbouring German princes who had watched with benevolent
interest the progress of Eléonore was Duke Antony Ulrich of
Wolfenbüttel,[15] a cousin of George William, who later became
co-regent with his brother, Rudolph Augustus, of the duchy of
Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel. He was a prince of considerable talents and
artistic and literary gifts, a restless spirit always intriguing. He
was a plain man, so plain that the Duchess of Orleans called him “an
ugly baboon”. He early noted the great influence Eléonore had obtained
over her slow, easy-going husband. He disliked the Bishop of Osnabrück
and he knew of the Duchess Sophia’s hatred of Eléonore. He was aware
of the arrangement that had been made between the two brothers as to
the succession to the duchy, but nevertheless he thought it would be a
good thing if he could manage to divert some of the wealth of the fat
little principality of Celle into his somewhat empty coffers. With
this end in view he paid a visit to the court of Celle, and treated
Eléonore with every possible respect; in fact, he seems to have been
genuinely impressed with her virtue and talents, and this homage,
coming from a neighbouring prince, was grateful to Eléonore’s
self-esteem, for she was sensitive about her somewhat equivocal
position. She recognised in him an ally, and laid the foundations of a
friendship which lasted through life.

-----

Footnote 15:

  Wolfenbüttel is an old town on the Oker, not far from Brunswick. The
  famous library contains Luther’s Bible, and the ducal schloss and
  mortuary chapel are the only other buildings worth mentioning. The
  seat of the duchy was at Brunswick.

-----

After an interval, Duke Antony Ulrich came again to Celle, this time
accompanied by his eldest son, Augustus Frederick. He communicated to
Eléonore his wishes that his son should be betrothed to Sophie Dorothea,
and she was nothing loth. But he pointed out that there was a
difficulty, in that Sophie Dorothea was not a princess, and so could not
make a regular marriage with his son. The way to overcome this obstacle
was for George William to legally marry Eléonore, and raise her to the
rank of duchess, and by this means Sophie Dorothea would become a
princess, and equal in rank with Augustus Frederick. This reasoning was
very grateful to Eléonore, for it showed the way to the goal of her
ambition. She willingly agreed to work with Antony Ulrich for this
object, and they took into their confidence a councillor named Schütz.
Thus a distinct party was formed at Celle opposed to the interests of
the Bishop of Osnabrück and in favour of those of Wolfenbüttel. For this
the Duchess Sophia was largely to blame; she had so insulted and
humiliated Eléonore that she had thrown herself into the rival camp.
George William was so much under his wife’s influence that he readily
agreed to support her desire to become his duchess, especially when his
cousin and neighbour, Duke Antony Ulrich, told him she was in every way
worthy of the position, and it was a reproach to him that he had not
espoused her as his legal wife long before. He also viewed with favour
the betrothal of Sophie Dorothea to Augustus Frederick, to which this
was an indispensable preliminary. Everything was quickly arranged, and
it was resolved to petition the Emperor. He was already friendly to
Eléonore, and when her prayers were backed up by the powerful support of
the Duke of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel and her husband, they were sure to be
granted.

The news of this double event soon reached Osnabrück and struck
consternation into the hearts of Ernest Augustus and his wife. The
Duchess Sophia was beside herself with rage, and wrote to tell the news
to her niece, Elizabeth Charlotte of Orleans. “We shall soon have to say
‘Madame la Duchesse,’” she exclaimed, “to this little clot of dirt, for
is there another name for that mean _intrigante_ who comes from
nowhere?” To which Elizabeth Charlotte replied: “Nowhere? My dear aunt,
you are mistaken, if you will allow me to say so; she comes from a
French family, and therefore from a fraud.” Sophia also contemptuously
spoke of Eléonore as “the Signora,” professing to regard her merely as
the successor of Signora Buccolini, and she profanely declared that she
would rather George William’s marriage were one before God than before
man. But these feminine amenities, like the Bishop’s protests, were
unavailing; and soon Ernest Augustus and Sophia arrived at the
conclusion that, as it was too late to prevent the mischief, the only
thing remaining was to safeguard their interests as closely as possible.
A fresh agreement was drawn up, lawyers and parchments were brought
forth, and the contract between the two brothers was debated and fought
out, clause by clause, like a bill in committee. The heckling took many
months and bore fruit in many documents. The result of the controversy
was at last summarised in a document duly signed by Duke George William,
the Bishop of Osnabrück, and Duke Antony Ulrich of Wolfenbüttel. The
agreement was signed at Celle in May, 1676, and its main clauses may be
summarised as follows:—

Duke George William was allowed to “enter into Christian matrimony with
the high-born lady Eléonore von Harburg, Countess of Wilhelmsburg”; and
his daughter Sophie Dorothea, “promised to wife to His Serene Highness
Augustus Frederick Duke of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel,” was to bear the
title and arms of a princess by birth of Brunswick-Lüneburg. But a
clause was added: “Any other children who may be hereafter born in this
wedlock must content themselves with the titles of Counts and Countesses
of Wilhelmsburg, and they can make no pretences to the succession to the
duchy, which is bestowed on Ernest Augustus Bishop of Osnabrück and his
heirs male”.

The unfairness of this clause is patent; but it was somewhat modified by
the fact that it was extremely unlikely Eléonore would bear her husband
any more children. The Emperor’s assent was proclaimed with some
ceremony; a convocation of the deputies of the principality was then
assembled, and their agreement with the treaty duly notified. When all
the legal preliminaries were over, George William led his morganatic
wife of eleven years to the altar, and espoused her with much pomp and
solemnity before all his court, his cousin Antony Ulrich, and the little
Sophie Dorothea, who must have wondered what it was all about. Ernest
Augustus and Sophia were not present at these festivities, and they
dissembled their ire as best they could. “Ah!” exclaimed the Bishop to
his court at Osnabrück on the night of the marriage, “my brother’s
French _madame_ is not a jot the more his wife for being his duchess;
but she hath a dignity the more, and therewith may madame rest content.”
The jibe was duly reported to the court of Celle; but Eléonore did not
feel its sting. She had reached the summit of her ambition; she was the
acknowledged consort of the sovereign of Celle; her name was associated
with her husband’s in the Church prayers; her child was ranked as
princess and betrothed to a prince of equal rank. As Ernest Augustus had
said, she could now afford to rest content.




                              CHAPTER III.

                        THE WISDOM OF SERPENTS.
                              (1676-1681.)

               Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.
                                              SHAKSPEARE.


The sun of Eléonore’s triumph had no sooner reached its meridian than
its radiance began to be overcast. The first cloud was the death of the
young Prince Augustus Frederick of Wolfenbüttel, who was killed by a
cannon-ball at the siege of Phillipsburg a few months after his
betrothal to Sophie Dorothea. His death, though it seemed comparatively
unimportant, was destined to exercise an evil influence over the
fortunes of the House of Celle, and it snapped the strongest band of
union between the Celle-Wolfenbüttel party. The child Princess was
happily unconscious of her loss. The betrothal was merely a matter of
policy, to take effect later; the courtship was yet to come; and when
the tidings came to Celle of the death of her betrothed she was too
young to mourn him.

At first the Prince’s death affected but little the _entente_ between
the courts of Celle and Wolfenbüttel. Duke Antony Ulrich continued the
close friend of Eléonore; he had another son, more nearly the age of
Sophie Dorothea, and he held him in reserve; for the hour of a fresh
arrangement was not yet, and other plans were in the air.

Meanwhile the little Princess blossomed into lovely girlhood, the
spoiled darling of her father’s court. She was trained in all the
accomplishments suitable to her rank, but the more solid part of her
education seems to have been neglected, and with the promise of great
beauty she early developed a passion for admiration which lasted all her
life. Now that she was a princess her mother was careful to keep her
away from all suitors not of equal rank. The early intimacy between the
handsome young Königsmarck and Sophie Dorothea was broken off, and
Königsmarck was given a hint to leave Celle. He repaired to England to
finish his education, and he and the Princess did not meet again for
many years, and by that time she was a wife and the mother of two
children. Eléonore was justified of her wisdom, for when Sophie Dorothea
was scarcely more than twelve years old her aunt, the Countess de Reuss,
found in a drawer of the little Princess’s _bonheur du jour_ a
love-letter from a court page. The boy was banished for his audacity
into lifelong exile, and the governess, whose connivance was
responsible, was first imprisoned and then sent away in disgrace. The
news of this affair, which was but a childish folly after all, got
bruited abroad, and reached the ears of the alert Duchess Sophia. That
lady was never tired of tirading against her sister-in-law, the “little
clot of dirt” as she invariably calls her in her letters to her niece,
and she seized on this incident to point her moral. “Is it not a pity,”
she wrote to the Duchess of Orleans, “that Ernest Augustus and myself
should have made such a blunder and called to our court that ‘little
clot of dirt,’ the more so that we had at hand the Biegle, whom William
liked well enough, though she was not so fascinating as his French
vixen, who really is a splendid _Stückfleisch_? She would have done very
well, and at least have remained in her proper place. Never mind, Sophie
Dorothea will avenge us all; she is a little _canaille_, and we shall
see.”

This, to put it mildly, shows a loose moral view on the part of the
Duchess Sophia, to say nothing of the coarseness of expression. Her
prophecy about the little Princess did not seem very likely of
fulfilment then. The death of Augustus Frederick of Wolfenbüttel left
the field open, and an alliance with the great House of Lüneburg-Celle
was eagerly courted. The beauty and wealth of Sophie Dorothea, though
she was only just in her teens, made her a desirable bride, and it was
no longer the sons of the nobility who sought her hand, but princes of
the reigning Houses of Europe. A cousin of William of Orange, Henry
Casimir of Nassau-Dietz, was one of them; for another, the Duke of Celle
had almost arranged a match for his daughter with Prince George of
Denmark (afterwards the husband of Queen Anne of England) when the Queen
of Denmark interposed, and, with much violence and many expletives,
broke off the match. This lady had once received Eléonore at dinner, but
had refused her the kiss of honour. In revenge, Eléonore had commented
on the badness of the Queen’s _cuisine_; so they were far from friends.
Probably the Duchess Sophia, who was very friendly with the Queen of
Denmark, had a hand in bringing about the failure of these negotiations,
for we find her writing: “Well done! Fancy a king’s son for that bit of
a bastard! Upon my word, one has to come from Poitou to be so impudent!”

[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF CELLE.]

The gibe was of course aimed at Eléonore, who found herself on this
occasion outwitted by her sister-in-law. Up to this time Eléonore’s
influence with her husband was not sensibly impaired. His thoughts were
still engrossed with her advancement, and he first made a new treaty, by
which his wife was allowed the title of Duchess of Lüneburg-Celle; and,
secondly, drew up an agreement to further safeguard her rights and those
of her daughter to the rich estates of Wilhelmsburg. Both these
documents were countersigned by the wily Ernest Augustus, whose consent
was necessary, but who was only induced to yield by a high price being
paid for his complaisance.

The Duke of Celle thought his wife worthy of any pecuniary sacrifice at
this time. Her conduct was so irreproachable as a wife and a mother that
she won the esteem even of those who were prejudiced against her. Grave,
dignified, and beautiful, she held her husband’s truant affections much
longer than any one would have supposed, and was careful by her conduct
to make good the position to which she had been raised. Her bitterest
enemies were unable to tarnish her fair name, and this is no mean
tribute to her virtue and prudence when we remember the age in which she
lived and the circumstances surrounding her. Under Eléonore’s rule the
court of Celle became a model of decorum. The jovial Duke, though
wealthy and hospitable, hated display and ostentation, and loved nothing
so much as a quiet life. His tastes were those of an English country
squire. He was a fine judge of wine, and had many rare vintages in his
cellar; he had three hundred and seventy horses in his stables, mostly
English or bred in England; his kennels, too, were largely filled with
dogs of English breed. He was a mighty Nimrod, devoted to out-door
sports. A little business with his Ministers and a good deal of
hunting—that was his programme for the day, and in the evening he loved
nothing better than to share the joys of the domestic hearth with his
wife and child. Eléonore, unlike most ladies who have risen in the
world, seemed equally averse to display for its own sake, and shunned
rather than courted the trappings of state. So the court of Celle was
peaceful and virtuous, perhaps a little dull.

It was far different at the court of Hanover.

The death of Duke John Frederick without issue in 1679 had now brought
Ernest Augustus and Sophia to reign over Hanover as well as Osnabrück.
Duke John Frederick was not greatly mourned, and his reign, though
merry, had been brief. Like his brothers, he was fond of Italy, and
acquired there a love of foreign ways and a liking for the Roman
Catholic religion, to which he became a convert. Louis XIV., who
regarded himself as a defender of the faith, gave this ducal convert a
handsome pension, and treated him with marked favour. John Frederick’s
eyes were dazzled by the glory of the Grand Monarque, whose splendour
was the wonder of Europe, and he tried to turn Hanover into an imitation
Versailles: pseudo-classical statues were erected in the gardens;
fountains were dotted about the terraces; there were fireworks,
masquerades, and pastoral plays, Italian singers and French dancers;
many foreign _monsignori_ flitted about the court, and mass was again
sung in the churches. The honest Hanoverians rubbed their eyes and knew
not what to make of it all. But alien though their Duke was in some
things, he had one taste in common with his long-suffering subjects—he
loved his beer, and, after a prolonged course of hard drinking, he died
from an overspell of it. As the Duchess Sophia wrote, “He died as a true
German should, glass in hand”.

This “true German” being gathered to his fathers, Duke Ernest Augustus
and Duchess Sophia made haste to reign in his stead. Sophia thanked
Heaven for having thus placed her husband out of the reach of his
enemies, “as which the whole court of Celle had now to be regarded”. It
was indeed a notable accession of dignity and wealth. Both were
ambitious and loved money and ostentation; they now had a chance of
gratifying their tastes. In a smaller way Ernest Augustus had also
imitated Louis XIV.’s court, at Osnabrück, and it seemed to that “most
Christian” monarch that the new Duke of Hanover would follow his brother
in matters of religion. He therefore despatched a plenipotentiary, the
complaisant de Gourville, to sound him on the subject and to offer the
same bait in the way of pension as he had dangled before the eyes of
John Frederick. But Ernest Augustus was now not so needy, and he had
other objects in view, so he replied oracularly that though no doubt a
change of religion would be advantageous to his House he himself was too
old to change. All religions were much the same to Sophia; but she
disliked being meddled with in spiritual matters, and had her own
interests, too—her English interests, then remote—which would certainly
be imperilled by a change of faith. So the worthy pair, after taking
counsel together, hit on a compromise by not educating their daughter
Sophia Charlotte in any faith, so that she might marry the most
promising prince who offered himself, whether he were Catholic or
Protestant. When sounded later on the subject of her daughter’s faith,
the Duchess answered, “She is of no religion as yet”. It was lucky that
Sophia turned a deaf ear to the blandishments of the French King and the
Pope, or the House of Hanover and the Protestant succession would never
have reigned in England.

Though under the new _régime_ the court of Hanover differed in religious
ceremonial from that of Versailles, in other respects it was a bad
imitation, and the grafting of spurious French architecture on the
little mediæval German town produced many incongruous effects, as
incongruous as the aping of French manners and French morals. For the
court of Hanover imitated not only the pleasures of Versailles, but also
its vices. Unlike his brother George William, matrimony had effected no
change in the laxities of Ernest Augustus, and the explanation is
probably to be found in the fact that his was a marriage of policy,
while the other’s was a marriage of love. Ernest Augustus was a man of
six times the ability of George William. He was selfish and scheming,
but there was a certain splendid good nature about him, and though his
court was dissolute, it was always brilliant. The money for his
pleasures, for he was as great a spendthrift as his brother was the
reverse of one, he raised either by squeezing George William or by
equipping regiments of his subjects and selling them to foreign service,
as, for instance, to fight the Emperor’s enemies on the Danube. This was
in the approved style of the Grand Monarque, who always had a war on
hand by way of a kingly pastime. Louis, like Solomon of old, had also
his beautiful favourites in great array, who reaped rich rewards of
wealth and influence. This period of European history may be said to
mark the apotheosis of military and political adventurers and royal
mistresses. There was no court without its adventurers, and a king was
hardly a king without a bevy of mistresses. Many of them were women of
noble birth, who embarked on the career with the encouragement of their
parents and guardians, and even of their husbands. Louise de
Querouaille, afterwards Duchess of Portsmouth, went over from France to
England to win the favour of Charles II. In the same way Clara Elizabeth
and Catherine Marie Meisenbug journeyed to Osnabrück in the hope of
capturing the good-will of Ernest Augustus and his son.

Clara Elizabeth and Catherine Marie were of noble birth. Their father,
Count Carl Philip Meisenbug, was a needy military adventurer, and their
faces were their only fortune. Their good looks, combined with much
impudence, a lively wit, and an utter absence of principle, sufficed to
form a very attractive pair in those days. When they were only in their
teens Count Meisenbug took his daughters to Paris with the hope of
seeing them shine at the court of Louis XIV., a sort of Mecca to which
all these worldly pilgrims were then bound. But the established royal
favourites there did not view the fair intruders with favour, and gave
them a hint that it would be better to decamp, or Paris would soon be
too hot to hold them. The Meisenbugs, who were poor and therefore
powerless, needed no second warning. Fear lent them wings; they packed
up with all despatch, and, looking about for a likely spot to push their
fortunes, they hit upon the little court of Ernest Augustus, and set out
thither with all speed.

The court was then at Osnabrück, and it so chanced that the
_demoiselles_ Meisenbug arrived just when the two eldest sons of Ernest
Augustus, George Louis and Frederick Augustus, had returned from their
travels, accompanied by their governors Platen and Bussche. The needy
Count lost no time in presenting his daughters at court, and evidently
they created a favourable impression, for we find them helping at a
_fête_ in honour of the young Princes’ return. The _demoiselles_
Meisenbug, who were fresh from all the graces and amusements of
Versailles, composed a little pastoral play in French, which they craved
permission to perform before the Duke and Duchess, and the performance
was the most successful feature of the festival. It was given at night
in the gardens, which were illuminated for the occasion. The young
ladies appeared, as befitted their pastoral simplicity, in the guise of
shepherdesses, and recited their lines so prettily, and danced and sang
in so charming a way that they delighted their audience and especially
won the hearts of the governors Platen and Bussche. Having made so
favourable an impression, the sisters remained at Osnabrück to follow up
their advantage. It suited them well. It was a cheap town to live in;
they had the _entrée_ of the court, and the free-and-easy air of the
place gave them room to develop their schemes. At that time the young
adventuresses had to moderate their ambitions. Ernest Augustus was far
above them, and Prince George Louis was only a boy, and was sent away
directly on military service. But meantime the Meisenbugs made the best
of their opportunities. Platen and Bussche were both rising men, and
enjoyed the confidence of the court. Failing higher game, the sisters
resolved on making a conquest of them, and they unmasked their batteries
with such success that before long they were comfortably settled in
life, Clara Elizabeth as the wife of Platen, and Catherine Marie as the
wife of Bussche.

Attached now for good or evil to the House of Brunswick-Lüneburg, the
sisters shared in its improved fortunes, and when the court of Ernest
Augustus migrated to Hanover they went there too.

Of the two sisters, Clara Elizabeth, now Madame Platen, was immeasurably
the superior, if not in youth and beauty, in cleverness and audacity.
This woman is one of the worst instances in history of the evil
influence of the court mistress. She had no redeeming qualities; she was
unscrupulous, ambitious, and shamelessly corrupt. She was possessed of
the immense power of one who has a fixed purpose in life, and who will
stick at nothing to obtain it. Having obtained the first object of her
ambition, a safe and respectable position, she was wise enough to
recognise an identity of interest with her husband, and to see that as
he advanced she would advance with him. To this end she sought to obtain
influence over Ernest Augustus. Platen, after his marriage, was promoted
to a confidential position, and when the court went to Hanover he was
raised to the responsible post of Minister. His wife thus found herself
within the charmed circle and within touch of what she most
desired—power. A masterful disposition gave her complete sway over her
husband; she dictated to Platen, who, in turn, advised Ernest Augustus.
But this was too circuitous a method for Madame Platen, who wished to be
next the Duke himself. Before long a post was found for her in the
service of the Duchess Sophia, and thus she came frequently before the
notice of Ernest Augustus. She played her cards very discreetly, and,
with the connivance of her husband, brought all her arts, flatteries,
and fascinations to bear upon the Duke; so that Ernest Augustus was
first astonished at her cleverness, next flattered by her pretended
admiration for himself, and then fascinated by her good looks. In a
short time her influence over him was supreme. Not content with having
won the Duke, Madame Platen determined also to bring the son under her
influence. When Prince George Louis returned from his military service
she threw her sister, Madame Bussche, in his way. Her sister was younger
and prettier than Madame Platen, but much less clever and wholly under
the influence of this imperious woman. The precocious young Prince fell
captive to the charms of Madame Bussche, who also had a complaisant
husband. Thus Madame Platen became all-powerful at the court of Hanover.
It is an ugly chapter in the history of the Hanoverian House, but one
that cannot be ignored.

Some court mistresses have been real politicians, and their influence on
public affairs has been for good and not evil. But Madame Platen was
hardly a political woman of the first rank; she was incapable of taking
a wide view of affairs, and her efforts were directed towards the
immediate aggrandisement of the principality of Hanover, without a
thought of the larger interests outside. Into the family feud between
Celle and Hanover she entered with zest, and made common cause with
Ernest Augustus and Sophia against Eléonore and the Celle-Wolfenbüttel
party. She noted the growing intimacy between George William and Antony
Ulrich, which she shrewdly suspected boded no good to the fortunes of
the court of Hanover. Her methods were essentially those of the
backstairs, and she persuaded Ernest Augustus to employ spies at Celle
to report all that went on there. In this way she acquired a knowledge
of the disposition of the Ministers who held office at Celle. The most
powerful of them all was Bernstorff, the Duke’s Prime Minister.
Bernstorff was an ambitious and avaricious man with little principle,
who had already shown jealousy of the influence which Eléonore exercised
over her husband and resented her interference in affairs of state.
Madame Platen saw in him an instrument for her designs; she approached
him with many promises, and some more substantial pledges from Ernest
Augustus—_item_, a gold snuff-box set with diamonds, and similar tokens
of good-will. Bernstorff was quite willing to listen to these overtures;
he was anxious to become a great landed proprietor, and Ernest Augustus
promised to advance his wishes in this and other respects if he would
carry out his plans. He was opposed to the Celle-Wolfenbüttel party
headed by the Duchess Eléonore, he desired nothing better than her
downfall; so he took the bribe, and confidential communications were
opened up with Hanover. In particular he warned Ernest Augustus of the
schemes of Duke Antony Ulrich, who was now urging the betrothal of his
second son to the little Sophie Dorothea. These communications were not
nominally carried on between responsible Ministers, but between a spy at
Celle and Madame Platen at Hanover, so that if anything transpired they
could both be disowned by the responsible officials; but in reality
Madame Platen was dictating the policy of Hanover.

A pretty picture of moral and political corruption, it must be
confessed. One wonders what the haughty Duchess Sophia thought of it
all, and by what inexplicable means this inscrutable woman was brought
to become a passive witness of the double capture by audacious
adventuresses of her husband and her son. Her policy was always to
ignore anything she could not help; and in this case she seems to have
offered no protest. The key to this riddle is probably to be found in
her character. The moral objection would not appeal to her, for though
the Duchess Sophia in her own personal conduct was absolutely above
reproach, and there is abundant evidence to prove she held that the
virtue of princesses should be above suspicion, yet she had been trained
in a school and an age which did not demand the same standard of
morality from men as from women, least of all from princes. In her day
women of the Platen type were as much a part of the _entourage_ of a
court as the lackeys in the kitchen or the grooms in the stables, and
since this was so, why not Madame Platen as well as another? Sophia had
done her duty to Ernest Augustus in every sense of the word. She had
been a good and faithful wife; she had upheld the dignity of the courts
of Osnabrück and Hanover; she had borne her husband six children, five
sons and a daughter; and though they had never any love in the highest
sense for one another, yet in time affection seems to have sprung up
between this curious couple, and they got on very well together, mainly
on the principle of leaving each other alone. According to his lights,
and possibly her lights also, Ernest Augustus was a good husband; he
always treated his consort with profound respect, and outwardly he
fulfilled the letter of his contract with her, it was only in the spirit
he failed, but Sophia probably did not care about that. She was his
duchess, the mother of his sons, the great lady of the House of
Brunswick-Lüneburg, and that sufficed her. She was fond of her children,
too, especially of the younger boys and her daughter, but for George
Louis, her eldest son, she had very little love. She therefore probably
regarded his affair with Madame Bussche with indifference. Nor did
religious scruples enter to any extent. She was a free-thinking woman,
who, from a philosophic eminence, looked down upon all dogma with
contempt. “The Princess Sophia,” says Dean Lockier, “was a woman of good
sense and excellent conversation. I was very well acquainted with her.
She sat very loose in her religious principles, and used to take a
particular pleasure in setting a heretic (infidel), whenever she could
meet such, and one of her chaplains disputing together.” This is a
quaint characteristic; and we may picture Sophia’s face as she baited
her chaplain with some truculent infidel, and chuckled while they fought
together, finally dismissing them with “A plague on both your
houses”.[16]

-----

Footnote 16:

  A similar pastime was frequently indulged in by her
  grand-daughter-in-law, Queen Caroline, wife of George II., who was
  also most tolerant of her husband’s mistresses. No doubt she learned
  both these peculiarities from Sophia.

-----

Hitherto we have viewed this Princess in a somewhat unamiable light—the
side she showed to Eléonore; it is only fair to turn the other side of
the shield. Her failings were the failings of her time, her virtues were
all her own. Reared in a dissolute court, married into a vicious one, no
word of scandal was ever breathed against her moral character. She
remained beyond and apart, a serene and haughty figure, head and
shoulders above the mean, coarse, voluptuous, lying crowd with which she
was surrounded. Whatever was pure and of good repute, whatever made for
the higher and intellectual life, turned to Sophia at the court of
Hanover. She was a woman of great parts, speaking five languages—Low
Dutch, German, French, Italian, and English—fluently, and was learned in
the literature of them all. She attracted to Hanover some of the
choicest intellectual spirits of the age, and among them was the great
and learned Leibniz, whose friend and patron she was. In turn he warmly
respected and admired her: she was the “Serena” of his letters, and
together they discussed those subtle philosophies beside which such
things as court intrigues and court courtesans were as nothing worth.

It was doubtless her communing in these serene altitudes, together with
the considerations before mentioned, which enabled the Duchess Sophia to
ignore Madame Platen and lesser annoyances. Outwardly she received from
the court mistress every mark of respect and homage. However impudent,
brazen, and intriguing Madame Platen might be, she was always submissive
and decorous before the Duchess Sophia, always her very humble
lady-in-waiting. The Duchess was not of a jealous temperament, and in
matters where her rank and her rights were not imperilled her heart did
not enter. Madame Platen would always be Madame Platen; she could never
rise, for instance, to the heights of the upstart Eléonore, and arrogate
to herself the position of an equal of the daughter of kings; and so
long as she kept her place, what matter? Besides, according to her
lights, the woman was working for the greater glory of the House of
Brunswick-Lüneburg and against the hated Eléonore. These seem the
ostensible grounds on which it can be explained why the Duchess Sophia
allowed, without protest, such a power near her throne. But there was
perhaps another reason, too, which overshadowed all the rest.

The great and splendid inheritance of the throne of England already
flitted before Sophia’s dazzled eyes. English events absorbed her to the
exclusion of others, and the affairs of the court of Hanover were mere
village politics beside them. Sophia had one virtue for which every
Englishman will love her. She loved “her country,” as she called
England, with all her heart and soul and strength; “her country,” which
she had never seen, which she was destined never to see; “her country,”
over which her grandfather had reigned a well-nigh absolute monarch;
“her country,” to which her mother had gone back, as to home, to end her
days; “her country,” for which her brother, the dashing Prince Rupert,
had fought on the King’s side throughout the Great Rebellion; “her
country,” over which her son was to reign and her children’s children
from generation to generation. The reproach of being German and alien in
sympathy, later, often urged against the House of Hanover, could never
have been brought against Sophia, for her heart was as “entirely
English” as Queen Anne’s. She early imbibed her love for England and
things English. She spoke the language fluently, far better than many a
Stuart. She was learned in England’s history, its customs, and its laws.
She had an English maid always with her. In her youth she had been
within measurable distance of becoming Queen Consort of England; in her
old age she was within an ace of being Queen Regnant.[17] It is a pity
she was never Queen of England. She would have been another and a wiser
Elizabeth, whom in many ways she strongly resembled—in her love of
statecraft, her broad and liberal view of things, her contempt for
jarring creeds, her wisdom and resource. Yes, it is a thousand pities
she was never Queen of England; she would have made a wiser ruler than
any of her Stuart cousins, and a far better than any of her descendants,
save only the present illustrious occupant of the throne, and his
revered mother, whose long and beneficent reign won for her the first
place among England’s monarchs of any dynasty.

-----

Footnote 17:

  She died less than three months before Queen Anne.

-----




                              CHAPTER IV.

                      PRINCE GEORGE GOES A-WOOING.
                              (1681-1682.)

He that travels in a country before he has some entrance into the
language, goeth to school and not to travel.—BACON.


From her watch-tower at Hanover the Duchess Sophia followed with keen
interest the course of events in England, an interest which increased
every day of her life until at last it became an absorbing passion. She
spared no pains to keep up a good understanding between herself and her
English relatives. When Charles II. was restored to the throne of his
ancestors, she sent him a warm letter of congratulation, written in the
oddest French, which is still preserved among the Lambeth manuscripts.
Throughout her cousin’s reign Sophia continued to watch affairs in
England. She noted Charles’s childless marriage to Catherine of
Braganza.[18] She noted the dislike and jealousy of the people of
England to Popery, and the conversion of the heir to the throne, the
Duke of York, to the Roman Catholic religion, and his consequent
unpopularity. She noted the marriage of his eldest daughter, Princess
Mary of York, to William of Orange, and the childless condition of the
Dutchman and his spouse. Last of all, she noted that the Princess Anne
of York, on whom it seemed likely the crown of England would devolve in
the course of nature, had reached a marriageable age, and she saw in her
son, George Louis, the husband for her, and prepared to act.

-----

Footnote 18:

  “She [Sophia] told me,” writes Lord Dartmouth many years later, “that
  she was once like to have been married to King Charles II., which
  would not have been worse for the nation, considering how many
  children she had brought, to which I most sincerely agreed.”

-----

George Louis had now attained his majority. He was not an ideal lover,
by no means a Prince Charming, though so far as looks were concerned he
might have passed muster. He was about the middle height, dark, with
strongly marked features, but he carried himself badly, and was awkward
of figure, still more awkward in manner. He resembled neither of his
parents. Ernest Augustus gilded his faults by a certain generosity and
refinement, which earned for him the title of “the gentleman of
Germany”. George Louis was niggardly, he had no charm of manner, he was
vindictive, sullen, slow of speech, and altogether unprepossessing. His
mother, as we have seen, was a woman of high culture and education and a
ready wit, which caused her to be known as “the merry, _débonnaire_
princess of Germany”. George Louis’s education had been neglected, he
had no love of learning, and an intense dislike of literature, nor had
he any accomplishments save the love of music characteristic of his
race. But, on the other hand, he was a good soldier, a man of the camp
rather than of the court. His tutors threw up their hands in despair
when they endeavoured to teach him anything from books, but he took to
military service as a duck takes to water. He served under his father,
when only fifteen, in the campaign in 1675, and fought bravely at
Consarbrück, at the siege of Treves, and in the campaign on the Rhine;
he was at the sieges of Maestricht and Charleroy, and again at the
battle near St. Denis, and on every occasion he distinguished himself.
He had his own rough code of honour. He never told a lie. He possessed
in a marked degree that courage which even their bitterest detractors
cannot withhold from the princes of the House of Hanover. Yet with all
his military instinct he loved not bloodshed for its own sake; he was a
man of peace. He had humanity for the wounded on the field of battle,
and could respect a fallen foe. His methods were brutal, but
straightforward; he was no intriguer, and, though profligate, he was
honest.

Ernest Augustus was in despair at the rude manners of his boorish son,
and thought that travel would improve him. As he was not over-welcome at
home, he sent him to the court of France, to pick up a little polish for
one thing, and, for another, to try to improve matters between Louis
XIV. and himself. But the young Prince returned much the same. He was
not a diplomatist, and his efforts in that direction were not a success.

It was then that the Duchess Sophia broached her plan of sending him to
England as a suitor of the Princess Anne of York. It was emphatically
_her_ plan. Madame Platen had nothing to do with it, was not even
consulted; in fact, Sophia never recognised in any way this woman’s
influence. The moment could not have been more propitious. The
anti-Popery feeling was running high in England, and already overtures
had been made by the Protestant party to the House of Hanover. Duke
Ernest Augustus did not think much of these overtures; the prospect was
too vague. England was to him little more than a geographical
expression, and the violent events of recent years filled him with
distrust. He had witnessed in England the Great Rebellion, the downfall
of the Monarchy, the execution of the King, the setting up of the
Commonwealth, the downfall of the Commonwealth, the restoration of the
Monarchy, and now the Puritan party seemed to be rising again. He did
not trust a nation which indulged in such extremes, and he regarded
England much as the average Englishman to-day regards France. But he was
not averse from the idea of marrying his eldest son to a Princess of the
Royal House of England; in any case she would have a goodly dower, and
so, to please his wife and his own inclinations, he consented to find
the money to despatch George Louis to England in a manner befitting his
rank and errand.

[Illustration:

  PRINCE GEORGE LOUIS OF HANOVER
  (AFTERWARDS GEORGE I. OF ENGLAND).
  _From a picture at Hanover._
]

The Duchess Sophia was delighted with her husband’s willingness to fall
in with her plan (she little knew that all the while behind her back he
was intriguing for another match for Prince George, should this fall
through), and she took the keenest interest in her son’s visit. Another
also took an interest, that born intriguer, William of Orange, the
husband of the Princess Mary of York, who was jealously watching events
in England. When he heard of George Louis’s intended visit he scented
mischief ahead, and sent a flattering invitation to Hanover asking the
young Prince to spend a month with him at the Hague on his way to
England. Sophia was glad that her son should visit his Stuart cousins in
Holland, and the invitation was accepted. It was a fatal error of
policy, for William soon learnt from the young Prince the object of his
mission, and immediately set to work to render it null and void. He,
too, was half a Stuart, a grandson of Charles I., and the prospect of
the crown of England had its charms for him also; he coveted it not
merely for his wife. If George Louis married the Princess Anne, and the
Princess of Orange died before her (as in fact she did, though not till
she had been Queen), William, her consort, would probably have to give
way to their prior claims; for George Louis was a Protestant, and only
one step further removed from the blood royal of England than himself;
therefore it behoved him to move heaven and earth to prevent this match.

He had spies in England, at Hanover, and at Celle, and he set them all
at work. His agent in Hanover was probably Madame Platen, and at Celle
Bernstorff, both of whom were open to bribes. Their work was simple:
they were to represent to their respective princes how much more
suitable and advantageous it would be if George Louis married Sophie
Dorothea. Of course, they could do nothing more than prepare the ground,
and drop a hint now and then; but even that would bear fruit. In England
William had emissaries everywhere, at court, and even in the household
of Princess Anne.

Meanwhile the unsuspecting George Louis parted from his cousins, William
and Mary, with many expressions of good-will, and set sail for England.
He anchored off Greenwich early in December, 1680 (New Style). His
arrival was well timed, from the popularity point of view. Public
feeling was excited over the so-called Popish plots, and the
unpopularity of the Duke of York was at its height. The Bill which
excluded him from the succession to the throne because he was a Papist
was before Parliament, and in the event of its passing into law George
Louis’s prospects as a Protestant descendant of the Stuarts would be
improved. The Bill did pass with acclamation, but the King dissolved
Parliament immediately.

George Louis’s arrival, though his errand was well known, does not seem
to have been equally popular with the court; his barque lay in the mud
off Greenwich, but no one was sent to look out for him or to bid him
welcome. When he landed in England again it was as King: such are the
ironies of history. At this time George Louis did not expect great
things; he sent to his uncle Rupert, and presumably explained matters to
him. Henceforward things went more smoothly. George Louis was lodged in
Whitehall and received by Charles II. very graciously. He was presented
to the Princess Anne, and by the King’s permission suffered to kiss her
cheek; but his wooing did not prosper as might have been expected from
so promising a beginning. The Princess Anne at that time was seventeen
years old, in the full bloom of youth, and had a considerable share of
good looks of a florid description. Accustomed as she was to all the
grace and splendour of the English court, Princess Anne looked with
little favour on the awkward advances of her German cousin, who could
not speak a word of the English language, and whose person was not
pleasing nor his manner courtly. Naturally reserved, he was very shy
when he was first presented to her, and awkward in saluting her, and
William of Orange caused it to be whispered to Anne that the Prince’s
backwardness was owing to an irrepressible disgust which he felt for her
at first sight, and that he had spoken slightingly of her charms. This
was enough for Anne, whose vanity was easily wounded; she would have
nothing more to say to her loutish lover, and cherished a lifelong
resentment at the imaginary affront.

Neither the King nor the Duke of York favoured the suit of the
Hanoverian Prince, because he was unjustly supposed to be in league with
the Prince of Orange. But still George Louis lingered in England, and
paid a visit to Cambridge, where he was received with every mark of
honour and given the degree of Doctor of Laws. Cambridge was thus early
in the field to demonstrate her loyalty to the House of Hanover. When it
is remembered that the Prince was a stranger to England, and could not
speak a word of the language, it is evident there must have been some
political motive on the part of the university. It was to be found in
party feeling, which then ran high. Parliament met at Oxford, and was
still clamouring for the Exclusion Bill, but the King put his foot down,
absolutely refused to alter the succession, and again dissolved
Parliament. This was a severe blow to the Protestant party and
incidentally to the Protestant princes.

Soon after, George Louis was summoned home abruptly, and he returned to
Hanover in the spring. Ernest Augustus, seeing there was no hope of his
son marrying the Princess Anne, became impatient about the English
succession, for which he did not care a fig; besides, there was a
tendency in England to draw the young Prince into intrigues, and both
Sophia and himself always opposed anything which might tend to embarrass
the reigning House of England. In this respect the conduct of the House
of Hanover forms an honourable contrast to that of William of Orange.
Her son’s return empty-handed was a bitter disappointment to Sophia, who
saw her English hopes shattered. She withdrew once more to the
consolations of philosophy, conscious that the failure of her plan had
brought with it a waning of her influence with her husband. George Louis
had been sent on a wild-goose chase, and Ernest Augustus had to pay the
bill, which he did with very ill grace; for, though he was lavish with
money where his own pleasures were concerned, he had the German
thriftiness about spending it on others.

Madame Platen’s star now rose in the ascendant, and she urged with added
force and plausibility the scheme of a marriage between George Louis and
his cousin, Sophie Dorothea. Of course, all had to be done behind the
back of the Duchess Sophia, who regarded the court of Celle with
unconcealed aversion. Ernest Augustus had not the same feeling of
personal bitterness against Eléonore as his wife, and he was quite
willing to make terms with George William, or, for a matter of that,
with her, if he could thereby add to his fortunes, and he therefore gave
ready ear to the idea. The advantages of the union were many and
obvious; the young lady was rich, her dower would be large, the marriage
would unite the severed principalities of Celle and Hanover, and so add
enormously to the power of the House of Brunswick-Lüneburg; it would end
an unpleasant family feud, fraught with weakness and danger to both
parties, and would set up again an identity of interest between the
brothers. All this would happen if Sophie Dorothea married George Louis;
but if she married a rival prince, under the present strained relations,
dangers would arise which it would be impossible to foresee. The breach
would widen, and the principality of Hanover would be threatened with a
foe at its very doors. From a political point of view nothing could be
better than this marriage—for Hanover. At Celle the ground was not
unprepared; Platen had communicated with Bernstorff, and that pliant
tool had also sounded George William who was more than willing; the
failure of other matrimonial plans for his daughter made him more
complaisant. As the continual dropping of water wears away a stone, so
Bernstorff, by hint and innuendo, was slowly undermining the influence
of the Duchess of Celle. He traded on the fact that she was “the
Frenchwoman,” he exaggerated the jealousy which arose from so many
French officers holding commissions in the ducal army, he hinted
discreetly to the Duke that the neighbouring princes and even the
Emperor were laughing at him because he allowed himself to be ruled by
his wife, and he particularly opposed the growing power of the
Celle-Wolfenbüttel party.

Duke Antony Ulrich had by this time brought forward his eldest surviving
son, a handsome prince, as a suitor for the hand of Sophie Dorothea. The
young couple were of a suitable age, and Eléonore warmly encouraged the
match. If the matter had rested with her, the betrothal would long since
have taken place. Her first check had come when she proposed it to
George William. To her astonishment he held back. He was superstitious,
and thought the untoward ending of the first match between his daughter
and a Prince of the House of Wolfenbüttel was an ill omen. He did not
approve of her marriage with the younger brother when she had been
betrothed to the elder, for in Germany at that time betrothal was almost
as solemn a compact as marriage itself. These were the reasons he put
forward for opposing the betrothal; but Eléonore, who suspected
something behind, talked him over, and at last he was induced to
unwillingly give a half promise that was almost a consent, on the
condition that the betrothal should be postponed until Sophie Dorothea
was sixteen, and meantime the arrangement should be kept secret. With
this Eléonore and Antony Ulrich had to be content. The Duke was easily
swayed, and it was Bernstorff who prompted the delay; he now used the
time gained to further oppose the match and to urge the Hanoverian
claims.

So matters went on until September, 1682, when Sophie Dorothea was to
attain her sixteenth birthday. In some way the half promise which the
Duke of Celle had given leaked out, and also the news that Duke Antony
Ulrich and his son were coming to Celle for the celebration of the
Princess’s birthday on September 15. Bernstorff immediately communicated
this to the court of Hanover. The news filled Ernest Augustus and his
advisers, the Platens, with dismay; they had been intriguing for months,
and now, through a sudden move on the part of the Duchess of Celle,
their schemes were on the edge of failure. If Bernstorff had not
discovered the plot they would certainly have been lost. In any case the
time for talking was past, the time for action had come; Antony Ulrich
and the young Prince were actually on their way to Celle, and Eléonore
was arranging a great festival, when no doubt the betrothal would be
publicly announced. Then it would be too late. Owing to the badness of
the roads, the news only arrived at Hanover on the morning of the day
before. What was to be done? If Ernest Augustus were to go to Celle,
Eléonore would guess the reason of his sudden appearance and outwit him.
To send George Louis would be to court failure (they had had two
experiences of _his_ diplomacy); to send a Minister would be useless; to
send Madame Platen an insult. There was only one person who could hope
to carry the difficult business through, and she was the Duchess Sophia.
She had influence with the Duke of Celle. Her quarrel had been with his
wife and not with him. He had always treated her with honour and even
affection; probably he felt some twinge of shame for the shabby way he
had behaved to her years before. Her descent from a long line of kings,
her high position, learning, and virtues, her wit and resource, all made
her the ideal ambassadress for such a mission. George William would be
flattered by her condescension in coming to Celle; he was seeking an
excuse to bring about the match, and would meet her half way. But would
she go?

It was not without misgiving that Ernest Augustus repaired to his
Duchess, laid bare his plan, and implored her aid. It came to her as a
revelation, and at first the haughty Sophia would have none of it. She
hated the d’Olbreuse, and despised Sophie Dorothea because she was her
daughter; she had never recognised them, never visited them, and always
treated them as dirt beneath her feet. The last thing she contemplated,
or wished, was to be brought into closer alliance with them. It did not
come to her altogether as a new idea, for the possibility of such a
marriage had often been discussed before, only to be contemptuously
rejected by Sophia. Five years before, in 1677, it is mentioned in her
correspondence with the Duchess of Orleans, who profanely denounced it
as a “sin against the Holy Ghost”. But the arguments and entreaties of
Ernest Augustus had weight with her; he reminded her that her English
plan had failed, and urged that she should make some compensation for
the expense and disappointment which she had brought upon him. She
recognised the force of this reasoning; she was just now suffering all
the humiliations of defeat, and if she could carry this difficult thing
through it would restore her lost prestige. She knew well enough—it did
not need to be explained to her—the substantial advantages that would
accrue from the union of the duchies and the bringing of a large dowry
into the coffers of Hanover. She saw, too, how disastrous it would be
for the Celle-Wolfenbüttel party to triumph and Eléonore to be
victorious. The last thought was perhaps the most powerful of all; by
consenting to go to Celle she would outwit her rival, wound her to the
heart, frustrate her most cherished plan, and ruin her influence for
ever. So Sophia consented to undertake the mission, and, with
characteristic energy, prepared to start at once. The state chariot and
Mecklenburg horses were ordered out, and with postillions and outriders
the haughty Duchess set forth. There was no time to be lost; she must
reach Celle before to-morrow morning or the Wolfenbüttels would be there
before her.

It was a dull evening in mid-September when Sophia rumbled in her heavy
coach out of Hanover and over the rough road towards Celle. Celle is
distant from Hanover about twenty miles as the crow flies; but because
of heavy rains many of the roads were impassable, and the coach had to
travel by a circuitous route. It took the Duchess all night to reach her
journey’s end.




                               CHAPTER V.

                             THE SACRIFICE.
                                (1682.)

                                        After this alliance
          Let tigers match with hinds, and wolves with sheep,
          And every creature couple with its foe.
                                                    DRYDEN.


The mists of a raw September morning hung about Celle as the Duchess
Sophia drove in from the Hanover road, stiff and cold from her long
journey. One wonders what thoughts crowded into her brain as the coach
rattled through the quaint streets of the little town. She had not been
here for seventeen years, never since Eléonore had queened it at the
castle, and she had come to-day to disqueen her, by destroying her
influence and bringing to naught her most cherished scheme. Yet she
would have to make peace with her, turn to her a smiling face, and enter
into close and intimate relations with the woman she hated, insulted,
and despised. It must have been with mingled feelings that Sophia saw
the towers of the mighty schloss rise before her.

The sleepy sentinel, recognising the unaccustomed liveries of Hanover,
hurried to let down the drawbridge, raise the portcullis, and salute the
great Duchess. The moment the coach entered the courtyard Sophia
alighted. A glance sufficed to show her she was not too late, the
Wolfenbüttel equipage was not yet there. Brushing aside ceremony, she,
who was so great a stickler for etiquette, demanded to see the Duke of
Celle at once. The few half-awakened servants who happened to be up as
she entered the castle, astonished at the unexpected apparition,
explained to her that His Highness had not yet risen, he was even now
dressing, but would soon be able to descend and receive her in a fitting
manner. But Sophia was in no humour to tarry; ascending the great
staircase, she haughtily demanded to be shown at once to the Duke’s
chamber, in bed or out of bed, dressed or undressed, her business was
one which would admit of no delay. The flurried page conducted her to
the door of the ducal apartment, and here she ordered him to leave, and
announced herself by promptly opening the door and walking in upon the
astonished Duke, who was then at his dressing-table.

Of all people in the world, his sister-in-law was the one George William
least expected to see; but Sophia cut short his exclamations and
apologies by announcing that she had travelled all night to present in
person her congratulations to himself and his Duchess on the occasion of
the sixteenth birthday of their daughter, and wound up by asking curtly,
“Where is your wife?” The Duke pointed to the half-open door of the
bedchamber adjoining, where Eléonore was still in bed—a capacious bed in
a comparatively small room with the ceiling decorated with a realistic
fresco of the legend of Leda and the Swan.[19] Eléonore, hearing voices,
called out to her husband to ask who came thus early to disturb their
rest. The Duchess Sophia, through the half-open door, repeated in a loud
voice what she had already said to the Duke, thus breaking the ice of
the awkward first greeting with her enemy, and, without waiting to hear
what the perturbed Eléonore had to say in reply, she turned to the Duke,
and, addressing him in Low Dutch, a language she knew his wife did not
understand, she intimated that she had something important to say to him
alone. George William glanced meaningly at the half-open door, behind
which was the flurried Eléonore, and suggested they should wait a little
while and discuss the matter elsewhere. But Sophia cut short his excuses
and proposals by answering that what she had to say must be said there
and then. She could not be so rude as to shut the door in Eléonore’s
face, so she drew up a chair by the Duke’s dressing-table, and,
continuing to speak in Low Dutch, proceeded to unfold her scheme—first
exacting from him a promise that, if he did not accede to her wishes, he
was never to divulge a syllable of what she had come to say.

-----

Footnote 19:

  The room remains the same to this day.

-----

In a few vigorous sentences she skilfully explained the real object of
her visit. She began by deploring the family feud which had too long
existed between the courts of Hanover and Celle, and expatiated upon the
desirability of reconciliation and the advantages which would inevitably
follow a closer union. George William, who by this time had made a
shrewd guess at what she was driving, followed her with many encouraging
nods and ejaculations, and when the uneasy Eléonore from the next room
called out that she would like to know the subject of the conversation,
he bade her roughly to be quiet, and invited Sophia to proceed. That
lady then touched upon the services which had been rendered to the
Emperor by the troops of Hanover and Celle, and hinted at the probable
raising of the duchy to an electorate; she did not say which duchy, but
George William thought it was the duchy of Celle, whereas she had in her
mind (and her surmise eventually proved correct) the accession of the
duchy of Hanover to this coveted dignity. She went on to say that sooner
or later there would be an addition of territory in the shape of the
duchies of Bremen and Verden,[20] declared it would be a pity if a fine
domain like Wilhelmsburg, Sophie Dorothea’s inheritance, should be
alienated from Brunswick-Lüneburg territory, and then by a natural
sequence proceeded to show that all evils could be averted and all good
things brought about by the marriage of her son George Louis with George
William’s daughter, Sophie Dorothea. George Louis she described in
glowing terms; she alluded to his high favour with William of Orange,
and his connection, through her, with the Royal House of England, which
assured him the good-will of that great Power.

-----

Footnote 20:

  This did not actually take place until the reign of George I.

-----

George William was completely carried away by the eloquence and
arguments of his illustrious sister-in-law. No one, he told her, could
regret more than he the breach between the two Houses, it was not his
doing, and he was glad of an opportunity of reconciliation. He saw
clearly the advantages that would follow upon the marriage proposed, and
he promised his consent. He did not need much persuasion, he only wanted
the excuse of meeting the proposal which her visit gave him, for the
marriage had been the secret desire of his heart for years. With the
warmest assurances of friendship he kissed Sophia’s hand, and then
escorted her to a suite of apartments to rest after her journey.[21]

-----

Footnote 21:

  I have been taken to task by eminent critics for accepting, on the
  authority of the _Roman Octavia_, the night journey of the Duchess
  Sophia to Celle, and the discomfiture of Duke Antony Ulrich and his
  son. But I would in all humility point out that the _Roman Octavia_
  was written by Duke Antony Ulrich himself, and published within the
  life-time of nearly all the parties concerned. Though the form in
  which it is written, a dramatic dialogue with the personages disguised
  under fictitious names, precludes absolute accuracy, yet it is
  generally admitted that the narrative closely followed in many
  respects what actually happened. The Duchess Sophia read the _Roman
  Octavia_ when it appeared, but we do not find any record that she
  contradicted Antony Ulrich’s version of the part she played in
  bringing about the marriage. The Duchess of Orleans, writing to her
  aunt of Antony Ulrich’s book, says: “In all matters his truth is mixed
  with a modicum of lies,” and she proceeds to criticise it in detail,
  but she says nothing about this incident. If it were untrue we should
  expect to find Sophia denouncing it with her customary vigour; but she
  was probably ashamed of the part she had played and so passed it by in
  silence, tacitly admitting its truth. Dr. Köcher has clearly shown
  that negotiations for the marriage had been going on between the two
  courts for years more or less definitely, but I do not see that this
  affects the truth of Antony Ulrich’s version of the action which
  Sophia took at the last.

-----

The anxious Eléonore, who by this time was up and dressed, was
waiting for her husband on his return, and asked for an explanation
of this unexpected visit. He gave it promptly, and added the
unwelcome intelligence that he had consented to an alliance between
George Louis and Sophie Dorothea. Eléonore was at first stunned by
this blow to her hopes on the very morning of expected victory. The
alliance she had laboured for years to bring about with the House of
Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel was shattered to the dust, and the woman who
had slighted and scorned her had only to propose an opposition
scheme for it to be accepted. In vain she urged upon the Duke the
insult such a _volte-face_ would be to Duke Antony Ulrich and his
son. George William answered testily that he had given nothing but a
conditional promise. In vain she pointed out the hostility and
self-seeking policy of the House of Hanover. George William said he
was tired of family quarrels, and hailed this as a means of putting
an end to them. He then proceeded to dilate upon the advantages of
the union, and the advisability of Eléonore reconciling herself to
the new state of affairs and burying the hatchet. But Eléonore, to
her honour be it said, was unlike her husband in this—she was deaf
to the voice of ambition where her heart was concerned. The failure
of her cherished plans was bad enough, but it was as nothing
compared with the wreck of her daughter’s happiness. She threw
herself on her knees before her husband, and implored him, with
tears, not to sacrifice their only child, the one pledge of their
love, to the promptings of policy and ambition, and doom her to the
misery of a loveless marriage; she reminded him of the tales that
had reached Celle of George Louis’s sullen and profligate character,
and of the hatred with which the House of Hanover had ever viewed
her daughter and herself. It was like throwing their lamb to the
wolves. But George William was obdurate; he pooh-poohed all these
things as idle fancies, and again told his wife to reconcile herself
with the altered state of affairs, and, deaf to her entreaties, he
bade her go and acquaint Sophie Dorothea with the plans he had made
for her future. With a heavy heart the mother went to break the news
to her daughter, a sad greeting for a birthday morning.

The young Princess had not been trained to control her emotions nor to
having her will thwarted. The spoiled darling of her father’s
affections, she had hitherto only to wish for a thing and it was hers,
and her wishes had been law at Celle. When, therefore, she was told it
was proposed to hand her over to a man she had scarcely seen, and whom
she had been taught to despise, without consulting her wishes in any
way, she flew into a violent passion, and vowed she would have to be
dragged to the altar before she consented. Her heart was free, for,
though she was well disposed towards the young Prince of Wolfenbüttel,
she had not yet learned to love him, and, though romance has it
otherwise, there is no proof that the boy and girl love between herself
and Königsmarck had made much impression upon her. But she was by no
means favourably disposed towards George Louis. She had heard of his
loutish manners and his loose morals. Her mother had taught her from her
youth up to regard the Duchess Sophia and her son as her greatest
enemies. She knew how they had insulted her mother and what degrading
epithets they had applied to herself, and the news that she was about to
be handed over to their tender mercies filled her with consternation and
grief. After the first outburst her emotion found relief in tears, and
she clung to her mother, and besought her to save her from such a fate.
Poor Eléonore, who was powerless, could only mingle her tears with her
daughter’s.

While this scene was being enacted in one wing of the castle, in another
the Duchess Sophia and George William sat down and despatched a hearty
breakfast. Sophia, delighted with the success of her mission, spared no
pains to make herself agreeable and to flatter George William to the top
of his bent; she was also pleased to be gracious to Bernstorff, who had
heard of the morning’s work, and who, on his part, did everything he
could to bolster up the Duke in his determination. A mounted messenger
had already been despatched to carry the good news to Hanover, and to
bid Duke Ernest Augustus and Prince George Louis come to Celle with all
speed.

The breakfast was hardly over, the day had scarcely warmed, when the
trumpeter on the tower announced the arrival of Duke Antony Ulrich and
his son. They came with a numerous suite, ostensibly to offer their
congratulations on the anniversary of the birthday of Sophie Dorothea,
in reality to claim the fulfilment of her father’s half promise. The
sight of the Duchess Sophia’s coach in the courtyard and the Hanoverian
liveries filled Antony Ulrich with suspicions which were only too
speedily confirmed. The young Princess, he found, was too much perturbed
to receive their congratulations in person, her mother was shut up with
her; but the Duke of Celle, accompanied by the Duchess Sophia, received
the Wolfenbüttel princes with much ceremony, and without ado proceeded
to inform them of the news of the betrothal of Sophie Dorothea to George
Louis, and by way of adding insult to injury invited them to remain to
the birthday feast, when the betrothal would be announced. Duke Antony
Ulrich, mastering his indignation with an effort, was so much insulted
at this shameless right-about-face that, ignoring the invitation, he at
once returned to his coach, accompanied by his son, and shook the dust
of Celle off his feet. It is difficult to call such a retreat dignified,
yet he seems to have made it so, though he left the Duchess Sophia in
possession of the field.

George William, having got rid of his unwelcome guests, proceeded to the
apartments of Sophie Dorothea on the troublesome errand of persuading
his refractory daughter to put in an appearance and pay her respects to
her aunt. He took with him a birthday present and a message of
congratulation from the Duchess Sophia. The apartments of Sophie
Dorothea consisted of three rooms leading from one another; the
work-room or school-room, with two large windows overlooking the
lime-trees on to the moat, the parlour, somewhat elaborately decorated,
and the sleeping-room, with the bed in an alcove, and the superb carved
mantelpiece, supported by four cupids. These rooms Sophie Dorothea had
occupied from her infancy, and her work and all her little treasures
were scattered about. The Duke’s resolution did not waver, though he
found his daughter lying on the bed in a passion of grief, her mother by
her side entreating her to be calm. Apparently her persuasions had not,
so far, had much effect, for the temper with which Sophie Dorothea
received her father may be gathered from the fact that when he gave her
the Duchess Sophia’s present, a miniature of George Louis set in
diamonds, she threw it from her with such violence that it was shattered
against the wall, and the precious stones fell all about the room.

Her father began to threaten and storm and reproach her mother for
encouraging their daughter in this insubordination. Parental authority
had its weight with even the most self-willed young Princess in those
days, and the result of the combination of her father’s threats and her
mother’s entreaties was that Sophie Dorothea gradually became calmer,
and was coaxed, or forced, into getting up and dressing herself, and
consented to be presented to her aunt Sophia in a proper manner. She had
also to go through the ordeal of receiving the birthday congratulations
of the court and of appearing at the banquet, when her betrothal was
announced; but her tear-stained eyes and downcast looks, no less than
her mother’s pallor and dejection, made it evident that she was acting
under compulsion, and evoked the pity rather than the congratulations of
the court of Celle. Perhaps the Duchess Sophia found in the tears of
Eléonore and her daughter some consolation for the humiliation she
underwent in thus recognising and meeting them for the first time as
equals.

The next day Ernest Augustus and George Louis arrived from Hanover.
Ernest Augustus was radiant, but George Louis was even more sullen than
his wont. The beginning of the wooing was not promising. The young
Princess fainted in her mother’s arms when she was presented to her
future husband. Her dislike was quite reciprocated by George Louis, who,
though willing to go through the affair for the sake of the money, had
been trained to have nothing but contempt for “Madame” of Celle and her
daughter. His manners at the best were not prepossessing, and in this
case he did not even take the trouble to make himself agreeable to his
future bride. The elders did all the smiles and congratulations; the
principals in the contract rendered nothing but an outward acquiescence,
sulky on his side, and rebellious on hers.

Yet, looking at it from quite the outside point of view, if George Louis
had sought all over Europe he would hardly have found a more suitable
match than this, and he certainly could not have found a more charming
bride than his princess cousin. Sophie Dorothea had grown to great
beauty. She was a brunette, with dark brown, almost black hair, large
velvety eyes, regular features, brilliant complexion, and the veriest
little red rosebud of a mouth. Her figure was perfectly proportioned:
she had an exquisite neck and bust, and slender little hands and feet.
She had nothing in common with the large-waisted, flat-footed German
princesses of the period; she resembled her mother, and, like her, was
essentially “the Frenchwoman,” not only in appearance, but in manners,
dress, and conversation. She had the Frenchwoman’s instinctive dislike
to anything coarse or unrefined, and she excelled in all the
accomplishments of the time; her dancing was perfect, she was a skilled
musician, she was clever with her needle, and could express herself
gracefully in writing. Her conversation was sprightly, she was full of
wit and repartee, and her ready tongue, it may be feared, often led her
into trouble. She had the Frenchwoman’s emotional temperament, she was
easily depressed and easily elated, and was capable of strong and
unreasoning passion. But her instincts were always generous, and she was
absolutely free from meanness in thought, word, or deed.

Such a disposition united to a good and wise husband might have been
trained into a fine and noble nature. As it was, no man could have been
found more unsuitable to her than George Louis; their temperaments were
totally dissimilar, it was like the union of cold and heat, of ice and
fire. George Louis had his good qualities, too, though somewhat latent,
and a tactful and sympathetic wife might have developed them. Poor
Sophie Dorothea never even found them, much less developed them. How
could she? She and George Louis were utterly unsympathetic, and when two
antagonistic chemicals are mixed there is sure to be an explosion sooner
or later. But the hearts and inclinations of the young couple were the
last things the parents, except Eléonore, thought of in connection with
them.

George William was delighted to play the host again to his favourite
brother and his respected sister-in-law. The betrothal was announced
with much pomp. There were great feasts at Celle, and every one came to
congratulate. All the neighbouring princes, with the exception of
Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, and all the great officers of both duchies, were
delighted at the betrothal. Indeed, the advantages seemed many and
obvious, and Eléonore, seeing how strongly the tide of popular feeling
was against her, to say nothing of George William’s obstinacy, had
perforce to give way, hide her mortification as best she could, and
counsel her daughter to submission to the will of her father. It was not
an easy task, for Sophie Dorothea had a will and temper of her own, but
she was brought to some show of outward complaisance, and induced to
passively receive the congratulations of the court and the unwilling
wooing of her betrothed.

George William, Ernest Augustus, and Sophia agreed that, as there was no
reason for delay, the marriage should be celebrated as soon as the
necessary formalities and settlements were completed. Platen and
Bernstorff were called in to help and advise, and lengthy deeds were
drawn up. Eléonore seems to have been too heartsick to interfere, or
perhaps she was powerless, for in the marriage settlement Ernest
Augustus and Sophia had everything their own way, and Sophie Dorothea’s
interests, apart from her husband and prospective children, were
scarcely studied. George William was in so complaisant a mood that the
Duke and Duchess of Hanover could ask almost what they liked. He settled
to give his daughter one hundred thousand thalers a year, which meant
that he handed it all over to the exchequer of Hanover. The estates he
had settled on her were also made over, except in the case of certain
unlikely contingencies, such as the death of George Louis before his
wife. If the Princess were left a widow, she was to be entitled to a
dower of twelve thousand thalers a year. But the whole gist of the
settlement was that the Princess, apart from her husband and her
children, had no money of her own and no settlement in the modern sense
of the term. Of course, she would be given enough to maintain herself in
proper state as Princess of Hanover; but her money depended entirely on
the good-will of her husband and what her parents chose to give her from
time to time; she had literally not a penny which she could call her
own. Her position was much that of a married woman in England before the
passing of the Married Woman’s Property Act. The point is important in
view of future developments.

One stipulation the Duchess Eléonore was able to enforce before the
marriage contract was signed: George Louis’s intrigue with Madame
Bussche was a matter of common notoriety, and she insisted that it
should be broken off and the mistress sent away from Hanover. This very
reasonable request was supposed to be very unreasonable, but Eléonore
was firm. Sophie Dorothea had not yet notified her consent in writing,
and people were beginning to comment on her downcast looks. The Duke of
Celle did not wish it to appear that she was forced into an unwilling
marriage, and to humour her and her mother it was promised that Madame
Bussche should be sent away. The Duchess Sophia went back to Hanover to
see the business carried through. In return for this concession Sophie
Dorothea was induced to write the following letter to her aunt; it was
merely a formal letter, probably dictated in substance and simply copied
by her. Reading between the lines, we can see the mute protest that runs
through it.

  “MADAME,

          “I have so much respect for my lord the Duke your husband, and
  for my lord my own father, that in whatever manner they may act on my
  behalf I shall always be very content. Your Highness will do me, I
  know, the justice to believe that no one can be more sensible than I
  am of the many marks of your goodness. I will carefully endeavour all
  my life long to deserve the same, and to make it evident to Your
  Highness by my respect and very humble service that you could not
  choose as a daughter one who knows better than myself how to pay to
  you what is due. In which duty I shall feel very great pleasure, and
  also in showing you by my submission that I am,

                                              “Madame,
                                     “Your Highness’s very humble
                                         “And very obedient servant,
                                                ”SOPHIE DOROTHEA.

  “AT CELLE, _October 21, 1682_.”

[Illustration:

  THE ELECTRESS SOPHIA.
  _Photographed from the statue in the gardens of Herrenhausen._
]

The Duchess Sophia probably found in this letter and in the tears and
anguish of Eléonore and her daughter some compensation for the effort it
cost her to make the visit to Celle. Of her part in the betrothal she
was probably ashamed, for we find her making no mention in her letters
to the Duchess of Orleans of her journey to Celle, but concerning the
marriage she wrote as follows:—

“Ernest Augustus always had a queer head, and how such an idea could
have entered it passes all my understanding. However, one hundred
thousand thalers a year is a goodly sum to pocket, without speaking of a
pretty wife, who will find a match in my son George Louis, the most
pigheaded, stubborn boy who ever lived, and who has round his brains
such a thick crust that I defy any man or woman ever to discover what is
in them. He does not care much for the match itself, but one hundred
thousand thalers a year have tempted him as they would have tempted
anybody else.”

The marriage contract was signed at Celle by Ernest Augustus and George
Louis on the one part and George William and Sophie Dorothea on the
other; thus the Princess was induced to sign away not only her liberty,
but her fortune, and she became soul and body the property of George
Louis. The Duchess Sophia came back from Hanover to be present at the
wedding, which was hurried forward with all speed. Great preparations
were made for it, and costly presents and congratulations poured in from
all sides.

The wedding was celebrated in the private chapel of the castle of Celle,
according to the Lutheran rites, on November 21, 1682, with every
circumstance of pomp and ceremony. The town was gaily decorated, the
castle was thronged with distinguished guests; there had never been such
a wedding at Celle before. The beautiful little chapel, brilliantly
illuminated and bedecked with flowers, presented a scene of unusual
splendour. There were the bride’s procession and the bridegroom’s
procession, and the procession of the parents, and the court chroniclers
exhausted themselves in describing the beauty of the bride, the list of
her jewels, the richness of her attire. The bridegroom was scarcely less
bravely arrayed. Outwardly all was fair; but within, beneath this brave
show, what horror, what anguish, what base and ignoble passions! There
was the Duchess Sophia, exulting over the downfall of her enemies, yet
with a spice of bitterness in her cup; her husband, the wily and
covetous Ernest Augustus; the weak-minded George William; the sad and
anxious mother, who could scarcely restrain her tears; the bridegroom
muttering the unwilling words, while all the time his heart was with his
banished mistress; the child bride, she was little more than a child,
pale and unresponsive, sacrificed like another Iphigenia. The omens were
unpropitious: there was no sunshine for the bride; the morning dawned
dark and gloomy, and during the ceremony a furious storm broke over
Celle, and the wind shrieked and raged, shaking the castle walls. But
dark and gloomy though the day was, it was not so dark and gloomy as the
bride’s heart; and fierce though the tempest, it was not half so fierce
as the passions which raged in the breasts of the little group around
the altar. There were priests and prayers and benedictions, all the pomp
of heraldry and the pageantry of courts; yet when all was stripped away
this marriage was nothing but a shameless bargain, and a young girl’s
life was sold to a man steeped in selfishness and profligacy and who did
not even make a pretext of loving her. When we are tempted to pass
judgment on all that happened after, we must remember that the bride’s
vows were made half in ignorance, wholly under protest. The outward form
was there, the words were spoken; but Love, who hallows the sacrament,
was far away, and shuddering hid his holy face.




                              CHAPTER VI.

                         THE COURT OF HANOVER.
                              (1682-1684.)

               The court’s a golden but a fatal circle,
               Upon whose magic skirts a thousand devils
               In crystal forms sit tempting innocence,
               And beckon early virtue from its centre.
                                                   LEE.


There were great rejoicings at Hanover in honour of the home-coming of
the youthful pair. The marriage was exceedingly popular among all
classes, and the people vied with the court and nobility in celebrating
an event which was to contribute so materially to the prosperity of the
duchy. George Louis and Sophie Dorothea entered Hanover in a state coach
drawn by six cream-coloured horses and preceded by a military escort,
and passed in procession through the decorated streets and shouting
multitudes to the Alte Palais (the old palace), where they were to take
up their abode. Sophie Dorothea’s parting from the home of her childhood
had been sad, but her welcome to Hanover was a warm one, and she forgot
her sadness in the general rejoicing. Yet a shadow fell across the
bride’s path on the very threshold of her new home. Madame Bussche,
though under orders to quit, had not yet left Hanover, but had the
audacity to appear with her sister, Madame Platen, at an upper window of
the palace. Tradition says that as George Louis was helping his young
wife to alight, she looked up by chance, and saw this Jezebel at the
window with her face convulsed with hate. Sophie Dorothea started and
turned pale, she guessed instinctively who it was. The Duchess Sophia
noticed her too, and was so angry her orders had been disregarded that
she sent an imperative message to Madame Bussche to leave Hanover that
very night. Her mandate was obeyed; but the mischief had been done, and
the _contretemps_ was an ill omen for the success of the marriage.

There were loyal addresses and court festivities, balls, plays, and
feastings for a week on end in Hanover, and the bride won golden
opinions by her beauty and grace. The events of the last few weeks had
tamed her spirit, and she wore an air of timid dignity which, joined to
her extreme youth, touched all hearts and even softened at first some of
the dislike of her mother-in-law and some of the roughness of her
husband. Ernest Augustus was much pleased with Sophie Dorothea, and
stood between her and her enemies. Unlike his wife, he had no prejudice
against his niece, and he never could resist a pretty face. Now that she
had come to him as his daughter-in-law, filling his coffers with her
dowry, and adding to the brightness of his court with her beauty, he was
exceedingly well disposed towards her. With all his faults, Ernest
Augustus was no tyrant, but on the whole a kind-hearted man, and
throughout Sophie Dorothea’s married life at Hanover he was perhaps her
best friend, over-indulgent in some things, culpably lax in others, but
without the malevolence of his wife or the cold brutality of his son.

To the girl bride, who had been reared under her parents’ wing in quiet
little Celle, and sheltered from the knowledge of evil, the court of
Hanover, with its meretricious gaiety and brilliance, its laxity of
morals and profligacy of manners, must have seemed like another world,
and not a better one. The Hanover[22] to which Sophie Dorothea came
could not boast of a magnificent schloss like Celle, but it had three
palaces instead of one. There was the Alte Palais, where the young
Princess lived at first, an unpretending building in the centre of the
town; across the street was the Leine Schloss, where also were
apartments for the ducal family, a larger and more imposing building,
used for state functions and entertainments; and half an hour’s drive
outside Hanover lay the country residence of Herrenhausen, a favourite
retreat of the Duchess Sophia, then a modest place, but which she later
rebuilt, beautified, and enlarged. To this day Herrenhausen retains its
charm. Its quaint, formal gardens with interminable hedges of clipped
hornbeam, its colossal fountains and monstrous stucco cupids, its
orangery, terraces, and ornamental water, make it unlike anything else
in Europe. No wonder the first two Georges were so fond of it, no wonder
they were eager to run away from gloomy London to the delights of this
homely little schloss, nestling in the midst of a great park and
approached from the outer world by a long avenue of limes. When we have
seen Herrenhausen we can understand the _heimweh_ of the earlier
Georges, and their regret at leaving the cosy delights of their snug
little principality to take up the uneasy crown of England.

-----

Footnote 22:

  Hanover is still in some respects the same as it was in the time of
  Ernest Augustus and Sophia. Until the beginning of Queen Victoria’s
  reign, it must have been almost exactly the same; but the divorce from
  the English crown which then ensued made a difference, and the
  expulsion of the King of Hanover, in 1866, brought the town under
  Prussian rule, and resulted in the abolition of many landmarks. Under
  the iron heel of Prussia, Hanover is losing many of its distinctive
  features. It has become much like any other modern Prussian city, with
  wide streets, huge barracks, and enormous and hideous buildings, vast
  manufactories and breweries. The town has advanced in prosperity, but
  has lost in picturesqueness.

-----

At the court of Celle there was a comparatively modest retinue, few
festivities, and little pomp of state. Hanover, modelled on Versailles,
maintained a court out of all proportion to the importance of the duchy.
The Duchess Sophia, who was a strict upholder of dignity, established in
it rigid rules of place and precedence, and no herald’s table was ever
classed more strictly than the different orders of the court of Hanover.
First and foremost, there was the ducal family—the sacred clan, above,
apart, and beyond all meaner mortals. In the second class came the
Field-Marshal of the army, all alone, a sort of buffer between their
Serene Highnesses and their subjects. Then followed in the third class,
in order meet, the civil and military authorities, the privy councillors
and ministers, and generals of the army. The fourth class was made up of
the High Chamberlain and the marshals of the court, and so down to the
pages, all of whom were noble. After this class there was a great
gulf—the gulf between noble and simple; and then came in array a number
of lesser court officials, gentlemen ushers, physicians, musicians,
every one in nicely graduated order, even down to the cooks and footmen,
coachmen and grooms. The stables at Hanover were always a feature; they
are so to-day, and must have been well worth seeing in Sophie Dorothea’s
time. They contained some six hundred horses and a great number of
splendid equipages.

Sophie Dorothea held a high place in all this state, and as Princess of
Hanover (as she was formally styled) she was given a separate household.
Her apartments were in a wing of the old palace; but she had her own
establishment, her chamberlain, her ladies-in-waiting, and her pages.
She seldom drove out except in an enormous gilt coach, with postillions
and running footmen. We may picture her rumbling through the narrow
streets of old Hanover of an afternoon, her pretty, childish, wistful
face looking out of the window of the great coach, or driving outside
the walls to pay her respects to her haughty mother-in-law at
Herrenhausen.

The young Princess found it exceedingly hard at first to accommodate
herself to all the formalities and restrictions incidental upon her rank
at the Hanoverian court. She never quite mastered all the minutiæ of
court etiquette in which the Duchess Sophia revelled; she would forget,
and in her childish, impulsive way, greet a member of the fourth class
as though he were a member of the third, or _vice versa_. She followed
her own likes and dislikes too much, she was too friendly with one and
not friendly enough with the other, she would sometimes withdraw from
the court circle when she was bored, and did not always appear when she
was wanted. All this greatly scandalised the Duchess Sophia, who
considered court etiquette the very essence of royalty, and she often
wrote to the Duchess of Orleans complaining of the bad up-bringing of
her daughter-in-law and the way in which her education had been
neglected. Of course they both blamed “Madame” of Celle, who, being “a
nobody,” could not be expected to teach Sophie Dorothea the customs of a
court. Perhaps a little kindness and forbearance on the part of the
Duchess Sophia might have taught the young Princess how to carry her
dignity even to that female martinet’s satisfaction, for she was very
adaptive and quick to learn. But the Duchess Sophia showed her no
sympathy, and her daughter-in-law’s little slips were invariably made
the occasion of some slighting remark, either on herself or her mother.
It is no wonder, under these circumstances, that Sophie Dorothea grew
mutinous and careless, and even took a pleasure in showing her contempt
for the rules of etiquette at the Hanoverian court by wilfully
transgressing them whenever she pleased.

The poor little Princess, in these first months of her married life at
Hanover, surrounded by spies and enemies, must often have longed to flee
from the hollow splendours of the court to the home life at Celle and
the arms of her loving mother. While all this importance was attached to
the outward semblance, no one at Hanover heeded, and no one cared,
whether she was happy or not. It was hardly possible for her to have
been happy. Sophie Dorothea was the victim of one of the cruellest of
state marriages, and her only hope of happiness lay in the chance of
some love and forbearance on the part of her husband. In these first
months of marriage her nature was plastic to her husband’s touch. A kind
word might have wrought her to love, as a harsh one often drove her to
tears and anger. With a little kindness, a little sympathy, all the
misery and mistakes of later years might have been averted, but George
Louis had no kind words for the daughter of “Madame” of Celle, and even
thus early in her married life she was neglected, insulted, and forced
through experiences from which her girlish purity recoiled. Even if she
had no claim on his affection, she might have had some on his pity. She
was all alone and with none to help or advise her, for though Celle was
only twenty miles away, the strained relations between the two courts
were not at this date so relaxed as to admit of much visiting between
them, and the means of communication were so bad that her father’s
principality seemed another country.

Sophie Dorothea had brought with her from Celle a trusted friend, if not
a very wise one, in a young lady, Fräulein Eléonore Knesebeck, who
followed her to Hanover, as confidential lady-in-waiting. She was a few
years older than the Princess, and the daughter of one of the
councillors at Celle, whose name appears as signing the marriage
contract between Duke George William and Duchess Eléonore. She was a
woman of some ability, and though no beauty, had a fair share of good
looks. Her devotion to the Princess was beyond doubt, but her
discretion, unfortunately, was doubtful indeed, and even in these early
days she repeated to Sophie Dorothea many things that would have been
better ignored, and incited her against her enemies.

We obtain a fairly good idea of the way in which Sophie Dorothea spent
her day from her journals, or diaries, and if her record may be taken as
a sample of the life of a German princess at the end of the seventeenth
century, there was nothing very edifying or enlivening about it, even in
so gay a court as that of Hanover. The forenoon would be spent by the
Princess either in bed (she was not an early riser) or in her apartments
writing letters, or working with her needle. If the weather were fine,
she might take a walk in the gardens of the palace, unless it were a
morning on which she “took her bath”. In that case she kept her room
most of the day for fear of a chill; but the bath does not seem to have
occurred too frequently.[23] Sophie Dorothea would spend the greater
part of the forenoon in dressing, or rather in being dressed—a lengthy
operation, for she was fond of attiring herself. When this was over to
her satisfaction, attended by her lady-in-waiting, and preceded by a
page, she would go down in state to the substantial mid-day dinner, of
which her mother has given so vivacious an account. Ernest Augustus
would descend in state from his apartments, the Duchess Sophia from
hers, with her daughter, Sophia Charlotte. The Prince of Hanover (as
George Louis was styled) would arrive; and the younger princes would
also appear upon the scene, and, when all were assembled in the great
hall, they would sit in order of rank, and the most rigid etiquette
prevailed throughout. It must have been a funny sight, the bowing and
curtseying, the devouring of great dishes of heavy food, the copious
drinking of wine and beer. After the dinner was over, their Highnesses
retired to their respective apartments, and very often (not unnaturally)
Sophie Dorothea would return to bed for a period. When she arose, if the
day were not too far gone, she would take an airing in her gilded coach,
or pay some calls on ladies she wished to honour with a visit, or
receive some visitors, never alone, always in the presence of her
lady-in-waiting. By this time it was necessary to dress again for
supper, often an occasion of great ceremony, when rich robes and costly
jewels were donned. Again the Prince and Princess would repair to the
great hall, and again meet the Duke and Duchess and members of the ducal
family in order of rank. When supper was over, the great personages
would join the general circle of the nobility; there might be music and
conversation, but more likely they would play cards, ombre and
quadrille, and large sums would be lost and won, for play was high at
Hanover in those days. Then the Duchess Sophia and the Princess would
retire to their apartments, and the company broke up. The next day, _da
capo_. On occasions of importance, as, for instance, the arrival of
foreign princes or ambassadors at Hanover (and many arrived at that
time, for there was much buying and selling of troops, and many
intrigues), there would be more ceremony, larger banquets, balls and
comedies and plays. But the above record forms a fair specimen of the
average day at the court of Hanover.

-----

Footnote 23:

  The morning bath was not a daily institution at the end of the
  seventeenth century, even with princesses; for aught I know, it may
  not be in Germany to-day. Cleanliness was not a prominent virtue, and
  in the long list of servants at the court of Hanover there appear to
  have been only two washerwomen employed!

-----

In this way the winter passed. The spring dawned, the lime-trees and
acacias flowered along the banks of the river Leine. The summer came and
went. There were pastoral plays in the gardens of Herrenhausen, and
masques, and visits of princes and princesses. But Sophie Dorothea
gradually withdrew herself from the festivities, and with the autumn
days there came good news to the courts of Hanover and Celle. The
Princess gave birth to a son and heir, who was born at Hanover on
October 30, 1683, and who was destined forty-four years later to ascend
the mighty throne of England.[24]

-----

Footnote 24:

  George II. succeeded his father in 1727.

-----

The christening was celebrated with much rejoicing, and the infant was
given the names of George Augustus, after his two grandfathers. The
event naturally increased Sophie Dorothea’s importance, and it set the
seal upon the reconciliation of the duchies of Hanover and Celle.
Henceforward we find the Duke and Duchess of Celle visiting Hanover, and
Ernest Augustus and sometimes George Louis, but rarely the Duchess
Sophia, returning the visit at Celle, or staying with George William and
his wife at their hunting-lodges of Göhre, Brockhausen, and Wienhausen.
Sophie Dorothea also visited her parents frequently, and for long
intervals.

After the birth of the son and heir, the Duchess Sophia’s manner towards
her daughter-in-law seems to have altered for the better. She apparently
determined to make the best of Sophie Dorothea, and though she never
liked her, and had little in common with her, she dissembled her
dislike, and treated her with outward courtesy. For good or evil, Sophie
Dorothea was her son’s wife, and the mother of the child on whom the
accumulated dignities of the House of Brunswick-Lüneburg would one day
descend. It even seemed that the birth of the son might form a link
between George Louis and his wife; such an event surely made for greater
identity of interest between them, for a man, unless he be thoroughly
bad, can hardly withhold some sympathy from the mother of his firstborn
child, and George Louis was by no means wholly bad. He recognised the
beauty and grace of his wife, and if they had been left to themselves,
the young couple, despite their uncongenial temperaments, might have
managed to rub along together fairly well.

But they were not left to themselves; an enemy was on the alert. Sophie
Dorothea, by her amiability, had made herself generally popular in
Hanover, and, as we have noted, she was especially viewed with favour by
her uncle and father-in-law, Ernest Augustus. Her unaffected manners,
her innocence and charm, contrasted with the craft and full-blown charms
of Madame Platen, were like a cup of cold, pure water after a highly
spiced draught; and Ernest Augustus found himself attracted more and
more to the society of his daughter-in-law and away from the lures of
his mistress. Madame Platen saw this and trembled. Vice always fears
innocence, and when she noted the growing influence and importance of
Sophie Dorothea, her envy and jealousy were aroused. Yet she had no real
cause of complaint. She had been largely responsible for bringing about
the marriage, and she had been liberally rewarded for her share in the
transaction, possibly by William of Orange, certainly by a commission on
the substantial dowry; and in addition to these pecuniary rewards her
husband had been raised to the rank of Baron. On the strength of these
successes she had launched forth into a costly and extravagant style of
living. Her residence at Monplaisir, conveniently situated half-way
between Hanover and Herrenhausen, was beautified and enlarged until it
vied with the ducal palaces; her entertainments were of the most lavish
description, her liveries and equipages rivalled those of the Princess
of Hanover, while in dress and adornment she far outshone the Duchess
Sophia. At Monplaisir she held a court hardly second to that of the
Duchess and attracted all the gay cavaliers and handsome young nobles of
Hanover, who went to bask in the favour of the powerful mistress. High
play, deep drinking, and general looseness of conduct were the rule at
Monplaisir; no wonder the young bloods of Hanover found it so
attractive!

The Duchess Sophia, true to her policy, steadily ignored all these
extravagances on the part of Madame Platen, and continued to seek
distraction in the consolations of philosophy and the society of Leibniz
and other learned men, whom, to her honour be it said, she invited to
the court of Hanover. Not so Sophie Dorothea, who was first astounded
and then indignant, at the impudent display of the court mistress.
Perhaps vanity had something to do with her indignation, for she
objected to so many of the young nobles absenting themselves from her
quiet little levées to pay their respects to Madame Platen. In youth and
beauty the Princess far outshone the more mature Platen, and at the
court functions, splendidly dressed and brilliant with jewels, she was
easily first and Madame Platen nowhere. Madame Platen had so long been
the leading lady at the court of Hanover, in fact if not in name, that
she could ill brook a rival near her throne, and she had imagined, in
her ignorance, that a young girl like Sophie Dorothea would be amenable
to her wishes. But the Princess, though young, and careless enough about
etiquette in the ordinary way, was not disposed to abate any jot or
tittle of the privileges of her rank and position in favour of Madame
Platen, and quickly intimated to the woman that she must keep her place.
Perhaps Sophie Dorothea would have done better if she had imitated the
policy of her august mother-in-law, and ignored the powerful mistress,
but she was young and not altogether wise, and her heart was hot with
indignant anger at the woman’s arrogance and want of respect to herself.
She expressed herself with considerable freedom on the subject, and her
remarks, the reverse of complimentary, coming to Madame Platen’s ears,
incensed her the more against the airs and graces of “the interloper,”
as she called the Princess. Madame Platen was, in fact, wounded with her
own weapon; she had helped to bring Sophie Dorothea to Hanover, only to
find her arrayed against her.

When once Madame Platen’s jealousy was aroused there were no lengths to
which she was not ready to go. First she denounced Sophie Dorothea and
her mother as upstarts who had no right to the titles they assumed, but
this was old matter, and at the best came second-hand from the Duchess
Sophia, therefore it did no harm; then she collected and retailed to
Ernest Augustus all the ill-natured gossip she could gather about the
Princess, but the Duke laughed at it good-humouredly and would not
listen; he was quite ready to excuse his daughter-in-law any little
indiscretions on the ground of her youth and good looks, and regarded
all this tittle-tattle as mere feminine amenities. Madame Platen next
sounded the Duchess Sophia, but that lady only smiled her inscrutable
smile and pursued the even tenor of her way. Failing with the Duke and
Duchess, she had recourse to the husband, and with George Louis she was
more successful. Like most heavy and slow-witted young men, he was
peculiarly sensitive to ridicule. Sophie Dorothea had a nimble wit and a
thoughtless tongue, which were ever getting her into trouble, and she
sometimes made fun of her husband and his boorish ways, letting fall
remarks that had better have been left unsaid. These were retailed to
Madame Platen by spies, and reported again by her to George Louis with
much embroidery, thus inflaming his mind against his wife. Words
followed between them. Neither was blessed with a very good temper, nor
had much forbearance. From words they proceeded to open quarrels, which
became more and more frequent, and the relations between the young
couple were soon strained to the utmost. Madame Platen’s next move was
to recall her sister, Madame Bussche, to Hanover, and throw her once
more in the way of George Louis, but this missed its mark. Probably he
was inconstant in his amours, and perhaps he had a new favourite; at any
rate he refused to be fascinated again by the charms of Madame Bussche.
Meanwhile, his wife and he drifted more and more apart. By-and-by George
Louis turned again to his first love—military service, and the next year
or two found him far more in the camp than at the court The neglected
Sophie Dorothea found consolation in her little son and in frequent
visits to her parents at Celle, Brockhausen, and elsewhere, and spent
only a few months of the year under the same roof as her husband.

About this time (1684) there were great festivities at the court of
Hanover, for the Duchess Sophia’s matchmaking proclivities bore fruit in
the marriage of her only daughter, Sophia Charlotte, to the Elector of
Brandenburg, who later became first King of Prussia. True, the Elector
was eleven years older than his bride and a widower, but the Duchess
Sophia did not consider her daughter’s inclinations in such a matter as
her marriage, especially one so advantageous as this. Sophia Charlotte
was the young lady of whom her mother said, when sounded on the subject,
“that she was of no religion as yet,” and by this marriage her faith was
finally settled on the Protestant side. The Electress of Brandenburg
seems to have justified this up-bringing, for she was a sprightly
princess of extremely liberal and advanced views. She had inherited her
mother’s abilities and also her dislike for Sophie Dorothea. There was
never any love lost between them, so the Princess was glad when the
Electress of Brandenburg took her departure from Hanover to Berlin,
where she afterwards reigned as the first Queen of Prussia.




                              CHAPTER VII.

                     THE POWER OF COUNTESS PLATEN.
                              (1684-1688.)

            Trust not the treason of those smiling looks
            Until ye have their guileful brains well tried,
            For they are like unto the golden hooks
            That from the foolish fish their baits do hide.
                                               ED. SPENSER.


Shortly after the marriage of his daughter to the Elector of
Brandenburg, the Duke of Hanover gave himself a holiday from the cares
of state and made another journey to his beloved Italy, where he stayed
this time nearly two years. He travelled with much magnificence and a
large suite, including the indispensable Madame Platen—and her husband
by way of keeping up appearances. Ernest Augustus made his headquarters
at Venice, where he maintained considerable state, which he was now well
able to do with the aid of Sophie Dorothea’s dowry. Madame Platen was
the great lady of this miniature court, and no doubt Ernest Augustus
often regaled her with tales of the merry days which he and George
William had spent in the city of the Doges. Brilliant festivities, some
of which cost seven or eight thousand thalers, and a princely
liberality, endeared him to the hearts of the nobility and people, and
consoled the Venetians for the large subsidies they paid for the two
thousand four hundred Hanoverian soldiers Ernest Augustus sold them by
agreement in 1684. The Duke of Hanover was shrewd even in his pleasures,
and was always ready to do a good stroke of business when the
opportunity came his way. He had not much to sell except his soldiers,
but they were good fighting men, and fetched a high price in the
market,—he sold them like cattle in herds, and squandered the
blood-money on his Platens and extravagant living.

Meantime Ernest Augustus’s lawful spouse, the Duchess Sophia, was left
behind at Herrenhausen to carry on the government of the duchy, and,
what was more difficult, to keep in order the unruly cubs, her sons, who
were now growing up to man’s estate, and whose only point of resemblance
was the hatred they bore to one another in general and their father in
particular. They drank, gambled, and swore in the approved fashion of
the time, squandered their substance in riotous living, and quarrelled
and fought until the court of Hanover became like a bear-garden. The
Duchess Sophia must have had great trouble with her unruly brood, and it
is impossible to withhold pity from her, for she was fond of them.
Prince Augustus (“Gustchen”), her second son, was the first to fall into
disgrace. We find her writing: “Poor Gus is thrust out, and his father
will give him no more keep. I laugh in the day and cry all night about
it, for I am a fool with my children.” Maternal love was the soft side
of the great Duchess’s character. For the rest, she was no doubt glad to
be rid of Ernest Augustus and Madame Platen for a while. The latter had
made herself so aggressive of late, and raised so many breezes in her
quarrels with Sophie Dorothea, that she must have ruffled even the
Duchess’s serene philosophy. Sophia, too, was greatly interested in
affairs in England at this time. Her first cousin, Charles II., was
recently dead, and his brother, James II., had ascended his uneasy
throne. Sophia heard of Monmouth’s ill-starred rebellion, of King
James’s unwise rule and the rising tide against Popery, of William of
Orange’s intrigues, and these things absorbed her to the exclusion of
lesser annoyances. She paid little or no attention to her
daughter-in-law, Sophie Dorothea, who, also forsaken by her husband,
remained alone at Hanover; for George Louis had now marched to Hungary
to make war on the Turks, with the soldiers ordered from Hanover and
Celle to assist the Emperor. When the campaign came to a close, George
Louis went to join his father at Venice without returning to Hanover.

Ernest Augustus then bethought himself of Sophie Dorothea, who was
having a dull life at Hanover shut up with her stern mother-in-law.
Ernest Augustus had a tender spot in his heart for his niece, and
perhaps he had a twinge of conscience about spending all her money on
Madame Platen without giving her any of the fun; perhaps, too, he
thought it was time that she and her husband should come together again.
They had not met for nearly a year, and had parted in anger. So he sent
General Ilten, who was in his suite, back to Hanover with instructions
to escort the Princess to Venice. Sophie Dorothea was delighted with the
prospect of the change; she packed up her prettiest dresses and jewels,
and taking with her Madame Ilten, the Mistress of the Robes, and
Eléonore Knesebeck, her lady-in-waiting, she set forth at once. She
arrived in Venice just before the carnival.

Sophie Dorothea was now in her nineteenth year, and every year seemed to
add to her beauty. She had warm French blood in her veins, and her
spirits rose to overflowing at this opportunity of seeing the world; it
was her first experience of foreign life, and she threw herself into the
pleasures of the carnival with a zest that delighted her uncle and
slightly shocked the prim Mistress of the Robes. Yet Sophie Dorothea’s
gaiety was innocent enough; it was merely the expression of a young
girl’s delight, and a rebound after having been shut up so long with her
grim mother-in-law.

Ernest Augustus, whose taste for pleasure was somewhat dulled by time,
was so pleased at the keenness with which his daughter-in-law enjoyed
everything, and the praises he heard on all sides of her wit and beauty,
that he decided to give her a further treat and take her to Rome for the
Easter festivities. Madame Ilten was unable to accompany the Princess,
as her duties as Mistress of the Robes compelled her to return to the
Duchess Sophia at Hanover, but Eléonore Knesebeck went in attendance.
Prince George Louis did not travel to Rome with his wife, some trifling
difficulty about a point of etiquette arose, he seized it as an excuse,
and went to Naples instead.

While she was at Rome Sophie Dorothea met the Marquis de Lassaye, and
about their short acquaintance much has been written which has no
foundation in fact. Lassaye was a personage. He had served with
distinction in the Imperial army against the Turks, and, when the
campaign was over, journeyed to Italy like Prince George Louis; he may
have travelled with him. He was a French nobleman, wealthy, and
brilliant, and exceedingly given to amours and adventures. Brunet, in
his edition of the _Correspondence of the Duchess of Orleans_, writes of
him: “The life of the Marquis de Lassaye was filled with adventures
romantic enough to form the substance of a most improbable novel”; and
the _Biographie Universelle_ says he was “well known by reason of his
birth, his wit, his marriages, his law suits, but still more by an
uninterrupted series of love affairs, which occupied the greater portion
of an extremely lengthy career”. This gay Lothario died in 1738, at the
age of eighty-seven, without having experienced any misfortunes, or, as
he happily expressed it, “without having unpacked his goods”.

The fame of the Marquis de Lassaye was at its zenith when he threw
himself across the path of Sophie Dorothea in Rome, and, if we may
believe his word, for we have no other evidence, he promptly seized the
opportunity to make love to her. Some fifty years later, before he ended
his days in his castle of Lassaye, he made a collection of everything he
had written, or was supposed to have written,[25] and had it privately
printed by his own press in his castle. In this compilation he inserted
thirteen love-letters, which he asserts that he wrote to Sophie Dorothea
when she was in Italy; but none of them are dated, and all are the vague
rubbish which in those days formed the stock-in-trade of gallantry. They
are couched in extravagant expressions of devotion, but are singularly
unconvincing. If we may believe his letters, there was a flirtation
between the Princess and the Marquis, Eléonore Knesebeck acting as a
go-between; the affair was discovered, broken off, and the Princess was
admonished, and Lassaye forced to quit Rome. The letters are not worth
repeating in full, but the last one he alleges that he wrote to the
Princess will serve as a specimen of the rest:—

“I do not desire that you should run the risk of ruining yourself by
keeping up relations with me: it is better for me to die and for you to
live less unhappily. Stop, then, writing to a man who always brings
misfortunes in his train, and whose fates are unpropitious. I have
almost lost the habit of sleeping, and am scarcely able to support
myself. Why have I been born with such a sensitive heart? Why was I
destined to be always unhappy? Suffering seems to be my only lot in the
world. Life is a burden to me, and in dying I should be able to secure
your peace and happiness. Farewell, dear Princess; I can no longer bear
the grief that overwhelms me.”

-----

Footnote 25:

  This collection is called _Mémoires de Monsieur de Lassaye_. It bears
  also the better title of _Recueils de différentes choses_, for the
  parts of which it is composed are very varied and disconnected—love
  affairs, philosophy, ethics, satire, reflections on various matters,
  and letters, all jumbled up together. Lassaye had only a few copies of
  this collection printed for himself and a select circle of friends, so
  copies are extremely rare and cannot be bought. Herr Edward Bodemann
  managed to stumble across one in a second-hand bookshop in Paris, and
  to him I am indebted for the perusal of the correspondence in the
  original French.

-----

That Lassaye ever sent these letters to the Princess, or even wrote
them, is extremely improbable. The letters did not see the light until
fifty years later, when the woman whom he slandered was dead, and unable
to refute his accusations, and it is unlikely he made copies when he
wrote them, and kept them all that time. To what end? It would have been
more to the point if he could have published the letters he alleges he
received from Sophie Dorothea, but his audacity stopped short at the
point of forgery. He was an exceedingly vain and garrulous person, fond
of boasting of his conquests with the fair sex, and, if we may believe
him, half the princesses of Europe had capitulated to his fascinations.
The high rank, beauty, and romantic history of Sophie Dorothea made him
desirous of adding her to his list, and he deliberately exaggerated a
passing acquaintance to suit his purpose. The truth seems to be this.
Sophie Dorothea was flattered by the homage of the brilliant Frenchman.
She may perhaps have coquetted with him a little after the fashion of
the time—that is to say, she may have listened to his pretty speeches
and laughed at his sallies. But when she saw he was likely to put a
false construction upon her amiability, and take advantage of her good
nature, she nipped the acquaintance in the bud and dismissed him
abruptly. Lassaye, with all the pettiness of a small mind, cherished
against the Princess a grudge for the blow she had inflicted upon his
vanity, and revenged himself by composing bogus letters.

After a few months in Italy, Sophie Dorothea returned to Hanover, and
settled down again to her routine life. On March 16, 1687, she gave
birth to a daughter, who was christened Sophie Dorothea, after her
mother, and who, in years to come, married her cousin, the King of
Prussia, and became mother of Frederick the Great.

[Illustration:

  THE ALTE PALAIS, HANOVER.
  _From a photograph by the Author._
]

It would seem that the birth of a daughter instead of a son was in some
sense a disappointment to the ducal family of Hanover, though why poor
Sophie Dorothea should be blamed it is not easy to see. The event did
not tend to increase her prestige, as the birth of George Augustus had
done; and her husband, who was now home again, became more indifferent
and colder than ever. In these two children, for she bore no more,
Sophie Dorothea found all the happiness she experienced in her unhappy
married life. Some of this unhappiness, it must be admitted, she
deliberately provoked. Though she did not love her husband, she was
furiously jealous of his amours with other women, and resented the
presence of his favourites in proximity to herself. The little
Hanoverian court was a hot-bed of intrigue, a nest of envy, hatred,
malice, and all uncharitableness, and the more we look into it the more
we can understand the philosophic policy of the Duchess Sophia, who
ignored and kept aloof from it all. No doubt she chose the better part,
though it seems a somewhat unnatural one, for interference would have
been useless, and by abstaining she preserved her dignity. Sophie
Dorothea was different. At the outset she made an enemy of Madame
Platen, and met gibe with gibe and intrigue with intrigue. Of course she
had the worst of the duel; it was like a fight between a hawk and a
dove. She was no match for the older woman, who thwarted her at every
turn, and grew daily in authority and arrogance. About this time Ernest
Augustus advanced Platen to the title of Count, and his wife blossomed
into a Countess. Her power was now so great that even the stoutest of
her foes feared to provoke her, and lesser obstacles were swept out of
her path.

As an illustration may be quoted the case of the abigail Ilse. Court
ladies in those days had often in their household an attendant who
filled the middle distance between the servants and the mistress. Ilse
occupied this ambiguous position with the Countess Platen, and a very
hard time she must have had. She was young and fairly good-looking, and
probably not too strict in her views of right and wrong. Duke Ernest
Augustus was in the habit of consulting his Prime Minister’s wife far
more frequently than his Prime Minister, and whiled away many an hour in
her congenial society at Monplaisir. As a rule he sent her notice of his
intention of coming to see her, but one fine afternoon, as he drove back
from Herrenhausen, he thought he would pay the Countess a surprise
visit. He entered Monplaisir by the garden door unannounced. The
Countess was absent, but under the trees was the abigail Ilse, whom
Ernest Augustus had never seen. The Duke could not resist the temptation
of a few words with a young and pretty woman, and insisted that the
abigail should not withdraw. Ilse remained, and was laughing and talking
with the Duke, when suddenly the Countess Platen came upon them like a
whirlwind. The Countess curbed her rage for the moment, and confined
herself to an expression of astonishment that Ilse should have had the
impertinence to thrust her company upon the august presence of His
Highness. She bade the abigail begone, and then, no doubt, gave Ernest
Augustus a sound rating on his lack of dignity and good taste.

Whatever may have taken place between these exalted personages, one
thing is certain; Ilse was dismissed from Countess Platen’s service
with every mark of ignominy. Nor did her punishment end here. The
following week Ernest Augustus went to Osnabrück, and the moment his
back was turned the Countess Platen clapped the unfortunate abigail
into the common jail, or rather that part of it which was a “spinning
house”. The fact that a woman without any trial should be dragged off
to prison on a trumped-up charge shows how powerful Countess Platen
was in Hanover; her word seems to have been as good as the Duke’s sign
manual. Ilse was kept in prison some time, and then “dry drummed” (a
sort of seventeenth-century rough music) out of Hanover as a woman of
loose character, dangerous to public morals. The girl found herself
without the walls, friendless and penniless. In this plight she
appealed to Ernest Augustus, but that volatile Prince had already
forgotten her, or was afraid to arouse the ire of Countess Platen. He
sent her a small present of money, and cynically counselled her to
give Hanover a wide berth in future. Ilse then made her way to Celle,
and laid her sad case before the Duchess Eléonore, no doubt
expatiating upon Countess Platen’s enormities and her intrigues
against Sophie Dorothea. The Duchess of Celle, after sifting the facts
of the case, took Ilse into her employment, and found her an asylum in
the castle. Countess Platen resented the Duchess’s action as a
personal insult to herself, and she was the more enraged against her
and Sophie Dorothea. So the quarrel grew.

At the court of Hanover, as we have seen, there were plots and
counterplots; in addition to the women’s squabbles, father was arrayed
against son and son against father, and brother against brother. Among
the unruly sons of Ernest Augustus, Sophie Dorothea had her friends, and
the young princes for the most part hated Countess Platen quite as much
as she did. Of them all, Maximilian was the most ungovernable, and had
an unlimited capacity for getting into scrapes. Though well preserved,
Countess Platen was by this time past her first youth, and she had
recourse to divers means to heighten her charms, milk baths, artificial
roses, and cosmetics. The rouge-pot, like dram-drinking, grows with
habit, and the lady’s cheeks became so ruddy that they were the byword
of the court. There was a quaint conceit that the water peas were boiled
in was an infallible test of rouge, and the monkeyish Max, having a
grudge against the Countess, procured a bottle of this decoction from
the kitchen, and on the occasion of a court ceremonial, when she
appeared in full war paint, he squirted some in her face, with the
result that she had to retire amid the suppressed titters of the
assembly. The Countess, boiling with rage, complained to Ernest
Augustus, and the offender was severely reprimanded and locked up in his
room for many days. The punishment was not a heavy one, but it served to
engender bad blood between the father and son, and after he was
liberated we find Maximilian intriguing with his two brothers, Augustus
and Charles, against his eldest brother, George Louis, and his father.

Ernest Augustus’s great desire was to add to the lustre of the House of
Brunswick-Lüneburg. To this end he sought to unite the duchies of Celle
and Hanover, and he established primogeniture. He made his eldest son
heir to all lands and territory, and only allotted to his other sons
moderate sums of money whereby to support their dignity. This policy was
the opposite to that pursued by his ancestors and by most of the German
princes of his time, who in their wills were in the habit of dividing
their territory among all their sons. It is no wonder, therefore, that
the younger princes of Brunswick-Lüneburg disliked the innovation,
protested noisily against it, and intrigued for its overthrow. The
Duchess Sophia also disliked it. The disaffection was this time nipped
in the bud by the vigilance of Countess Platen, who tried to implicate
Sophie Dorothea in the plot, but nothing could be proved against her. It
is possible that she had a hand in it, for the terms of her marriage
settlement, which practically cut her off from inheriting territory, and
left her at the mercy of her husband, were so unfavourable that she
might be pardoned if she tried to alter them to her advantage.

These things did not tend to improve Sophie Dorothea’s position at
Hanover. Her best friend, Ernest Augustus, suspected her of intriguing
against him, and George Louis disliked her the more because he thought
she wished to upset the marriage settlement; except Eléonore Knesebeck,
she had not a friend to whom she could turn. It is hard to imagine a
more difficult position, but her cup of suffering was not yet full.

Mention has been made of the unsuccessful efforts of Countess Platen to
enamour George Louis again with her sister, Madame Bussche, who had now
returned to Hanover a widow. It was the policy of Countess Platen to
widen the breach between George Louis and Sophie Dorothea by every
possible means, and, knowing the young Princess’s jealous disposition,
she felt that the most efficacious way to prevent a reconciliation would
be to engage the Prince in another intrigue. Madame Bussche having
ceased to charm, she must find some one else. The lady whom she chose as
a decoy was Ermengarda Melusina Schulenburg,[26] the daughter of an
illustrious and noble house, who might have been capable of better
things. But Ermengarda Melusina, not being over-endowed with this
world’s goods, was anxious to settle herself honourably if she could,
dishonourably if no other chance offered, according to the custom of the
time. Schulenburg had recently arrived at Hanover, and had stayed at
Monplaisir. Countess Platen took her up, presented her at court, and
established her there as a lady-in-waiting. Ermengarda Melusina seemed
of a docile and confiding disposition, and Countess Platen thought she
would find in her a willing tool; but though she made no pretensions to
wit, and was slow of speech, she was shrewd, more shrewd than her
chaperone gave her credit. In appearance she was the opposite to Sophie
Dorothea; her features were of the heavy German type, and she was of
gigantic height (the Duchess Sophia called her “the tall Malkin”); but,
_en revanche_, she was only nineteen, had good features, large blue
eyes, fair hair, and a fine figure. The Countess introduced her to
George Louis on his return from Hungary. As he was short himself, he
admired tall women, and was much struck by Ermengarda Melusina’s large
and placid charms, and began to pay her marked attention. He was seen
with her everywhere, riding with her in the hunting-field, seated next
to her at the play, and leading her out at the dance. His wife was
openly neglected for this new rival.

-----

Footnote 26:

  Many years later Duchess of Kendal.

-----

To do Emengarda Melusina justice, she was not spiteful nor aggressive,
nor desirous in any way to injure Sophie Dorothea. At first she hung
back from the glittering prospect before her, but being very poor, and,
as subsequent history proves, very avaricious, she did not hold out
long, and then surrendered at discretion.

About this time the Countess Platen consoled Madame Bussche for the loss
of her power over the Prince of Hanover by marrying her in second
wedlock to General Weyhe, who must indeed have been a bold man, for
Bussche had only been dead a few months, and it was well known that his
death had been accelerated by his wife’s extravagance, bad temper, and
misconduct. Probably Weyhe was induced to marry the widow on the
strength of promises of promotion.

Countess Platen resolved to make her sister’s nuptials the occasion of
proclaiming, more or less informally, George Louis’s infatuation for
Schulenburg, and with a refinement of cruelty she tried to induce Sophie
Dorothea to be present. Though Sophie Dorothea always treated Countess
Platen with coldness, that lady maintained the semblance of respect for
the rank, if not the person, of the Princess, and she waited upon her to
invite her to the wedding festivities, and in the course of the
interview dropped many hints and veiled taunts wrapped up in the cloak
of flattery. Sophie Dorothea had the good sense to keep her temper. She
declined the invitation on the plea of ill-health, but said that she
would send Eléonore Knesebeck to represent her. The wedding was
celebrated with much splendour at General Weyhe’s country residence a
few miles from Hanover. After the ceremony there was a banquet, and
dancing followed in the evening. The Prince of Hanover honoured the
occasion with his presence, and so did his brothers, who, though they
hated Countess Platen, were ready to go anywhere to enjoy themselves;
but neither the Duchess Sophia nor the Princess was present. Eléonore
Knesebeck was there to represent the latter. The great personages at the
feast, far eclipsing the bride and bridegroom, were Ermengarda Melusina,
decked in jewels, and her lover, George Louis, who paid her so much
attention that every one noticed it, and, when he led her forth to the
dance, Weyhe and his wife had to take a second place at their own
festivities. When Knesebeck returned to the palace she found Sophie
Dorothea waiting up for her in great agitation; nor was she content
until she had had a recital of the whole affair, and learned that she
was openly flouted in the capital of the duchy.

From this time George Louis’s amour with Ermengarda Melusina assumed a
recognised phase. She was sumptuously lodged, and he visited her daily,
and spent most of his time with her. In this he was only imitating his
father, and, when all was said and done, Schulenburg was much less
offensive than Platen. Unlike her mother-in-law, Sophie Dorothea writhed
and raged under her husband’s infidelity, but she could obtain no
redress. The Duchess Sophia, true to her policy, declined to interfere,
and to appeal to Ernest Augustus was useless; in her despair she turned
to Celle, and made complaint to her parents. From her mother, who was
helpless, she got both love and sympathy; from her father she received
neither. A change had come over the spirit of George William’s dream,
for Bernstorff had plied him with many tales to the detriment of his
wife and daughter. So he bade Sophie Dorothea to keep her place, imitate
the example of her estimable mother-in-law, and ignore such trifles, and
he further exhorted her to be more amenable to her husband, and not to
give way to temper. Thus repulsed in the quarter where she looked for
help, the unhappy Princess knew not where to turn; she was friendless
and alone, unguided and unaided, ready to seize at any means of avenging
her wounded pride. At this juncture her evil genius came upon the scene
in the person of Philip Christopher, Count Königsmarck.




                             CHAPTER VIII.

                           ENTER KÖNIGSMARCK.
                              (1688-1689.)

                    ... he seem’d the goodliest man
                  That ever among ladies ate in hall.
                                            TENNYSON.


Count Philip Christopher Königsmarck had led an adventurous life since
the day when, a handsome youth, he parted from the Princess at Celle,
ten years before. He had grown to man’s estate, travelled far and wide,
and distinguished himself for audacity in many adventures and gallantry
in many courts. He came to Hanover with the reputation of being a
brilliant, dashing young nobleman, a reputation which his wealth and
personal beauty did much to heighten.

Count Philip Christopher Königsmarck, who was born in 1665,[27] was the
second son of a Swedish nobleman, the famous General Count Königsmarck,
who was killed at the siege of Bonne in 1673, leaving behind him two
sons and two daughters. Of the elder son more anon. One of the
daughters, Amalie Wilhelmina, had married Count Carl Gustav Lewenhaupt;
the other, Marie Aurora, was still unwed, and was distinguished
throughout Europe for her grace and beauty.

-----

Footnote 27:

  The vexed question of the date of Königsmarck’s birth is settled by
  Count Adam Lewenhaupt in an article in _Historisk Tidskrift_,
  Stockholme, 1898, in which he quotes from documents deposited in the
  Record Office, Stockholme.

-----

The Königsmarck brothers and sisters were peculiar products of the
seventeenth century; they were wealthy, endowed with rare talents, great
beauty, and noble birth, and, had they been so minded, could have lived
and died in their native land honoured and respected by all. But the
spirit of adventure was in their blood. The brothers were military
adventurers, and the sisters court favourites, to use no harsher word,
and they each and all of them were conspicuous figures at the most
brilliant courts of Europe. Most of the beautiful adventuresses of this
period were the daughters of poor noblemen. But the Countesses
Königsmarck could not plead poverty for embarking on their glittering
and eventful careers; with them, as with their brothers, the incentives
must have been the spirit of restlessness pure and simple, the passion
for display, and the love of notoriety, which through all ages have been
powerful attractions to men and women of their temperament.

The elder brother, Count Carl John Königsmarck, began his travels when a
boy. He accompanied his uncle, the celebrated Count Otho William,
sometime Field-Marshal of France, and afterwards Governor of Swedish
Pomerania, on a tour through the greater part of Europe. He visited
England in 1674. Soon after we find him figuring at Versailles. Later he
joined an expedition of the Knights of Malta against the Turks, when he
nearly cut short his promising career by tumbling into the sea; but he
was dragged out half drowned, for the Königsmarck family, like cats,
appeared to have nine lives. Later we find him at Rome, Venice, and
Genoa, and then proceeding through Portugal to Spain. At the court of
Madrid he was an honoured guest, and figured with great _éclat_ at the
festivities consequent on the marriage of the King. During these
festivities he took part in a bull-fight, wherein he distinguished
himself by his quickness and courage, and again met with an accident
which nearly cost him his life. He was badly gored by a bull, but,
bleeding and wounded, continued to fight until he was carried fainting
out of the arena. The Spanish ladies were delighted with his pluck, and
unanimously declared him to be one of the most gallant cavaliers that
had ever visited Madrid. After these experiences he returned to Sweden
for a time.

He found there Philip Christopher, his younger brother, who had returned
to the family nest from the court of Celle, where his presence was no
longer welcome. It was resolved to send him to England to complete his
education, and Carl John, who had been in England before, undertook the
charge of his young brother. The two brothers sailed from Gothenburg, in
1681, and, after a rough voyage, landed at Hull. Count Carl John
presented himself at the court of Charles II., bearing with him a letter
of introduction from the King of Sweden. The fame of his exploits had
travelled before him, and the merry monarch cordially welcomed so
distinguished a gallant, and took a great liking to him. Carl John at
once plunged into the gaieties of the dissipated English court. His
younger brother, Philip Christopher, was lodged in London, and sent to
attend Foubert’s Academy in the Haymarket, a celebrated school of arms
in that day. A man named Hanson was engaged to act as his tutor and
watch over his morals in the gay metropolis, and, in the intervals of
his military training at Foubert’s, to prepare him for entering the
University of Oxford.

The rank and fortune of these distinguished youths and the favour of the
court naturally gave them access to the great houses of England, and we
find them on terms of intimacy with the highest of the nobility. This
was especially true of the elder brother, who became a general
favourite, and won the favour of many of the court beauties. But the
Swedish noble sought more substantial advantages. Through the
Dowager-Countess of Northumberland he became acquainted with her young
daughter, the Countess of Ogle, who was one of the great heiresses of
the day. This lady was by birth Lady Elizabeth Percy, orphan daughter
and heiress of the eleventh Earl of Northumberland. She was married to
Henry Cavendish, Earl of Ogle, son of the Duke of Newcastle, when only
eleven years old, according to the evil practice of giving heiresses in
wedlock when mere children; but, because she was so young, she never
lived with her husband. He died after his marriage year, leaving his
countess the bulk of his fortune, and a greater prize than ever. The
unfortunate child appeared in widow’s weeds at the court of Charles II.,
and was known as _La triste héritière_. She had few pretensions to
beauty, and suffered from the fact that her hair was bright red, which
in those days was not admired, so she was given the additional nickname
of “the Countess Carrots”.

Count Carl John Königsmarck resolved to win this prize, and paid his
court to her assiduously. Despite her precocious training, Lady Ogle was
too young to know her own mind; but she seems to have been attracted to
her Swedish suitor favourably, and would probably have yielded to his
pleading had not her family discouraged his suit. Count Carl John came
with the strongest credentials, and the King’s favour to boot, but the
Dowager-Countess of Northumberland, who shared the prevalent prejudice
against foreigners, sternly refused to hear a word in his favour, and
shut the door in his face.

Incensed at his unceremonious rejection, the Count turned his back on
England for a time. The spirit of military adventure being strong within
him, he attached himself to an expedition against the Moors, and fought
at Tangiers with great bravery. The war was of short duration, and a
peace having been patched up with the Moors, the restless Count next
joined a cruise against the Algerines. While he was thus engaged, news
came which determined him to return to England without delay. Though
rejected by Lady Ogle’s guardians, he had by no means given up the idea
of winning her, and hoped by distinguishing himself in the wars to
strengthen his suit; she was still so young that they could afford to
wait a while, and doubtless he felt that his doughty deeds would make
her heart grow fonder. Whether they did so or not mattered little, for
her heart was the last thing that Lady Ogle’s guardians took into
consideration; they felt the care of the child heiress a great
responsibility, and resolved to settle her safely as soon as possible.
Therefore, in Count Carl John’s absence, they married her privately,
much against her will, to a country gentleman, Mr. Thomas Thynne, of
Longleat, in Wiltshire, commonly called “Tom of Ten Thousand” from his
wealth,—ten thousand a year in those days being considered an immense
fortune. The match was a suitable one as regards money and position, but
in other respects it was disastrous. Thynne was a young man of debauched
habits, whom Dryden lampooned as Issachar in his _Absalom and
Ahithophel_. This marriage, like the previous one, was never
consummated. The pair separated immediately the ceremony was concluded,
and the young bride fled to Holland to escape from her second husband.
She was then only fourteen years old!

Count Carl John took upon himself the _rôle_ of champion of the
distressed damsel; he considered that he had been tricked and the lady
betrayed, and by some crooked reasoning he persuaded himself that if he
could only get Thynne out of the way he would secure the heiress and the
fortune for himself. Full of this idea he arrived in London early in
1682, accompanied by a Captain Vratz, a dare-devil fellow who had
followed him in all his campaigns, and was absolutely devoted to his
interests. This time the Count did not present himself at court, but
took private lodgings and remained hidden, on account, he afterwards
said, of some skin disease he had picked up in Morocco which made him
unfit to appear in public. He saw no one but his younger brother, Philip
Christopher, who was still pursuing his studies at Foubert’s Academy,
and Vratz. It is impossible to say what dark schemes were hatched in
Carl John’s lodgings, but we know for certain that Vratz, who was a
noted duellist, tried to fasten a quarrel upon Thynne, but that
gentleman declined his challenge and refused to meet him. Vratz was
determined to encompass his destruction, and, since he could not kill
him in what was known as an “honourable way,” he hired two
swashbucklers, Lieutenant Stern, a needy rogue, and Borosky, a Pole, who
had come from Sweden with horses for Count Carl John, to act as his
seconds or confederates, and again endeavoured to provoke his adversary.
But Thynne obstinately refused to come out, and, failing in his
endeavour to murder him legally, Vratz determined to despatch him in
some other way. It chanced in this wise. One afternoon, just when the
dusk was falling, Thynne was driving in Pall Mall with his boon
companion, the Duke of Monmouth. He put the Duke down at his lodging,
and drove on, but his coach had not proceeded more than a few yards when
it was stopped by three mounted men, one of whom, Vratz, seized the
horses, another, Stern, knocked down the postillion, and the third,
Borosky, thrust a blunderbuss in at the coach window and discharged it
at Thynne. The three desperadoes then made off, leaving their victim so
dangerously wounded that he died in a few hours. There was a great hue
and cry. The position and wealth of the murdered man, and the fact that
such a deed had been committed openly in a frequented thoroughfare like
Pall Mall, was too much even for that time. The law was invoked at once,
and the three assassins were captured and thrown into jail to await
their trial. Count Carl John was arrested as an accessory before the
fact. He denied that he had any knowledge of the murder, but arms were
found at his lodgings; it was proved that he had made inquiries as to
Thynne’s whereabouts, and it was even hinted that the young lady,
anxious to be rid of her obnoxious husband, secretly encouraged him.
There does not seem to be any proof of this slander. Lady Ogle (or
Elizabeth Thynne) was a girl, and absent abroad; that she may have
wished to be rid of her husband is likely, and, under the circumstances,
natural, but it is impossible to believe that she connived at his
murder.

The trial took place in February, 1682, and was one of the most
celebrated trials of the reign, equalling in interest, if not
importance, the notorious Popish plots. The whole town was in a ferment,
and for days nothing else was talked about. The murdered man had many
friends of influence and position, who were determined to bring his
assassins to the gallows, and popular opinion was with them. On the
other hand, the King’s influence was known to be in favour of Count Carl
John; he had come to him with an introduction from the King of Sweden,
and he was unwilling that so distinguished an ornament of courts and so
brave a soldier should end his days by means of the common hangman.
Among the witnesses for the defence was Philip Christopher’s tutor, from
whose evidence may be gleaned many particulars of the younger brother’s
sojourn in England: for instance, that he had been sick of the ague,
that he had been on visits to certain of the nobility, that he was about
to leave Foubert’s Academy and go to Oxford, and lastly, that he, a
distinguished foreigner, had been brought to England to be instructed in
the Protestant religion and a proper knowledge of our free and
enlightened institutions,—this point was supposed to carry great weight
with the jury. Young Philip Christopher also gave evidence in his
brother’s defence. The judge could not understand why Borosky had come
over from Sweden. Philip Christopher said that his brother had sent for
him because he was a great judge of horses, and he wished to buy some,
not only for himself, but for him. “My lord,” said he, “I had a bill of
exchange.” “For how much money, my lord?” inquired the Lord Chief
Justice Pemberton. “For a thousand pistoles to buy horses, and he has
bought one horse and wants to buy more.” This testimony, preposterous
though it may seem, carried weight with the Lord Chief Justice, who
evidently had a hint from the King. In his summing-up he greatly
favoured Count Carl John Königsmarck, and the result was a verdict of
“Guilty” against the three desperadoes, but “Not Guilty” against Carl
John. The Count thus escaped; and, when he heard the verdict, there was
a scene in court, for the acquitted man had the audacity to exclaim,
“God bless the King and his honourable Bench!” whereat followed great
uproar.

The three accomplices were hanged in chains. Count Carl John, though he
saved his neck, ruined his reputation in England. The tide of feeling
was strongly against him. The King plainly told him that he could do no
more, and the coldness of the court, the hostility of the nobility, and
the threats of the populace combined to make him quit England for ever.
He repaired to the court of Versailles, where his recent experiences
rather added to his reputation than otherwise. While there he had the
audacity to renew his suit to Lady Ogle (or Elizabeth Thynne), now
widowed for the second time, but she would have nothing more to do with
him. She probably felt, and rightly, that to marry such a man would be
to implicate herself in his crime. She went into mourning for her
husband—or, rather, “did not appear public,” as the phrase went—for some
six or seven weeks; she then returned to England, and married Charles
Seymour, third Duke of Somerset, and added her colossal fortune to his.
The marriage was on the whole a happy one, and she and the Duke were
important and powerful personages at the court of Queen Anne.

Count Carl John returned to his estates in Sweden, but he could not
brook the quiet of country life, and soon plunged again into the
dangerous delights of war. War in those days was a game at which
emperors, kings, and military adventurers played for a pastime, the
soldiers being the pawns in the game. Carl John was wounded at the siege
of Cambray; he then followed his regiment to Spain, and distinguished
himself at the siege of Verona. The last stage of his eventful career
was when, in 1686, he went with his uncle, Otho William, to the Morea;
he took part in divers sieges and battles, and so exerted himself that
he brought on an attack of pleurisy, of which he died.[28]

-----

Footnote 28:

  We have dwelt thus on the career of Count Carl John Königsmarck
  because Horace Walpole and other chroniclers have fallen into the
  error of confounding him with his younger brother, Philip Christopher;
  and Horace Walpole even goes so far as to describe Philip Christopher,
  in his _Reminiscences of the Court of George II._, as the murderer of
  Thynne, which he certainly was not.

-----

Though Count Philip Christopher Königsmarck (now, by the death of his
brother, Count Königsmarck) had nothing to do with the murder of Thynne,
yet this untoward event influenced his fortunes not a little. The name
of Königsmarck had become so odious in England after this affair that,
despite the young Count’s admitted innocence, the court could not be
brought to look upon him with favour, and so he abandoned the idea of
going to Oxford and left England for France. He was at Versailles some
time; he then travelled through France and other countries. This was a
period of peace in the history of Europe; the great war which was
concluded by the Treaty of Ryswick was not begun until some years later
(1689), and so there was no opening for Königsmarck’s military talents.
It is not easy to follow his career during this period, but on leaving
France he seems to have gone to the court of Dresden, and proceeded with
his military studies, and while there to have formed a friendship with
Prince Frederick Augustus of Saxony (Augustus the Strong), and to have
accompanied him on his travels in Spain, Portugal and Italy. We know
that he was in Venice, and probably other parts of Italy, about this
time, and we find him figuring in his own letters as carrying on a
_liaison_ with a beautiful Italian lady connected with literature.

From 1682 (the date of the famous trial) to 1688 Königsmarck’s career is
involved in uncertainty. One thing, however, is certain, that he
appeared in Hanover on March 12, 1688. This we learn from the records of
the Hanoverian Marshal von Malortie.[29] Herein it is stated that
Königsmarck was present at an entertainment given by the Prince and
Princess of Hanover on the occasion of some public festival. Before this
date there is no mention of his name in any contemporary records of
Hanover, and after this it occurs frequently; we are therefore justified
in supposing that Königsmarck did not appear at Hanover before 1688. The
point is important, more important than appears at first sight, because
it has been stated that Königsmarck was in Hanover at an earlier date
than 1688, and formed an intimacy with Sophie Dorothea before the birth
of her daughter, thereby casting doubts on the legitimacy of her
daughter, afterwards Queen of Prussia, and so upon the Imperial House of
Germany. But there is no proof whatever (everything points the other
way) that Königsmarck was in Hanover before 1688, one year _after_ the
birth of the Princess.

-----

Footnote 29:

  Published in Hanover, 1847, under the title of _Der Hannoversche Hof_.

-----

We may take it, there being no evidence to the contrary that
Königsmarck’s appearance at the Prince’s festival was synonymous with
his arrival at the court of Hanover, and on this occasion he first met
the Princess, Sophie Dorothea, again, after ten years. Many changes had
taken place. When they had parted she was little more than a child, and
it cannot be supposed that their youthful intimacy had left any deep
impression on her mind.[30] With Königsmarck it seems to have been
different. If we may believe his asseverations later, he loved the
Princess as a child, and never ceased to love her all his life long,
even when his cause seemed most hopeless. On this occasion—their first
meeting after many years—there was no hint of his feelings; he paid his
homage to the Princess of Hanover with the formal respect due to her
rank, though he probably recalled to her the days they had spent
together at Celle. She greeted him with pleasure as an old friend and an
acquisition to the court circle, and in this latter view she was
supported by Ernest Augustus, who was always glad to welcome
distinguished strangers to Hanover, especially when they had money.

-----

Footnote 30:

  The fact that Sophie Dorothea and Königsmarck were children together
  is proved by a reference to the Protocol of the judicial inquiry with
  regard to Fräulein von Knesebeck, tried before the Vice-Chancellor
  Hugo and Count Platen. In it appear these questions:—

  “How long is it that the Count and the Princess have loved each
  other?” The answer was: “They have loved each other from childhood.
  The Countess Rens (? Reuss) has related to me that when they were yet
  children they loved.” “How old were they then?” “Nine or ten years.”
  “And they always loved each other?” “Yes, that was always so, and thus
  he came to this court to serve.”

-----

Witty and accomplished, and withal generous and given to hospitality,
Königsmarck soon became one of the most popular gallants about the
court. He did not omit, like all the young nobles, to pay his respects
to the powerful Countess Platen at Monplaisir, and she, on her part, was
much impressed with his handsome person and dashing manners. The fact
that Countess Platen was attracted to Königsmarck would not render him
more agreeable to the eyes of Sophie Dorothea, and it may be doubted
whether in that year (1688) the Princess saw much of him, though he was
at Hanover for some time.

Ill-treated and rebuffed on all sides, Sophie Dorothea’s troubles had
begun to tell upon her health; the Prince neglected her more and more
for Schulenburg, often not coming near her for weeks at a time. Sophie
Dorothea felt this slight keenly, and one day visited her husband in his
apartments and demanded an explanation of his coldness and neglect. Was
it due to any fault on her part? she asked pitifully, because if so she
would endeavour to regulate her conduct to his wishes. But George Louis
would not give her any explanation, and ordered her out of the room.
Sophie Dorothea’s temper was never much under control, and she lost it
altogether at this rude rebuff. High words ensued between the unhappy
pair; they had a more violent quarrel than ever before, and it was said
that George Louis used personal violence to expel her from his presence.
When at last the Princess returned to her apartments her agitation was
so great that it brought on a nervous prostration, and some say a
miscarriage. For some time she was confined to her bed, and so ill that
the Duchess Sophia, who generally held aloof and ignored her, interposed
on behalf of the neglected wife. The Duchess Sophia did not view the
Schulenburg affair with any favour, and reprimanded her son so severely
that George Louis was forced for a time to pay his wife some
attention—that is to say, he would come and sit by her bedside for a few
minutes, and sullenly inquire after her health.

When Sophie Dorothea rallied a little, the Duchess Sophia took her off
to Herrenhausen with her children, and paid her every care and
attention: this at least must be noted to her credit. It was probably
during this period that the Duchess gave her daughter-in-law those long
lectures on English history which Poellnitz describes with such
unconscious humour.[31] They lasted hours at a stretch, and poor Sophie
Dorothea had to listen to the end, though often tired and bored, for she
had not the same interest in English affairs as her mother-in-law.
Sometimes she seems to have dropped a hint to this effect, for we find
the Duchess Sophia rebuking her want of interest, and telling her it was
necessary that she should know the history of a country over which she
might one day be called to reign as Queen Consort, and, if so, she
trusted she would do her duty. This provoked Sophie Dorothea’s retort
that if ever she were Queen of England she hoped she would have more
sense than to run away and leave the crown as King James had done; for
the flight of King James and the accession of William and Mary had just
then astonished Europe, and were events especially agitating the mind of
King James’s first cousin, Sophia, whose sympathies at this period were
secretly with the exiled monarch and his family, notwithstanding the
ties of self-interest.[32]

-----

Footnote 31:

  _Histoire Secrette de la Duchesse d’ Hanover, Épouse de Georges
  Premier_, etc., said to be written by the Baron von Poellnitz.
  Published in French, London, 1732. This work is not trustworthy.

Footnote 32:

  In King William’s chest was found a large bundle marked “The Electress
  Sophia’s correspondence with St. Germains”.

-----

After a time some sort of wretched truce was patched up between the
ill-mated couple, probably through the mediation of the Duchess Sophia,
and Sophie Dorothea returned to her apartments in the Old Palace and to
outward union with her husband.

Königsmarck had then left Hanover for a period. The death of his uncle,
Count Otho William, in the latter part of 1688, called him to Italy, and
in the February of the following year we find him attending the splendid
obsequies of that distinguished relative at Venice, for Count Otho
William was not buried until many months after he died. By his brother’s
death Königsmarck had become a rich man; by his uncle’s death he became
one of the wealthiest noblemen in Europe, and the splendour of his
equipages, the lavishness of his entertainments, and his reputation for
gallantry made him an acquisition to any court. He was one of Fortune’s
favourites: born in the purple, entering upon a large inheritance while
yet a young man, he had the opportunity of making the most of the good
gifts Fortune showered upon him. Every court in Europe was open to him;
there were many capital cities where he might have found a fitting scene
for the spending of his wealth and the display of his peculiar talents,
but Hanover, little Hanover, drew him back again—whereof who shall say?
He had no ties there of long standing, no attractions equal to those of
Versailles and Dresden, no friends, unless it were the Princess whom he
had known in boyhood, and who was now in a position which should have
debarred intimacy. Whether it was chance or a set plan, whether it was
destiny or the desire of the moth for the flame, whatever it was,
Königsmarck returned to Hanover, and from that moment Sophie Dorothea’s
good angel deserted her.




                              CHAPTER IX.

                           PLAYING WITH FIRE.
                                (1689.)

             Yet this joy, waited on by fear and doubt,
             Plucked casually as by a flower of accident,
             On the rough lip and edge of danger’s breach,
             How sweeter is it than the rose to smell
             We gather from our garden with gloved hands,
             And find nor thorn, nor perfume!
                                             SWINBURNE.


On his return to Hanover Königsmarck set up a sumptuous establishment.
He took a house not far from the ducal palace, in a street that was then
one of the principal in Hanover, but which is now one of the few bits of
the old town remaining. His beautiful sister, the Countess Aurora, came
to stay with him, and his married sister and her husband, Count
Lewenhaupt, paid him frequent visits. In addition to his lands in
Sweden, Königsmarck had inherited a large estate near Hamburg, and
frequently travelled there from Hanover. Some idea of his establishment
may be gathered from the fact that his secretary, Hildebrand, mentions
on one occasion that Königsmarck was attended by a retinue of
twenty-nine servants and fifty-two horses and mules. Where money was
concerned Königsmarck was absolutely reckless; his love of pleasure and
display amounted to a passion, and the result was, notwithstanding his
large fortune, he was often in need of ready money, and had to raise it
at ruinous interest. At present his fortunes showed no shadow of
embarrassment. Hanover was dazzled by the advent of this wealthy
foreigner; the splendour of his retinue, the magnificence of his
entertainments, and the beauty of his sisters were on every tongue. His
fortune was magnified tenfold, and indeed it seemed inexhaustible. At
court, at the chase, at the opera, in the ballroom, at the carnival,
Königsmarck carried all before him; he was the central and brilliant
figure.

[Illustration: _From the painting at Herrenhausen._]

Duke Ernest Augustus marked his appreciation of the wealthy foreigner by
appointing him a colonel of his Hanoverian guards. As the troops of the
ducal brothers were allied in accordance with the treaty of 1676,[33] he
was sometimes with his regiment at Hanover, and sometimes at Celle,
though he was more particularly in the service of Hanover. The post gave
him free access to the palace, and was considered one of the most
honourable about the court, elevating its holder to what was known as
the third degree. Though highly ornamental, it was no sinecure; the pay
was not large, and in Königsmarck’s case it may have been honorary to
avoid jealousy at the promotion of a foreigner. And there was plenty to
do. The air of Hanover was full of the noise of military preparations,
and the prospect of active service was especially attractive to
Königsmarck. It was probably one of his objects in taking the colonelcy
of the guards; for though his pleasure-loving soul delighted in the
glitter of courts, the camp had its charm for him too. He was a daring
and a skilful soldier, an expert in the profession of arms, and many
kings would have been glad of his services.

-----

Footnote 33:

  A doubt has been raised as to whether Königsmarck was ever in the army
  of Brunswick-Lüneburg at all, in consequence of the trouble which was
  taken subsequently to erase his name from all official documents of
  Hanover and Celle relating to the troops. But the doubt is settled by
  the auditor of his regiment, named Rudiger, in his evidence in the
  Secret Senate Chamber of Hanover on July 27, 1694. Rudiger stated he
  had served in a regiment of foot-guards commanded by Königsmarck in
  Flanders. He had also served in a regiment of dragoons in which
  Königsmarck held the same rank. This document may be found in the
  Archives of Saxony, Royal Courts of Justice, Dresden. The
  correspondence of Colt, sometime English envoy at Hanover, also (as we
  shall shortly show) contains reference to Königsmarck as holding a
  commission in the Hanoverian troops. This correspondence is in the
  State Paper Office, London.

-----

Königsmarck struck up a friendship with the young Princes of
Brunswick-Lüneburg, notably with Prince Charles, the favourite son of
the Duchess Sophia; and later he was very friendly with Prince Ernest,
the youngest of them all, who was many years his junior. Königsmarck was
about the same age as the eldest Prince, George Louis, and some six
years older than the Princess Sophie Dorothea, who was at this time in
her twenty-fourth year. His intimacy with Prince Charles, who was a
great friend of Sophie Dorothea, threw him frequently in her society.
The memory of their early friendship helped matters considerably. He and
the Princess had many things in common; they both possessed a love of
things beautiful, and their tastes were artistic and refined. This
refinement showed itself in Königsmarck’s dress, equipages, and
entertainments. His love of display never degenerated into vulgarity, he
could boast of all the superficial accomplishments, his manners and
address were graceful, and on things in general he was remarkably well
informed. In other ways Sophie Dorothea and Königsmarck were curiously
alike. Both possessed highly strung and mercurial temperaments. Both
were extravagant—Sophie Dorothea’s expenditure formed the subject of
many a lecture from her husband. Both loved amusement, fine clothes,
lavish entertainment, balls, plays, dances, and continual excitement.
Both were impulsive, emotional, imprudent, and thoughtlessly generous.
Sophie Dorothea was much beloved by the poor in Hanover and Celle for
her kind heart, which was always ready to respond to the cry of
suffering and distress. Her indiscriminate almsgiving was another
grievance against her. It can easily be imagined how these two persons
contrasted with the cold, sluggish natures around them, and the stiff
routine of the German court. If we bear in mind all the forces at work,
and the surrounding circumstances, the trend of subsequent events appear
almost inevitable.

The Princess was very unhappy, and welcomed Königsmarck as a friend. He
was not backward in assuring her of his respect and devotion; his
society was pleasant to her, and his evident homage flattered her
vanity. But at this time there certainly was not, in the conduct of
Sophie Dorothea, anything which would warrant the impression that a
deeper feeling than friendship existed. In a court of many intrigues
their friendship simply meant that Königsmarck ranged himself with the
adherents of the Princess. Her health was not good, and she spent many
hours in retirement with her children. Königsmarck and Prince Charles
would come to see her, and amuse her by telling her the gossip of the
day. The Princess never saw any one alone, but always in the presence of
her lady-in-waiting, and the pages were in waiting in the antechamber.
There was no impropriety in Königsmarck’s visits, and none was at first
imagined; but it was playing with fire, for in time the Princess began
to speak to her friend of her husband’s ill-treatment and neglect. His
conduct was open and notorious, so there was no concealment in the
matter; but though perhaps natural, it was very imprudent for her to
take Königsmarck into her confidence—it is a commonplace that a handsome
young man is about the worst counsellor an ill-used wife can find.
Königsmarck, of course, sympathised deeply, and expressed his
indignation in no measured terms (what man would not?), but his
championship did more harm than good. He seems to have had at this time
some idea of provoking George Louis to fight a duel with him, and so rid
Sophie Dorothea of an unsympathetic husband. It is related that on one
occasion, when Königsmarck was holding forth before a large company on
the superior splendour and attractions of the court of Dresden, Prince
George Louis sarcastically asked him why he ever left it. Königsmarck
retorted: “Because I could not bear to see a prince destroy the life and
happiness of his good and beautiful wife by neglecting her for an
impudent and worthless mistress!” The company gasped at the audacity of
the answer, for though it was true of the Elector of Saxony it had a
double application; but cold and sullen George Louis ignored the affront
for the time being, though he never forgot it nor forgave it.

Königsmarck made his appearance at Hanover at a critical time in the
fortunes of the duchy. Duke Ernest Augustus might well be excused
overlooking domestic squabbles in the face of the wider politics which
were confronting him. The peace of Europe was trembling in the balance.
The great European coalition was forming against Louis XIV., and the
Duke of Hanover was temporising as to whether he would cast in his lot
with the French King or with the Allies. On the surface there does not
seem to have been any ground for his hesitation; the ties of religion,
of blood, of race, of honour, would naturally bind him to the coalition.
But these things were nothing to Ernest Augustus in comparison with the
promptings of self-interest, and he determined to sell his support to
the highest bidder.

The dispute between the French King and the Emperor Leopold had reached
an acute phase. On the death of the Elector Palatine, Louis XIV. had
successfully invaded the palatinate; but his position was uncertain at
the close of 1688, and, urged by the infamous counsel of Louvois, he
determined to devastate that fair province. Villages were burned,
churches wrecked, and thousands of families turned out of their homes
and suffered to perish from cold and hunger. The beautiful castle of the
Elector Palatine at Heidelberg and the fair town of Mannheim were
reduced to ruins. The wanton spoliation and sacrilege, the cruelties and
barbarities committed by the French army aroused the indignation of
Europe. It seems incredible that Ernest Augustus, considering how
closely he was connected with the palatinate through his marriage,[34]
could have hesitated for one moment on which side to throw in his lot.
But he hesitated.

-----

Footnote 34:

  The Duchess Sophia was the daughter of one Elector Palatine (the
  “Winter King” of Bohemia) and the sister of another.

-----

The crusade against the French King was almost a Holy War. Louis’s only
ally in Europe was the Sultan of Turkey, whom he assisted against the
House of Austria, and whose Moslem cruelties to Christians were rivalled
by this “Most Christian” King in the atrocities which his army committed
in the palatinate. All Europe cried for vengeance. The Emperor Leopold,
Catholic though he was, made common cause with the Protestant William of
Orange, now King of England. The King of Spain followed suit, and the
German princes, both Catholic and Protestant, one by one allied
themselves against the King of France. The Grand Monarque had no one
left on his side but the Sultan, and the exiled King James II. of
England, whose reproaches from St. Germains to their Catholic Majesties
of Austria and Spain for allying themselves with “that Protestant
usurper and enemy of Holy Church, William, Prince of Orange,” were
without avail. The King of France had proved himself a standing menace
to the liberties of Europe, and in the common effort to check his
aggression all minor differences gave way. Though the Emperor Leopold at
first took the lead, William of Orange was the heart and soul of the
European coalition against Louis. It was largely the result of his
skilful negotiations; and many times when it was at the point of
breaking up, his statesmanship held it together.

In the face of so powerful a European combination as this it would seem
that the action of a petty state like Hanover mattered little. To the
Emperor Leopold it mattered a good deal; it was not merely a question of
Hanover only, but of Hanover and Celle, for the troops of the ducal
brothers were allied, and they had shown their mettle in many a
hard-fought campaign. Besides, if Hanover and Celle, so nearly allied to
the palatinate, stood aloof, other little states might do the same, and
the unity of the German confederation would be broken. To William of
Orange it mattered something, too, for the House of Hanover was nearly
allied to the Stuarts, and if it made common cause with the protector of
the exiled King James, his influence in England would be sensibly
weakened.

Ernest Augustus, wily diplomatist that he was, estimated the advances of
these powerful potentates at their true value. They wished for his
support; he was willing to sell it, but at a high figure. His spouse,
the estimable Sophia, also took a hand in the game. Each had a coveted
desire. The price Ernest Augustus demanded of the Emperor was the
electoral dignity; Sophia asked of William of Orange a clearer
recognition of her claim to the succession to the throne of England. The
Emperor demurred. There were then eight Electors in the German Empire:
two Protestant, Saxony and Brandenburg; three Roman Catholic, Bohemia,
Bavaria, and the Palatinate; and three spiritual, the prince-archbishops
of Metz, Treves, and Cologne. The Emperor had no constitutional power to
add to their number, though he might do so by ä stretch of prerogative.
Besides, if such an Elector were elected, or rather created, the elder
branch of the House of Brunswick—Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel—had prior claim.
But Ernest Augustus remained firm. He even began negotiations with
Versailles, and Sophia, no whit behind her spouse in intrigue, opened up
a correspondence with St. Germains. These tactics were successful; both
the Emperor and William came to terms. The Emperor promised the dignity
of Elector to the House of Brunswick-Lüneburg, but under heavy
stipulations. The Dukes of Hanover and Celle bound themselves to support
the Emperor against the French King and also against the Turks in Morea,
and to pay annually five hundred thousand thalers; to furnish a force of
nine thousand men, and to uphold the Hapsburg dynasty in its dynastic
disputes. The Emperor held back the formal bestowal of the coveted
honour till a more convenient season, but he made a binding promise.
William of Orange promised to advance the Duchess Sophia’s chances of
succession to the English throne when he could, and (what was far more
important to Ernest Augustus) to use his influence for the House of
Hanover with the Emperor. Thus did Hanover join the confederation
against France.

These matters settled, events moved rapidly throughout the winter of
1688 and spring of 1689. Hanover resounded with military preparations,
and there was a continual coming and going of ministers and envoys, for
the Allies hostile to France were in constant communication with one
another. The manifesto of the German confederation was published in
February, that of the States General in March, that of Brandenburg in
April, and that of Spain in May. England followed suit in the same
month, and the great war between the Allied Powers and France was
declared, which did not end until the Peace of Ryswick, 1697.

Meanwhile another event, more directly bearing on the fortunes of the
House of Hanover, took place in England. The Act of Settlement was
passed by Parliament, and though this Act did not specify the Duchess
Sophia and her heirs by name, it expressly excluded any Roman Catholic
prince from ascending the throne, and vested the crown in the Protestant
succession. William and Mary were childless, Anne was in feeble health
(the Duke of Gloucester, her short-lived son, was not yet born), and so
it seemed in the course of nature that, if the Protestant succession
were upheld, the crown must ultimately devolve on Sophia or her children
as the Protestant descendants of the Stuarts in the line of succession.
William also intimated that, when occasion served, he would do more in
the matter.

The Duchess Sophia received the news with the liveliest feelings of joy,
and even Ernest Augustus was not insensible to the importance which
accrued thereby to the House of Hanover. Prince George Louis remained
unmoved; he had not forgotten his unsuccessful mission to England seven
years before. Prince Max, always in opposition, avowed himself an ardent
Jacobite; the other young princes probably did not trouble about the
matter at all. In default of a more sympathetic audience, therefore, the
Duchess Sophia turned again to her daughter-in-law, Sophie Dorothea, and
expatiated on the brilliant possibilities before her. Poor Sophie
Dorothea, who was ill and unhappy, proved even more indifferent than her
husband; the prospect of the English crown was much too vague to allure
her, and England was little more than a name. The Duchess Sophia had
again occasion to remonstrate with her daughter-in-law on her lack of
interest in a matter which affected not herself only, but her children.

By way of emphasising the importance of the Act of Settlement, William
appointed Sir William Dutton Colt to be Envoy Extraordinary to the
Princes of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel and Brunswick-Lüneburg. Colt was
charged with the mission of representing England at the courts of
Hanover, Celle, and Brunswick, and of keeping their respective princes
well disposed towards the great Alliance. No easy task, it must be
admitted; for all the princes pulled different ways, and the perpetual
journeys from Hanover to Celle, and Celle to Brunswick, to say nothing
of following the Duke of Celle in his ceaseless movements to
Brockhausen, Wienhausen, and Göhre, would have worn out any but a strong
man. As it was, we soon find Colt complaining of the “perpetual motion”
of the court of Celle.

The new envoy arrived at Celle in July, 1689. He was received by the
Duke and Duchess “with all y^e respect and ceremony imaginable,” but his
first impressions of Celle were indifferent. “The town,” he writes, “is
very poor, and all y^e country round nothing but a deep sand and wood of
small fyr trees, full of all sorts of wild beasts, which with the Duke’s
passion for hunting makes him reside constantly here and at some little
houses he has in y^e neighbourhood. I fear to pass a very miserable
winter here, in extreme cold and very ill houses.”[35] But Hanover
cheered his spirits. “This place,” he writes, “has much more the
appearance of a court, and the town much larger and finer, people laying
out their money in building and furnishing their houses, besides
abundance of strangers resorting constantly hither.”[36] And again:
“Nothing can be happier than we are here, all the court and the
ministers showing us all imaginable kindness”.[37] His secretary, De la
Roque, was even more enthusiastic. “Yesterday,” he writes, “Sir William
Colt had an audience with the Duke and Duchess and Princess of Hanover
[Sophie Dorothea], who received him with every mark of respect due to
him as His Majesty’s envoy. This court is as splendid as any in Germany;
genius and civility reign here. The Duchess Sophia is _une personne
incomparable d’un esprit, d’une bonté, et d’une civilité à charmer_. She
speaks all living languages as well as her own. Her beautiful daughter
[in law], the Princess, is both accomplished and agreeable.”[38]

-----

Footnote 35:

  Colt’s _Despatch_, Celle, July 19, 1689.

Footnote 36:

  Colt’s _Despatch_, Hanover, July 26, 1689.

Footnote 37:

  _Ibid._, Hanover, July 30, 1689.

Footnote 38:

  _Letter of De la Roque_, July 26, 1689.

-----

Soon after this the Duke and Duchess of Celle paid a visit to the court
of Hanover. The two brothers had much to talk about in connection with
the part they were to play in the great war and the intrigues for the
electorate. It is more than probable the Duke of Celle thought at this
time that, as he was the elder brother, the Emperor would confer the
Electoral dignity on him, and he was so foolish that the cunning Ernest
Augustus, with the aid of his unscrupulous tools Bernstorff and Platen,
could hoodwink him as much as he pleased. He seemed to be rapidly losing
any will of his own, and he became more and more the pawn of his
ambitious and scheming brother. Proportionately as the Hanoverian
influence waxed, that of the Duchess Eléonore waned, and she had now no
voice in affairs of state and comparatively little in matters of a
purely domestic nature. The Celle-Wolfenbüttel combination had long ago
fallen to pieces, and George William’s dislike of Antony Ulrich was not
far short of Ernest Augustus’s hatred of the same prince. Between the
courts of Brunswick and Hanover there existed the most intense jealousy.
The records of the time reveal a network of intrigue, bribery,
treachery, and falsehood between these petty German courts which has
seldom been equalled and never surpassed; the restricted area and the
pettiness of the disputes added intensity to the bitterness.

The Duchess Eléonore was not a very welcome guest at Hanover; but the
Duchess Sophia had by this time sufficiently masked her animosity to
receive her with civility, and, indeed, on account of their
grandchildren, little George Augustus and Sophie Dorothea, common sense
told the older people that it would be well to dissemble their dislikes,
and there was nothing to be gained by perpetual strife. It had no such
lesson for the Prince and Princess of Hanover, whose dislike for each
other seemed to increase as time went on; and though Duchess Eléonore
had abundant love and sympathy for her unhappy daughter, we find her
henceforth preaching prudence and patience to her, and urging her, for
her children’s sake, to make the best of her lot.

There were many festivities at Hanover in honour of the visit of the
Duke and Duchess of Celle, and among them the Prince and Princess of
Hanover gave a ball to which the court and nobility were invited.
Everything was done on a scale of magnificence. Duke Ernest Augustus and
the Duchess Sophia with a numerous suite attended in state, and sat on a
raised dais with their honoured guests. The Duchess Eléonore must have
felt that at last she was a duchess indeed, especially if she contrasted
these flattering attentions from her haughty kinsfolk with their former
snubbings and insults. The evening began with a play—probably a pastoral
with dances; then there was a procession to the banqueting-hall, and
after supper Sophie Dorothea opened the ball with her father the Duke of
Celle. The Duchess Sophia and the Duchess Eléonore did not dance, but
sat apart on the dais. Duke Ernest Augustus was too stout, so George
Louis led out the Countess Platen, as _vis-à-vis_, she being the
greatest lady present after their Serene Highnesses, and it is recorded
that the splendour of her jewels and attire far outshone those of the
ducal party. When the first set dance was over, the dancing became more
general, and Königsmarck and the Princess stood up for a minuet.
Königsmarck wore a suit of pink and silver, while the Princess appeared
as Flora, all in white, with no jewels and a wreath of natural flowers.
They made so handsome a couple, and withal danced so exquisitely, that
they called forth the admiration of the whole company. Indeed, the
Countess Platen was so struck by the grace of Königsmarck’s dancing and
the beauty of his person that when the dance was over, she went up and
complimented him in most extravagant terms before the whole assembly, to
which Königsmarck, who was nothing if not gallant, replied in a fitting
manner. The incident did not fail to attract the notice of the court,
except that of Ernest Augustus, who seemed blind and deaf where his
favourite was concerned.

From this hour Königsmarck’s intimacy with the Countess Platen ripened
rapidly—an intimacy which may be palliated, but certainly cannot be
excused. He became a frequent visitor to Monplaisir, where drinking was
deep and play was high. The Countess was always willing to win a little
money from her admirers (it was the recognised way of buying her
favours), and before long rumour spread the tale that an intrigue
existed between the two. It is difficult to say what was the truth of
the matter. The Countess Platen must at this time have been about forty
years of age, but she was at the height of her opulent charms;[39] she
had power, wealth, and the art of making herself pleasant and
fascinating to men, and she was not troubled with any scruples.
Königsmarck was neither better nor worse than other young nobles of his
day, and the probability is that Poellnitz’s narrative is in the main
true, and in an unguarded moment Königsmarck threw over his good
intentions and discretion.[40]

Thackeray also says of Königsmarck that “a greater scamp does not walk
the history of the seventeenth century”; but there is nothing to show
that Königsmarck was any greater scamp than his contemporaries; in many
things—notably in his bravery, his generosity, and, later, his fidelity
to a great love passion—he was better than most of them.]

-----

Footnote 39:

  Thackeray calls her a “hideous old court lady”; on what authority I
  know not. She certainly was not old at that time, and far from
  hideous. There is a picture of her at Herrenhausen in a rich crimson
  robe, a fine voluptuous-looking woman, with black hair and an ample
  bust, just the sort of woman one would expect her to be. Curiously
  enough the picture hangs immediately beneath that of Königsmarck.

Footnote 40:

  Poellnitz asserts that on receiving the Countess Platen’s compliments
  on his dancing at the ball, “Königsmarck comprit tout le sens de ces
  paroles, et la passion qu’il avoit pour la Princesse ne le rendit pas
  insensible aux avances d’une aussi belle personne que la Comtesse. Il
  lui répondit qu’il étoit confus des bontez qu’elle vouloit bien avoir
  pour lui qui le méritoit si peu, et que puisqu’elle lui permettoit de
  l’aller trouver le soir.... Königsmarck fut chez la Comtesse, qu’il
  trouva en deshabillé sur un lit de repos. Elle se leva et ayant laissé
  toute modestie, elle courut l’embrasser, en lui avoüant sa foiblesse
  et lui faisant voir tant de charmes, que Königsmarck ne se fit point
  scrupule de répondre à sa tendresse. Le jour étoit prêt à paroître
  quand il se retira chez lui. Il se jetta sur son lit pour y prendre
  quelque repos, mais ce fut en vain, et il se reprochoit
  continuellement d’avoir été sensible aux charmes de l’ennemie déclarée
  de la Princesse” (_Histoire Secrette de la Duchesse d’Hanover_, pp.
  80-81).

-----

Königsmarck was soon smitten with remorse. He could not ignore the fact
that his intimacy with the bitterest enemy of the Princess must look
very much like treachery in Sophie Dorothea’s eyes, and he sought an
audience to make excuses to her for his conduct, declaring, not very
ingenuously, that it was necessary to win the favour of the Countess if
he were to be of any real service to the Princess. The Princess answered
coldly that it was a matter of indifference to her how he spent his
time, or with whom, and he was wise to pay his court to the mistress, as
she could prove a much more powerful and influential friend than she
(the Princess) could ever be. Indeed, she went on bitterly, she had no
friends; she was betrayed and deserted on every side. Only recently she
had craved leave to return with her father and mother to Celle for a
time, but, through the interference of Countess Platen, Ernest Augustus
had refused permission, and she must needs remain in Hanover surrounded
by enemies. She burst into tears, and Königsmarck, smitten by
self-reproach, became scarcely less agitated, and vowed with great
fervour his respectful homage and lifelong fidelity to her interests.
Just at this point Prince Charles came in to pay his respects to Sophie
Dorothea, and, finding both his sister-in-law and Königsmarck violently
agitated with an emotion they were unable to conceal, his suspicions
were aroused. He was a well-wisher of both, and, though he said nothing
to the Princess, when the visit was over he took Königsmarck aside, and
warned him that the path he was treading was a dangerous one, and it
behoved him to walk more warily.

Königsmarck thought so too. His passion for the Princess was growing
daily, and threatened to outstep all bounds of discretion. He was not
wholly selfish; he loved her with all the love he was capable of
feeling, and he began to see that his presence, so far from serving her
cause, was likely only to increase her difficulties. His brief-lived
intrigue with Countess Platen filled him with disgust and remorse; he
was at his wits’ end to repel her advances with civility, and there were
the elements of danger in it too, for should Ernest Augustus suspect
anything, his career at Hanover would be closed for all time. The only
way out of the dilemma was a temporary absence.

The opportunity soon came. In accordance with his treaty with the
Emperor Leopold, Ernest Augustus, who this summer had sent troops to
Flanders, and his eldest son, George Louis, to the Rhine, was also
sending, in the autumn of 1689, some regiments of his famous Hanoverians
to the Morea, to fight with the Imperial forces against the Turks, and
Prince Charles, Königsmarck’s bosom friend, was to accompany them. What
more natural than that Königsmarck should volunteer to go too,
especially when the Duchess Sophia made an appeal to his friendship and
entreated him not to suffer her best-loved son to face the perils and
dangers of this far-away campaign alone? He at once craved permission to
serve with the Hanoverian troops in the campaign, and it was granted.
Dearly as he loved military adventure, he did not go without sadness and
misgiving. It was hard for him to tear himself away from the object of
his passion; and, as the day of departure drew near, his depression was
noticeable to the whole court, and the more inexplicable because he had
come to Hanover with the reputation of being a brave and keen soldier.
The Countess Platen remonstrated with him on his decision; she had no
wish to lose so amiable a gallant. He told her coldly but civilly that
his determination was unalterable, and doubtless in his absence she
would forget him. With the Princess his leave-taking was more difficult.
Unaware of the depth of the feelings he entertained for her, and seeing
in him nothing but a sincere and devoted friend, Sophie Dorothea did not
hesitate to express her regret that he was leaving her at a time of
great stress and difficulty, when she had most need of his counsel and
advice. She besought him to take care of himself and return quickly, for
she saw before her a time of sore tribulation when she would need to the
utmost all her friends. Königsmarck was so moved by these gracious words
that he had great difficulty in restraining his emotion; as it was, he
contented himself with vowing again his devotion and fidelity to her
interests, and bade her adieu.

The rigours of an early winter had set in, the snow was lying on the
plains around Hanover, when Königsmarck and Prince Charles set forth for
the Morea.




                               CHAPTER X.

                         THE EMBROIDERED GLOVE.
                              (1690-1691.)

               They two alone one summer day:
                 “Ah Love,” she said, “is hard to lose”.
               “And harder still,” he said, “to say
                 The bitter words that you must choose
               Between the lover of to-day
                 And the true friend of yesterday.”
                                   LADY ARABELLA ROMILLY.


The winter was one of the most rigorous known for years, and brought
much hardship and suffering to the troops fighting in the Morea and
privation and want to the people at home. The Hanoverian subjects
groaned under the weight of the large and increasing military burden
imposed on them. Taxes were high and discontent was general.[41] But,
though soldiers might die and peasants perish of cold and starvation,
the court of Hanover was as gay and extravagant as ever. Countess Platen
kept open house at her palace of Monplaisir; her jewels and dresses grew
more and more resplendent; her hazard table was the focus of all the
dissolute young nobles about the court. The opera was thronged nightly.
Thousands of thalers were squandered on feasting and music and dancing,
though the duchy was involved in a bloody and unprofitable war, and its
troops were being mowed down like grass by the scimitars of the Moslem
hordes.

-----

Footnote 41:

  “Every prince here keeps more troops than he can possibly maintain”
  (Colt’s _Despatch_, Hanover Correspondence, December 4, 1689).

-----

The New Year opened with much festivity. “This family is here together,”
writes Colt, “except the Duke of Celle and his court. We have had a
carnaval and a most magnificent Opera of voyces from Venice, which has
drawn much company hither.”[42] And again: “Our opera is most
magnificent fine, exceeding even that of Italy”.[43] But there was a
spectre at the revels which would not be shut out. “I am under dreadful
apprehensions,” he continues, “that our mirth will not end well, being
concerned for the safety of Prince Charles, the fourth son of this Duke,
who is marching from Prestina. If he be killed it will bring both the
Duke and the Duchess with sorrow to their graves; nor, indeed, have I
ever seen one more generally beloved.” Poor Sophie Dorothea was probably
under “dreadful apprehensions” too, not only for the safety of her
favourite brother-in-law, who had always taken her part, but for the man
whom she deemed her faithful friend and devoted adherent; if she lost
them she would be friendless indeed. But however much her heart might
ache, it behoved her to smile and to deck herself in jewels and brave
attire, and take her place in the festivities by the Duchess Sophia’s
side, who had sorrow and anxiety too.

-----

Footnote 42:

  Colt’s _Despatch_, Hanover, January 24, 1690.

Footnote 43:

  Colt’s _Despatch_, January 28, 1690.

-----

A few weeks later and the evil forebodings were realised. News came that
the young Prince, the flower of his race, the darling of his mother’s
heart, the idol of the court, was lost in the Morea. There were many
contradictory reports: some said he was slain, others that he was only
wounded, others that he was taken prisoner and carried to
Constantinople. Then followed a month of wearing anxiety; the Duchess
Sophia broke down under it utterly, and the Electress of Brandenburg
came to comfort her mother. It was supposed, too, that Königsmarck was
killed or taken prisoner. At last the suspense ended. “We have received
certain news,” writes Colt, “that Prince Charles was killed on the spot
where his body was found, with several of his officers and servants
round him, dead. He had several cutts with a gymeker, and was run thro’
the body with a lance. Their last hope of his being a prisoner has very
much increased their sorrow here, and we are going into mourning.”[44]
Königsmarck was not numbered among the dead; the Königsmarck luck was on
his side, and by some miracle he escaped, though the Hanoverian troops
were decimated.

The Duchess Sophia fell dangerously ill on receiving the news of her
favourite son’s death, and the court despaired of her life. The sad
affliction in which the ducal family were plunged broke down for a time
all minor jealousies. The Duke of Celle came personally to Hanover to
offer his condolences, and the common sorrow seemed to draw all members
of the family closer together. A month later the Duchess Sophia rallied
sufficiently to go with the Duke to Carlsbad to take the waters. In
April Königsmarck came back to Hanover from the Morea, in company with
the miserable remnant of the gallant troops who had set forth so bravely
the autumn before. Some idea of the slaughter may be gained from the
fact that of the Duke of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel’s contingent, which
started eleven thousand strong, only one hundred and thirty returned.

-----

Footnote 44:

  _Ibid._, Hanover, February 25, 1690.

-----

The summer of 1690 was a sad one at Hanover. The death of Prince Charles
and the illness of the Duchess Sophia cast a gloom over a court which as
a rule suffered not death, nor sickness, nor misery to interrupt its
dissipations and revelries. Prince George Louis went to Flanders to
command his father’s troops, and took Prince Ernest, the youngest of the
princes, with him.[45] It was not a dangerous expedition, for the troops
of the Allies were for the most part mobilising this year. William of
Orange was not in Flanders; he had his hands full in Ireland, where, at
the head of a motley army (English, Dutch, Danish, and German—doubtless
the first fruits of the great confederation), he was grappling with King
James at the battle of the Boyne.

-----

Footnote 45:

  Colt’s _Despatch_ Celle, May 27, 1690.

-----

Königsmarck did not go to Flanders; he had had enough of fighting for
the present, and he stayed on at Hanover, where Sophie Dorothea,
abandoned, as usual, by her husband, who much preferred the camp to the
court and his military to his connubial duties, remained almost alone.
Regarding Königsmarck as her staunch adherent and trusted friend, she
rejoiced greatly on his safe return from the jaws of death, and gave him
ready and frequent audience. In the lifetime of Prince Charles these
interviews had excited no remark, for he went often to see his
sister-in-law and took Königsmarck in attendance. But things were now
different: the beloved Prince Charles, the true friend of both, was
dead, and there was an enemy once more at work plotting the Princess’s
destruction. This was the Countess Platen, who, to her long-standing
dislike of the Princess, now added an element of personal jealousy. She
too had greeted Königsmarck’s return with joy; but he had courteously
but firmly repelled her advances, determined not to be caught tripping a
second time. The Countess fancied she saw the cause of his coldness in
his devotion to Sophie Dorothea, and from that moment she determined on
her ruin. Opportunity to injure her soon came.

The etiquette of the court was very strict, and the Princess, as we have
remarked, was not always so careful to observe it in public as she might
have been. As colonel of the guards, Königsmarck had free access to the
palace. One day, when he was there on duty, he met the Princess coming
in from the gardens with her little daughter. In the ordinary course he
should have saluted and passed on. But the little girl was tired, and
shirked the long flight of steps leading to the apartments of the
Princess. Instead of handing her over to an attendant, Sophie Dorothea
impulsively caught her up in her arms, and began to mount the steps with
her burden. This alone was supposed to show a deplorable lack of
dignity, and, to make matters worse, Königsmarck laughingly remonstrated
with Her Highness, and insisted on taking the young Princess from her
arms and carrying her up the stairs to the door of her apartments. Just
at this moment who should pass by but the Countess Platen, who, seeing
them laughing and talking together, cast a withering glance, and, with
an ironically deep obeisance to the Princess, hurried off to report to
the Duke this monstrous breach of etiquette.

[Illustration: THE LEINE SCHLOSS, HANOVER.]

Duke Ernest Augustus was now home from Carlsbad, much the better of his
gout, and in good temper with things generally. He was indulgent to
Sophie Dorothea and her whims, except when they crossed his wishes. In
this case he could not see anything very wrong in her conduct, though
the circumstance was grossly exaggerated by the Countess, and he turned
a deaf ear to her hints and innuendoes, refusing to believe any evil.
Perhaps he had a shrewd idea that jealousy was at the bottom of it. But
afterwards he remonstrated with the Princess, and reprimanded
Königsmarck for having been guilty of an impertinence, though,
Hanoverian etiquette apart, he seems to have only performed an act of
natural courtesy. The incident was reported about the court, and from
the tittle-tattle came the first breath of scandal which afterwards
tarnished so sadly the mirror of Sophie Dorothea’s fair name.[46]

-----

Footnote 46:

  The authority for this incident, and the episode of the embroidered
  glove which follows, may be traced either to the _Roman Octavia_, by
  Duke Antony Ulrich, or to the writings of Major Müller, who was for
  some time librarian to the late Duke of Cambridge, when Regent of
  Hanover, and who had free access to the Hanoverian archives. Count
  Schulenburg considered his writings worthy of credit, but I cannot
  vouch for their accuracy, though the inherent probability of these
  incidents justifies their insertion here.

-----

Soon after this the Hanoverian court, except the Duchess Sophia, went on
a visit to Brunswick, according to their annual custom, to divert
themselves with an opera and the fair.[47] The Duke and Duchess of Celle
were there also, and Duke Antony Ulrich with his family and a numerous
court. Antony Ulrich had now become co-regent with his elder brother,
Duke Rudolph Augustus, who, being a scholar and recluse, practically
left all government in his hands. It was Antony Ulrich who dictated the
policy of the House of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, and he kept his court
sometimes at Wolfenbüttel and sometimes at Brunswick. Brunswick was then
a Hanseatic town of considerable importance, strongly fortified, and
much frequented by merchants. The annual fair was a great event which
the pleasure-loving court of Hanover would not forego. Not the recent
death of the Prince, nor the reverses of the army in the Morea, nor the
ill-concealed enmity between the Duke of Hanover and Duke Antony Ulrich
sufficed to keep Ernest Augustus from the Brunswick revels. Just now in
the interests of the great alliance the feud between them was
slumbering. Sophie Dorothea was there too, and so doubtless was
Königsmarck. The death of the Elector Palatine put a sudden end to the
ill-timed festivities.

-----

Footnote 47:

  Colt’s _Hanover Correspondence_, August 12, 1690.

-----

At the end of October Prince George Louis returned from Flanders with
his troops, for winter quarters.[48] Absence had not improved his
domestic relations; he spent all his time with Ermengarda Melusina
Schulenburg, and his unhappy wife saw little or nothing of him; at this
time she was his wife in name only.

-----

Footnote 48:

  _Ibid._, October 24, 1690.

-----

In January, 1691, the Duke of Wolfenbüttel and the Duke of Hanover, each
with a numerous retinue, went to the Hague to meet William and take part
in the deliberations of the great congress of the Allies. The Duke of
Celle was to have gone too, but an attack of gout at the last moment
prevented him, much to his chagrin, as he was a staunch friend of
England. The quiet Dutch town presented a spectacle of extraordinary
gaiety. William had just made his triumphal return to his own country
for the first time since he had become King of England, and his Dutchmen
welcomed him with acclamations and delight, which showed how deeply the
Dutch phlegm could be stirred on occasion. The streets were decorated by
day and illuminated by night; every house was crowded, and the retinues
of the princely throng were sore put about to find a lodging for their
masters, much more for themselves. It was an imposing gathering; never
before had Europe witnessed such a congress. The haughty Elector of
Brandenburg was there, the young Catholic Elector of Bavaria, the Regent
of Würtemburg, the Landgraves of Hesse-Cassel and Hesse-Darmstadt, and
princes of the Sovereign Houses of Saxony, Holstein, Nassau, and, as
before mentioned, of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel and Brunswick-Lüneburg;
plenipotentiaries extraordinary were there from the Emperor Leopold, the
kings of Spain, Poland, Denmark, Sweden, and the Duke of Savoy. The
Hague was transformed. As Macaulay says:—

“The grave capital of the most thrifty and industrious of nations was as
gay as Venice in the carnival. The walks, cut among those noble limes
and elms in which the villa of the Prince of Orange is embosomed, were
gay with the plumes, the stars, the flowing wigs, the embroidered coats,
and the gold-hilted swords of gallants from London, Berlin, and Vienna.
With the nobles were mingled sharpers not less gorgeously attired than
they. At night the hazard tables were thronged; and the theatre was
filled to the roof. Princely banquets followed one another in rapid
succession. The meats were served in gold.”[49]

-----

Footnote 49:

  Macaulay’s _History of England_, vol. iv., p. 7. Macaulay’s authority
  was _Relation de la Voyage de son Majesté Britannique en Hollande_
  (Brunet, ii., 72).

-----

It was magnificent, but it was not war. The great congress resolved to
oppose Louis with two hundred and twenty thousand men, but while they
were talking, feasting, and junketing, the Grand Monarque was up and
doing. Mons, the most important of the fortresses of the Spanish
Netherlands, was besieged and fell. The glamour of the congress was at
once destroyed and the Allies were disquieted. Louis returned in triumph
to Versailles, and William went back in chagrin to England for a brief
visit. The other princes and potentates broke up in dudgeon and went
their several ways, among them the Brunswick dukes, who returned to
Hanover and Wolfenbüttel respectively.

On the return of the Brunswick princes, intrigues and discontents ran
high at the courts of Hanover and Celle. The fall of Mons and the
continued uncertainty about the coveted electorate made the Duke of
Hanover turn his back upon William of Orange and lend a willing ear once
more to the overtures of the French King. An envoy of Louis was at
Hanover, and was received with great favour by Ernest Augustus and by
Count and Countess Platen, to whom he made large presents. The Duke
himself does not seem to have been above the suspicion of bribery, for,
writes Colt, “to show some of us he doth not want money, he bought a
jewel of forty thousand crowns from a Jew of Amsterdam, or else it was a
present, for by that channel the French money comes”.[50]

-----

Footnote 50:

  Colt’s _Despatches_, Locknam, June 10, 1691.

-----

The English envoy was hard put to it to counteract these influences. The
Duchess Sophia was on his side, but she could do little. Prince George
Louis was with him too, but he could do less. On the other hand, the
Princess Sophie Dorothea favoured the French party. “The eldest prince,”
writes Colt, “is a very reserved man and has good parts, and not in the
least French in his inclinations, which gave that party some discontent;
they make all y^e court imaginable to y^e Princess, and I fear not
without success, for she has no great fondness for the Prince.”[51] The
Princess was probably influenced by her mother, who was French at heart,
as well as by birth, and, with the Duke of Hanover, they united in
dissuading the Duke of Celle from sending troops to Flanders. Colt had
spoken of the Duchess of Celle as likely to support France.

-----

Footnote 51:

  _Ibid._, Hanover.

-----

“She be a French woman, and consequently loves y^e imaginary glory and
greatness of France; yet I am persuaded she wishes us [the English]
better than those I have mentioned [Bernstorff, the Platens, etc.], whom
she hates, because they have lessened her credit with the Duke, with
whom she can now do but little.” But now he had no doubt. “The Duchess
of Celle be on y^e French side very much now. For my part I doubt she is
changed in the principalls of her religion too, for she maintains that
the Protestants might have stayed in France, and have complyed by going
to Mass as a less crime than quitting their King and country. It makes
me often wonder at the Duke’s patience, and how he suffers it.... The
Duchess here [Celle] hath engaged the Princess to assist her in
persuading the Duke.”[52] And again: “The Princess of Hanover and her
son have been here till this day to take their leave of the Duke, and to
remind him how much the Duchess is to be his care as well as theirs, so
that the Duke of Hanover acts on sure grounds both ways. The Duke shows
great fondness of his daughter and grandson.”[53]

-----

Footnote 52:

  Colt’s _Despatch_, Celle, May 8, 1691.

Footnote 53:

  _Ibid._, Celle, May 22, 1691.

-----

But George William’s sympathies were stoutly English. He had great
admiration for William of Orange, who had sent him a present of horses,
and nothing would induce him to intrigue with France. But he was won
over to adopting a neutral attitude for a time, with the result that no
troops from the princes of Brunswick-Lüneburg were sent to Flanders for
the campaign of 1691.

These cross-currents and intrigues were very trying to the English
envoy, and he writes home pages and pages telling of his efforts to stem
the tide. Among other things, he gave a great party and entertained at
supper all the distinguished visitors who were at Hanover, including the
Electress of Brandenburg, the Duchess of Celle, the Duchess of Hanover,
the Duke of Saxe-Gotha, the Princess of East Friesland and her party,
and all the young princes.[54] The French emissary immediately gave
another yet more splendid, and as he reinforced it with costly presents
all round, his influence was paramount.

-----

Footnote 54:

  _Ibid._, Hanover.

-----

The Princess Sophie Dorothea attended both parties; her sympathy with
France is practically the only authenticated instance of her
interference in politics, if we except her suspected intrigues with
Wolfenbüttel.

Königsmarck went to the Hague in the suite of the Duke of Hanover, and
among the gallants who swaggered and gambled and played in the taverns
and streets of the old Dutch town none cut a braver figure than he. His
intimacy with Sophie Dorothea seemed to grow no nearer; he could be of
no service to her, and, though most friendly, she kept him at an arm’s
length. He was her most obedient servant, most faithful friend, but
nothing more, and he desired to be much more. Baffled and depressed at
this time, he wanted to leave the Hanoverian service and join the army
of William; he had known England and loved it, and while at the Hague
had been presented to the King, who had been pleased to receive him very
graciously, and would have taken him into his service, for he had need
of dare-devil soldiers of the Königsmarck type. But the Duke of Hanover
would not let him go. He liked his dashing colonel of the guards, and
was unwilling that his court should lose so brilliant an ornament; he,
however, gave him leave to go to Brabant to see the English army, and
thither Königsmarck went in May, but a month later he was back in
Hanover.

Königsmarck celebrated his return by giving an entertainment, a
masquerade, which was honoured by the attendance of many of the members
of the ducal family. The Prince and Princess of Hanover, Princes
Christian and Ernest, Count and Countess Platen, and the leading
nobility of Hanover were among the guests. Every one came in fancy
dresses and masks. It was a warm summer night, and the company were
dispersed about the dimly illuminated gardens. The opportunities of
flirtation and intrigue were great, and if we may believe Poellnitz the
Countess Platen determined to improve the occasion by a dramatic little
plot of her own. She had jealously watched the growing intimacy between
Königsmarck and the Princess, and cast about for an opportunity to ruin
them—or at least the Princess. To this end she stole one of Sophie
Dorothea’s gloves which she had inadvertently put down at supper (it was
one of a pair George Louis had brought her from Flanders, richly
embroidered and ornamented with her initials and coronet), and,
concealing it in her dress, she presently lured Königsmarck into
accompanying her to a far-off pavilion in the gardens. Here, without
ado, she plunged into a violent flirtation with him, and so engrossed
his attention that he did not hear footsteps until two men stood in the
path before them in the moonlight. They were Count Platen and George
Louis. The Prince had been led this way, seemingly inadvertently, by the
husband in agreement with his wife. Uttering a startled exclamation, as
though afraid of being discovered, Countess Platen took Königsmarck by
the arm and fled from the pavilion; at the same time, unperceived by
him, she dropped the Princess’s glove. George Louis, who was not near
enough to distinguish the masked lady, asked Count Platen who it was.
The wily Minister professed ignorance, but on entering the pavilion
picked up the glove and handed it to George Louis, who recognised it as
one of a pair he had given his wife. His jealous suspicions were
aroused, and later they were confirmed by hearing the Princess ask for
her missing glove. She could give no account of when and where she had
lost it, and so far as the Prince was concerned these tactics were
completely successful. Notoriously unfaithful himself, he was only too
ready to suspect his wife of unfaithfulness.

But up till now Sophie Dorothea, though she had shown signs of wavering,
had not told Königsmarck that she viewed him in any light but as a
friend. He, on his part, had now gone far beyond the bounds of the most
privileged friendship, and, forgetful of her rank and lonely position,
had addressed the Princess in terms of extravagant devotion. Had she
been wise, Sophie Dorothea would at once have closed the acquaintance.
But she was not wise; and in a court of universal laxity and intrigue
she saw no harm in a little flirtation. It was the almost universal
custom of the time. Nearly every woman of youth and beauty, whatever her
rank, and whether married or not, had gallants sighing for her smiles
and wearing her favours. The Electress of Brandenburg (her
sister-in-law) had many admirers, and openly avowed her preferences; so
had the Duchess of Saxe-Eisenach, the Princess of Etting, and other
princesses. Why should not she have one too? She was piqued by her
husband’s neglect, flattered by Königsmarck’s homage, and perhaps, too,
her heart was touched. She had known him from childhood. He had loved
her always, so he swore. He was the ideal lover, young, handsome, and
ardent, and she was hungry for love—even love like this. She had no
idea, when she listened, of going beyond the bounds of discretion; yet
even for her to listen was indiscreet, nay dangerous, surrounded as she
was by spies and enemies. She had no one in whom to confide; no one to
advise her except Eléonore Knesebeck, who, though devoted to her
mistress, was a sentimental, silly young woman, eager to vary the
monotony of her duties by acting as go-between in an intrigue. It was
impossible, now that suspicion was aroused, for Königsmarck to see the
Princess so frequently as he had done, and in an evil moment she
consented to allow him to write to her from time to time, though not
promising to reply. The letters, to disarm suspicion, were to be
addressed to Eléonore Knesebeck.

Thus did Sophie Dorothea first open the sluice-gates a little way to a
little stream, which later swelled into a mighty river, carrying her and
Königsmarck before it, and engulfing them finally in the rush and roar
of its waters. But the story of all this is best told in the letters
themselves.




                              CHAPTER XI.

              HISTORY AND AUTHENTICITY OF THE LETTERS.[55]

   I, for my part, value letters as the most vital part of biography.
                                       ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

-----

Footnote 55:

  This chapter is an interpolation dealing with the history and
  authenticity of the correspondence and does not affect the narrative.

-----


The original manuscripts of the remarkable correspondence between Sophie
Dorothea and Königsmarck, a correspondence unparalleled in the annals of
passion, except, perhaps, by the love-letters of Mirabeau to the
Marquise de Monnier, are still preserved in the University Library of
Lund, in Sweden.

The history of the letters previous to their finding a resting-place at
Lund can be traced back through many generations.

It will be noted that the correspondence begins in July, 1691, and ends
in December, 1693, thus covering a period of two and a half years. The
first few letters of Königsmarck show that he was not quite sure of his
footing with the Princess, and the _liaison_ between them was yet in the
bud. Within a few months we find his passion not only avowed without
disguise, but reciprocated by the Princess with equal ardour. Except for
a break in the first part of 1693, the letters follow the period of
their love story until the last six months, January to June, 1694.
During the greater part of this latter time Königsmarck was at Dresden,
and a few days after he returned to Hanover he was assassinated (July 1,
1694). It is known that many letters passed between the Princess and
Königsmarck during this last six months, and a bundle of letters were
seized by the Hanoverian Government in Königsmarck’s lodgings a few days
after his murder. These last letters and probably many others are
therefore missing from this correspondence, which otherwise forms a
fairly complete record of the Princess’s love story. The pertinent
question is, how came the many hereafter published to be preserved?[56]

-----

Footnote 56:

  Those published in this book are all from the collection at Lund. But
  many more (doubtless those seized by the Hanoverian Government) are
  stated to exist, unpublished, at Berlin and Gmünden.

-----

Königsmarck, as we have seen, had two sisters, Amalie Wilhelmina, who
married Count Carl Gustav Lewenhaupt, a Swedish nobleman, who held for a
time a commission as colonel in the army of the Duke of Celle, and
served with the troops of Brunswick-Lüneburg in Flanders, and the
beautiful Aurora, who was never married. Aurora was in the confidence of
the lovers and on terms of friendship with the Princess. Countess
Lewenhaupt must also have been cognisant of the _affaire_, though in a
lesser degree. During Königsmarck’s connection with the court of Hanover
Aurora resided sometimes at Hamburg, often with him at Hanover, and was
occasionally at Celle, Brunswick, and other places, but always circling
around the courts of the Brunswick princes. The Countess Lewenhaupt was
for the most part with her husband, whose military duties kept him much
at Celle; but she frequently met her brother or sister. Both sisters
often saw their brother, and between him and them there existed a strong
affection.

Aurora sympathised with the love affair between her brother and the
Princess, and at quite an early stage we find her aware of it. Letters
were often sent through her hands; and so active a part did she play
that when suspicion was aroused in the autumn of 1692, Ernest Augustus
sent her a message to the effect that she would do well to give Hanover
a wide berth in future. For the lovers to keep each other’s letters in
their several possession was dangerous, and they were unwilling to burn
them. For their safe keeping, therefore, it would seem that both
Königsmarck and the Princess deposited at stated periods their letters
with Aurora: the Princess giving up those she had received from him, and
Königsmarck those he had received from her.[57]

-----

Footnote 57:

  In the Protocol of the trial of Fräulein Knesebeck, she states that
  she was commanded by the Princess always to return his own letters to
  Königsmarck, because she herself did not dare to keep them, nor did
  she think them safe even in the hands of Knesebeck.

-----

This continued until the end of 1693. In the six months that followed
(January to June, 1694) Königsmarck did not see his sisters; he was in
Saxony, and they were at Hamburg. The letters he had received from the
Princess during that period were still in his possession when he was
murdered, and, as we have seen, many were seized by the Government. The
letters the Princess had received from him were in _her_ possession, and
she probably burned as many as she could on the first hint that
everything was discovered. On the other hand, the Hanoverian Government
must have seized some, which (with her own) were used against her at the
divorce. But the rest—those published here—were in Aurora’s keeping at
Hamburg, outside the jurisdiction of the Elector of Hanover.

Of the efforts which both sisters, especially Aurora, made to discover
their missing brother, and to bring his assassins to justice, we shall
have occasion to speak later. They mourned their brother long and
sincerely, and treasured everything connected with his memory. Doubtless
these letters were among their most cherished possessions. Aurora, it is
well known, led for some years a wandering and adventurous life, and for
better security she must have transferred this momentous and bulky
correspondence to her sister’s, Countess Lewenhaupt’s, keeping. Count
Lewenhaupt, soon after the murder of his brother-in-law, quitted the
service of the Duke of Celle, and returned with his wife to Sweden,
where he henceforth lived on his estates.

From this time the history of the letters is categorical, and may be
traced step by step. Amalie, Countess Lewenhaupt, kept the letters, and
on her deathbed gave them to her son, Count Charles Emil Lewenhaupt,
telling him to cherish them with great care, as they had cost “her
brother his life, and a king’s mother her freedom”. Count Charles Emil
Lewenhaupt duly fulfilled his mother’s injunction, and the letters
remained among his most carefully guarded possessions all his life. He
left two sons, the younger of whom, Adam, inherited Ǒfvedskloster where
the letters were then kept. Count Adam Lewenhaupt sold Ǒfvedskloster to
his brother-in-law Baron Hans Ramel, who married his sister Amalie
Beata. In this way the letters passed into possession of the Ramel
family, and they reposed in a chest in the library of Ǒfvedskloster for
many years. Amalie Beata, Baroness Ramel (_née_ Lewenhaupt), died in
1810, and at her death bequeathed the letters to her daughter, Elisabeth
Sophia Amalie Beata, who was married to Count Gustaf Adolph Sparre. The
offspring of this marriage was also a daughter, Christina Amalie Hedvig
Adelaide, who married Count Jacob de la Gardie, of Löberöd, the founder
of the famous De la Gardie Archives. Count de la Gardie, who was a
wealthy nobleman, a bibliophile, and an antiquarian, was greatly
interested in these letters, which came into his possession in 1817
through his marriage with the lady aforesaid. Quite apart from their
historical value, the way in which they had been handed down through
generations of his wife’s family (she was the great-great-granddaughter
of Countess Lewenhaupt, _née_ Königsmarck) gave them a personal interest
in his eyes. The letters were removed from Ǒfvedskloster to Löberöd,
where they formed part of his celebrated collection of books and
manuscripts.

It was after the letters came into Count de la Gardie’s possession that
their existence became known to the outside world; hitherto they had
been treated as family papers of a private nature. The famous collection
of archives at Löberöd attracted scholars from far and wide. In 1831
Probster Wiselgein, in his work _De la Gardieska Archivet_ (the De la
Gardie Archives), vol. ix., mentions that this correspondence forms part
of the archives, and quotes a single letter from the Princess in the
original French as a specimen. Two years after this same letter was
republished in the _Magazin für Literatur des Auslandes_ (Journal of
Foreign Literature), 1833. But the correspondence did not receive much
attention until 1847, when Professor Palmblad, of the University of
Upsala, in the _Blätter für Literarische Unterhaltung_, published a few
short extracts in the original French, together with a brief
introduction. This he afterwards republished as an appendix in his
historical romance, _Aurora Königsmarck_. To Palmblad’s labours we shall
have occasion to refer again.

When Count de la Gardie died he bequeathed his almost priceless
collection to different libraries in Sweden. To the University of Lund
he left many valuable books and manuscripts, including the
correspondence of Sophie Dorothea and Königsmarck. In accordance with
the Count’s bequest the letters were deposited in the University
Library of Lund in 1848, and they remain there until this day. It is
not easy to see how the history of these documents could be better
authenticated.[58]

-----

Footnote 58:

  Table showing the descent and ownership of the letters from the time
  Aurora Königsmarck gave them to her sister until the present day.

           Amalie, Countess Lewenhaupt (_née_ Königsmarck),
                                                 |
               Count Charles Emil Lewenhaupt (her son),
                                                 |
                   Count Adam Lewenhaupt (his son),
                                                 |
               Amalie Beata Baroness Ramel (his sister),
                                                 |
                    Countess Sparre (her daughter),
                                                 |
                 Countess de la Gardie (her daughter),
                                                 |
                   Count de la Gardie (her husband),
                                                 |
                 The University Library of Lund, 1848.

-----

Shortly after the letters were deposited at Lund, J. H. Gadd, who from
1848 to 1850 held the post of assistant-librarian to the university,
made a copy of the correspondence. This copy he afterwards sold, or
gave, to the late Mrs. Evelyn Everett Green, a lady well known for her
historical researches, and who was for many years employed in the State
Paper Office. Mrs. Everett Green, who was in correspondence with Count
Schulenburg-Klosterrode, author of _Die Herzogin von Ahlden_, apparently
thought of publishing these letters, for she began the fragment of a
preface. But for some reason she desisted from her task, and in 1870
sold Gadd’s manuscript copy to the British Museum. This copy, in French,
bears nothing to show where the original letters are preserved. I
discovered by accident that they were at Lund, when at Leipsig in 1898.
On communicating with the university authorities at Lund I found that
none of them had any knowledge of the manuscript copy in the British
Museum, and they seemed doubtful of its genuineness. I therefore made a
journey to Lund for the purpose of consulting the original manuscripts,
and found that the copy in the British Museum was on the whole a
faithful one. At Lund, too, I was able to trace the history of the
letters and to examine in detail the documents.

It would be hard to find a more fitting resting-place for these letters
than the university library of Lund. Nestling under the shadow of the
great cathedral, surrounded by the elms and limes of the beautiful
Lundagård, the old library seems to breathe the very spirit of the past.
In the silent rooms, with their mellow tomes and paintings of dead and
gone worthies, there reigns a profound peace, in strong contrast to the
riotous passion, the fret and the fume, the rapture and despair, which
run through these records of an ill-fated love, and make them human
documents indeed. As we read, the hopes and the fears, the joys and the
struggles of the unlucky lovers rise before us with extraordinary
vividness. The writers live and move and breathe again; the air is
peopled with their presence; and then—we look up from the page and come
back to the old library and the great stillness, and realise something
of the littleness of human passions beside the passionless flight of
time. Two centuries have gone; the lovers are dead; the hands that
penned these burning words, the eyes that wept, the hearts that throbbed
as they were written, have crumbled into dust. But their witness is
here—here in these old and faded pages, which breathe even now, faint as
the scent of dead rose leaves, the perfume of their passion.

A word now as to the outward semblance of these letters. They are fairly
well preserved, the paper being for the most part of a tough though
flimsy nature, which in places shows the handwriting through. The ink is
dim and faded to a dull brown; here and there it is so faint as to be
almost illegible. Königsmarck’s letters differ in size, some being
written on the ordinary notepaper of the day, others on scraps torn
apparently from a pocket-book; some, too, are weather-stained, as though
they had travelled far. Envelopes in all cases are missing; nor were
they generally used in those days. The letter was folded and sealed.
Some of Königsmarck’s letters bear his seal in red or black wax, and a
device—a little heart within a large one—with the motto, _Cosi fosse il
vostro dentro il mio_. One, in addition, has the ends of a green silk
ribbon under the seal, showing how the letter was tied. The seal
represents a flaming heart on an altar, the sun shining down upon it
with the circumscription, _Rien d’impure m’allume_. One, bearing date,
Halle, August 3/13, is addressed to “Madamoiselle la Frole de
Knesbeck, à Zelle”; one is addressed “à la Gouvernante,” one merely
“Pour la Personne Connue,” one “la Frole de Kronbugler”; but there are
none directly addressed to the Princess. All Königsmarck’s letters are
written in the same great sprawling hand.

The letters of the Princess are written on paper of good quality, and
almost without exception of uniform size. Like Königsmarck’s, they bear
evidence of having been folded; but the envelopes are missing, and,
unlike his, none of them bear seal or superscription. They are written
in two distinct handwritings, possibly three, which bears out the theory
that some were written by the Princess in her own hand, some in her
handwriting disguised,[59] and the rest by Knesebeck at the Princess’s
dictation. But, disguised or undisguised, transcribed by Knesebeck or
the Princess, they are easier to read than Königsmarck’s, on account of
their better penmanship, though occasionally they, too, show traces of
haste.

-----

Footnote 59:

  Fräulein Knesebeck in the Protocol of her trial expressly states that
  the Princess was able to write two different hands.

-----

The letters number over two hundred, and form two bulky packets. With
the exception of a few fragments of German poetry which Königsmarck
quotes here and there, they are all in French, that being the language
then generally used at courts, and especially by the Princess, on
account of her French mother and education. To Königsmarck—a Swedish
noble by birth—French was more familiar than German, though his
knowledge of either was far from perfect. The letters are arranged in
little or no chronological order, and run in batches; thus we have first
a batch of the Princess’s letters, then a batch of Königsmarck’s, then
another of the Princess’s, and finally another batch from Königsmarck.
Quite two-thirds are written by Königsmarck and the rest by the
Princess—if we except two or three brief notes, or rather postscripts
from Knesebeck.

If the lovers’ letters differ in outward appearance, they differ even
more in style and diction. Königsmarck’s are very badly written,
ill-spelt, and often ungrammatical, which may be explained by the fact
that he was writing in a foreign language which, though he could speak
it fluently, he had not thoroughly mastered. Often, by accident or
design, he falls back on phonetic spelling of French words, which at
first renders them almost impossible to decipher, and it is only by
reading them aloud that one can grasp their meaning. For instance:—

                       _Saite_    = Cette
                       _Can_      = Quand
                       _Sansaire_ = Sincere
                       _Cas_      = Qua
                       _Astor_    = À cette heure

and many other renderings equally erratic. Königsmarck’s style, like his
handwriting, was rough-and-ready. Many of his letters were written in
haste when on active military service, and one does not expect literary
grace from a soldier writing often under difficulties, and always in a
foreign language. His sentences are abrupt, and frequently broken by
exclamations, interjections, and interrogations, especially when he
writes under stress of excitement. But he has a knack of occasionally
enforcing his meaning by a happy phrase or homely illustration, and
this, combined with frequent allusions to men and things, makes his
letters of more general interest than those of the Princess. Egotism is
the dominant note. His wit has at times a knack of degenerating into
coarseness—a coarseness so great that even in that coarse age we cannot
help wondering how a man in his position should be found writing such
things to a princess, to a woman he loved and reverenced. But we have to
remember that it was an age of licence and freedom of speech; and even
the letters of the estimable Electress Sophia to the Duchess of Orleans,
whose virtues were unquestioned, and whose intellectual accomplishments
were far in advance of her time, were disfigured by a coarseness
bordering at times on indecency. If a great princess could so write to
another princess we cease to wonder at Königsmarck, who was a man and a
soldier and surrounded by the licentiousness of camp and court. Most of
his worst lapses are anecdotes relating to his companions in arms; they
are not many, and I have taken the liberty of suppressing them, since
they are not germane to the narrative.

The letters of the Princess are very different in style and diction from
those of her lover. They are absolutely free from coarseness (in this
respect offering a favourable contrast, for instance, to the letters of
the Electress Sophia and the Duchess of Orleans), and give evidence of a
refined and gentle nature. They are in admirable French, and if here and
there a word is misspelt it is evidently the result of haste. Many of
the Princess’s letters are written with grace of style and felicity of
diction, to which no translation can do justice. The burden of her theme
is ever “I love thee,” or “Thou art not true to me”. The whole of the
correspondence, indeed, both her letters and Königsmarck’s, are
alternated with passionate avowals of love or equally passionate
reproaches. Theirs was not a love that ran smoothly, but was broken from
first to last by fears from without and jealousies from within. Yet it
is impossible not to see that, after their manner, each loved the other
fondly.

The Princess was a ready writer, the chief blemish of her letters being
a tendency to repetition and an extraordinary diffuseness; she would
take pages to say what might have been compressed into a few sentences.
But this is a fault common to love-letters—which are not written for the
edification of the world, but only for the one to whom they are
addressed; and we must not judge them by the ordinary canons of literary
criticism. In the Princess’s case, too, there was often a necessity for
her to wrap her meaning in a cloud of words, lest it should be too
readily discovered, if her epistles fell into other hands. Though her
letters are in two (or three) handwritings, they are all identical in
style and expression—another proof that those the Princess did not write
with her own hand, disguised or undisguised, she dictated word for word
to Knesebeck.

An elaborate cypher, or rather series of cyphers, is used throughout the
correspondence for the names of persons and places. To this cypher the
lovers alone held the key. All the personages mentioned in the letters
are disguised under different names; as, for instance:—

 _L’Aventurière_                      Countess Aurora Königsmarck.
 _Le Réformeur_ (_Le Réformateur_)    Prince George Louis.
 _Don Diégo_                          The Elector Ernest Augustus.
 _La Romaine_                         The Electress Sophia.
 _Le Grondeur_                        The Duke of Celle.
 _La Pedagogue_                       The Duchess of Celle.
 _La Perspective_                     The Countess Platen.
 _La Boule_                           The Electress of Brandenburg.
 _Le bon Homme_                       Marshal Podevils.
 _L’Innocent_                         Prince Ernest Augustus.
 _Colin_                              Prince Maximilian.
 _La Marionette_                      Princess of Hesse.
 _Le Satyre_                        } Hanoverian Ministers.
 _Le Barbouilleur_                  }
 _La Douairière_                      The Princess of East Friesland.
 _La Gazelle_                         Countess von Lewenhaupt.
 _La Grosse Dondon_                   Madame von Ilten.
 _La Confidente_                    }
 _La Sentinelle_                    } Fräulein von Knesebeck.
 _La Gouvernante_                   }
 _Léonisse_                         }
 _La Cœur Gauche_                   } Princess Sophie Dorothea.
 _La Petite Louche_                 }
 _Le Chevalier_                     }
 _Tercis_                           } Königsmarck.

Some of these nicknames are not very complimentary to the persons for
whom they are intended, but they are comparatively easy to decipher. The
task is much more difficult when we come to the other cypher, in
figures. Speaking roughly, numbers of one hundred and upwards signify
names of men; two hundred and upwards, names of women; three hundred and
upwards, names of places. As for example:—

                  100   Elector Ernest Augustus.
                  101   Duke of Celle.
                  102   Prince George Louis.
                  103   Marshal Podevils.
                  112   Prince Maximilian.
                  120   Königsmarck.
                  128   Bülow.
                  129   Bernstorff.

                  200   The Electress Sophia.
                  201   Princess Sophie Dorothea.
                  202   Countess Platen.
                  207   Fräulein von Schulenburg.
                  214   Fräulein von Knesebeck.
                  226   Countess Aurora Königsmarck.
                  227   The Duchess of Celle.

                  300   Hanover.
                  301   Luisburg.
                  302   Herrenhausen.
                  305   Celle.
                  306   Brockhausen.

In the letters which follow, translated from the French of the original
manuscripts into English, I have endeavoured to render this intricate
cypher legible, and have substituted everywhere the real names of
persons and places. The task of translation and unravelling the cypher
has not been easy,[60] and if an error should be discovered it must not
be ascribed to any inaccuracy in the original letters, but to my
rendering, since in spite of every care it is impossible to guard
against the possibility of a chance error. I have further endeavoured to
reduce the letters to something like chronological order—also a
difficult task, for only four have the year inscribed, many are without
date, some have the day of the week, and a few the time of day; and in
such cases it is only from the text that one can guess the dates with
accuracy. To do this it has been necessary to sort the letters from the
batches into which they are divided in the original manuscripts, and to
allow them to answer one another in due order. In the correspondence
during the campaign of 1692, for instance, it will be seen that
Königsmarck’s letters and those of the Princess answer one another
freely. I have also, to better elucidate the text and preserve the flow
of the narrative, interspersed the letters with a record of current
events gleaned from Colt’s despatches and other documents, and have
annotated them where necessary. The letters hereafter given represent
two-thirds of the whole; the remainder has been omitted simply because
it is made up mainly of repetition and unimportant details, and to quote
it in full would be to weary and not to edify. For the first time these
letters are published in any language—if we except the few fragments
(which would not make more than six pages of this book) given by
Palmblad in a Swedish book long since out of print—and for the first
time they are now translated into English from the original manuscripts,
edited, and compared and tested with contemporary records.

-----

Footnote 60:

  In this task I was aided by the fragment of a key to the cypher found
  with the letters at Lund.

-----

[Illustration:

  THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY, LUND, SWEDEN.
  (_Where the letters are preserved._)
]

Palmblad, as we have mentioned, prefaced his extracts with a brief
introduction, which it is well to examine in detail, since this is
practically the only medium through which the existence of the
correspondence has hitherto been known.

W. F. Palmblad was a man of considerable literary repute, a professor of
the University of Upsala, and a zealous antiquarian. But he lacked one
quality indispensable to the historian—accuracy; he was too ready to
jump to conclusions without first verifying his facts from contemporary
records. He examined the manuscript letters when they were at Löberöd in
the possession of the Count de la Gardie, and learned their history from
their owner, which was amply verified from the family records. He then
made an examination of the correspondence which can only be regarded as
cursory, took out a few extracts here and there, and prefaced them with
an introduction, in which he declares his firm belief in the genuineness
of the letters, but by his inaccuracies unconsciously does damage to the
very point he labours to prove—inaccuracies which one or two subsequent
writers have seized upon as proofs of the spuriousness of a
correspondence they have never seen. Later, it is true, another
authority, Count Schulenburg-Klosterrode, who also believed in the
genuineness of the letters, in _Die Herzogin von Ahlden_, endeavoured to
set Palmblad right on certain points of chronology and cypher, but a
false impression had been given of the correspondence which it was not
easy to eradicate.

Even in his description of the appearance of the letters Palmblad is
inaccurate. He speaks of postmarks, but there are none visible; he
describes the Princess’s letters as written “in an elegant hand, on very
fine, gilt-edged paper”. It is a mere detail; but the paper is not
gilt-edged, and is the ordinary letter-paper of the day; while as for
the “elegant hand,” which would convey the idea of a sloping Italian
penmanship, the Princess’s letters are in two distinct handwritings, and
in each case written in rather a bold hand for a woman, certainly the
reverse of “elegant”.

The professor has also made mistakes about the cypher, especially the
cypher in numbers; and in the extracts he publishes he has muddled men,
women, and places in a hopeless manner, and this makes nonsense. His
extracts, which are taken mainly from Königsmarck’s letters, are chiefly
made up of the racy anecdotes, which for reasons already given I do not
quote. The professor has collected every one of these anecdotes (not
many in all), and gives them as a fair specimen of the whole. Doubtless
this course avoided chronological and other difficulties; but to quote
them to the exclusion of other and more important matter is to give a
false impression of the correspondence and the man.

Again, Palmblad makes the assertion, “Of Königsmarck’s _liaison_ with
the Countess Platen the letters do not say a word”. Here again it is
evident he has made a mistake in the cypher, and confused the Countess
with some one else, for, as will be seen, the letters teem with
allusions to Countess Platen (either as _La Perspective_ or as 202), and
there are frequent references to an understanding or flirtation between
her and Königsmarck. The Princess is again and again inflamed with
jealousy on this account, and reproaches her lover bitterly, while he is
equally fluent with his excuses.

But the gravest inaccuracy is yet to come. In his survey of the letters
Palmblad made no attempt to classify them or arrange them in order of
date—a task which he declares to be “impossible”. As he had little
knowledge of Hanoverian history at the time the letters were written, or
of contemporary events, the task was doubtless impossible to him; he
would therefore have done wisely to have left it alone altogether, and
not have tried to cover his ignorance by the wildest guesswork. Yet this
is what he has done. He says: “In one letter mention is made of Bussche,
who was the trusty friend and confidant of Prince George, and who died
in the beginning of the year 1688, and four other letters have the year
1693 given, so we know with certainty that the correspondence was spread
over a period of six years”. And again: “In the letter in which Bussche
is mentioned, therefore, written before or during the year 1687,
Königsmarck is on the most trusted footing with the Princess; and in the
year 1685 Königsmarck was evidently in Hanover; and soon after that it
appears that the very close intimacy between them began. The Princess,
her daughter, who afterwards married the King of Prussia, was born March
16, 1686;[61] and it is a matter of surmise and strong doubt whether the
family of Prussian kings spring from the Guelph or Königsmarck blood.”
The whole of this theory is built upon the surmise that the Bussche
mentioned (not in one letter only, but at least a dozen) was the same
Bussche who married Countess Platen’s sister, and who died early in
1688.

-----

Footnote 61:

  This is an error, she was born in 1687.

-----

Now the Bussche family was a numerous one, and held a high position in
Hanover. If Palmblad had read the letters carefully, and had possessed
any knowledge of Hanoverian affairs, he would have seen from the context
that the Bussche mentioned was _not_ the man who died in 1688, but
Philip Albert Bussche, a privy councillor and prominent minister, who
later was president of the divorce court which pronounced judgment on
the Princess. Thus the statement that the letters began in, or before,
1687 and extended over a period of six years is absolutely incorrect,
and the endeavour to cast a slur upon the legitimacy of the Princess’s
daughter, afterwards Queen of Prussia, is consequently abortive. There
exists no shred of evidence to show that Königsmarck was in Hanover in
1685 (he was in England), nor, indeed, until 1688, a year after the
birth of the Princess’s daughter. And it will be seen from the letters
themselves that the _affaire_ between Königsmarck and the Princess did
not assume an intimate footing until the end of 1691 or the beginning of
1692; until then the borderland had not been crossed. Whatever were his
later relations with the Princess, he was neither at Hanover nor Celle
when her children were born, and there is no doubt as to their
legitimacy. Palmblad’s slur on the birth of the Queen of Prussia is as
gross a fabrication as the Jacobite lie of calling George II. “the
little Königsmarck”. The whole theory, which can only have been invented
to gratify Palmblad’s hatred of the House of Prussia, therefore falls to
the ground; and it is no wonder that, starting from so false a
chronological point, he finds it “impossible” to arrange the letters in
any order of date.

I have dwelt fully on Palmblad’s introduction and extracts not because
of its merit, which is little, nor its size, which is infinitesimal, but
because it has hitherto been practically the only publication which
deals with these letters, and students and historians have had no other
criterion whereby they might test their genuineness. There were the
original letters at Lund, it is true; but the few authorities such as
Schaumann and Köcher,[62] who have passed adverse judgment on this
correspondence, never took the trouble to go there and examine the
manuscripts personally, but founded their theories on Palmblad’s
version. Yet it is obviously impossible to pronounce a fair judgment on
a correspondence of this kind without seeing the original manuscripts,
and with no knowledge of it save a few fragmentary extracts and an
introduction full of chronological and other errors. It is only by
examining the whole correspondence in the original manuscripts, and
comparing it with contemporary documents, that a just idea of its value
can be gained.

-----

Footnote 62:

  Against the adverse opinion of these authorities may fairly be set
  Thackeray and Carlyle, who accept the letters as genuine. But, like
  Schaumann and Köcher, they never saw the originals.

-----

Judged by this test, these letters will reveal themselves as absolutely
genuine, and further examination will show that they contain internal
evidence of their authenticity. Let us briefly glance at this also.

For our present purpose the correspondence may be divided into:—

  1. Königsmarck’s letters to the Princess prior to the campaign in
    Flanders of 1692 (July, 1691, to June, 1692).

  2. The Princess and Königsmarck’s letters to one another during the
    campaign in Flanders and until the granting of the Hanoverian
    Electorate (June to December, 1692).

  3. The Princess and Königsmarck’s letters to one another, when she was
    at Brockhausen and Celle with her parents, and he at Hanover (June
    to July, 1693).

  4. Königsmarck’s letters to the Princess when he was campaigning
    against the Danes and after his return to Hanover (August to
    December, 1693).

This is merely a rough classification, but it will serve.

The times were stirring in the courts of Hanover and Celle, and indeed
in all Europe, because of the war of the great Alliance against Louis
XIV. Königsmarck served with the allied armies in the campaign in
Flanders of 1692, as colonel of a Hanoverian regiment, and the following
year he served as colonel of a regiment of the troops of Hanover and
Celle in the abortive campaign of the Brunswick-Lüneburg princes against
the Danes on the banks of the Elbe. Many of his letters to the Princess
were written when on active military service; and though one does not
look to love-letters for news, it is only to be expected there should be
some allusion to current events. We find in Königsmarck’s letters from
Flanders mention of William of Orange, Prince George Louis, the Elector
of Bavaria, Duke Frederick Augustus of Saxony (afterwards the Elector
Augustus the Strong), and other exalted personages who were with the
allied armies at that time; also of certain events in the campaign, such
as the battle of Steinkirk, the attempted siege of Charleroy, and so
forth. In the same way, the following year, during the campaign against
the Danes, allusion is made to the burning of Ratzeburg and the
negotiations between the Danes and the Brunswick-Lüneburg princes. The
same may be said of the Hanoverian intrigues for obtaining the
electorate. If these mentions of well-known persons and events were in
any way incorrect, it would afford, of course, strong presumption
against the genuineness of the letters; but they are quite accurate.
Moreover, the allusions are made evidently without design, and arise
naturally and casually in the course of the correspondence as things
known, not only to the writer, but for the most part to the person to
whom he is writing.

It may be admitted that, so far, this does not prove much, for the
events and personages in connection with the great campaign in Flanders,
for instance, were so well known that only a clumsy forger would make a
mistake. But the case is far otherwise when we come to analyse the many
references which both the Princess and Königsmarck freely make
concerning the persons who figure in the life of Hanover and Celle, and
incidents which were occurring from day to day in those little courts.
We have, for instance, frequent mention of, or allusion to, the arrival
of this prince, or the departure of that princess, the coming and going
of foreign envoys, and the movements of the Hanoverian court from
Hanover to Luisburg, or Luisburg to Hanover or Herrenhausen; of the
perpetual motion of the court of Celle from Celle to Brockhausen, to
Epsdorff, to Wienhausen, to Göhre, and so on; of visits between the
ducal brothers, of journeys to Hamburg, Brunswick, or Berlin, of
carnivals and court festivities, all of which could not possibly have
been written except by some person, or persons, intimately acquainted,
or connected, with the daily life of these petty courts. Now, a forger
of spurious love-letters would certainly avoid frequent reference to
minute events, and content himself with writing mere vague avowals of
passion[63] which might be written by any one to any one; in short, he
would keep to generalities and avoid particularities, which are so many
pitfalls into which he might tumble, and by his errors betray his fraud.

-----

Footnote 63:

  The letter of Lassaye, quoted on pp. 73-74, affords an excellent
  illustration of this.

-----

Here, then, we have a test. If the frequent references to persons and
incidents in these letters can be proved to be incorrect or inaccurate;
if, for instance, it can be shown that when the Electress of Brandenburg
is said to have been visiting Hanover she was at Berlin, that when
Prince Max is stated to have been at Celle he was in Italy, that when
the court of Celle was at Brockhausen it was at Epsdorff, that when the
Princess writes from Celle she was at Hanover, that when certain envoys
are represented as having been at Hanover they were not there, or
certain festivities are described which did not take place,—if it can be
shown that these things (of no importance in themselves, but very
important in their bearing on the letters) are falsely and inaccurately
stated, then it follows, as a matter of logic, that the letters are
themselves false and inaccurate and could not have been written by the
persons from whom they profess to come. But if, on the other hand, it
can be proved by independent testimony and “undesigned coincidences” (as
Paley would say) that the mention of persons is accurate and the
allusions to even minute events correct in every detail, it affords the
strongest possible proof of the genuineness and authenticity of the
letters.

But how to apply such a test?

At first sight this is difficult, for the daily life of these little
German courts is not a matter of history, and the ordinary historical
records shed little light upon it. Fortunately I found in the State
Paper Office, in London, the despatches and entry book of Sir William
Dutton Colt, sometime English envoy at Hanover, which furnish exactly
what we want—independent and authoritative documents with which we may
test the accuracy of many of the minute events mentioned in these
letters. Colt was envoy to the princes of Brunswick from 1689 to 1693;
his entry book covers the period from July, 1689, to December, 1692, so
that the period of eighteen months only is coincident with the letters,
which do not begin until July, 1691. Early in January, 1693, he went to
Dresden, and afterwards was but little at Hanover or Celle, so further
evidence is lacking. But there is enough for our purpose. In Colt’s
entry book we have a record, week by week, almost day by day, of the
courts of Hanover and Celle; it is wholly made up of copies of his
despatches to the English Government. At his death the book, with other
official documents, was sent to London, and has since been preserved in
the archives. It was, of course, never seen by any one in Hanover
outside the English Legation, and it has only been open to the public in
England since the Home Office and Foreign Office papers of that period
were removed to the State Paper Office. It is scarcely necessary,
therefore, to say that between this official record and the
correspondence now at Lund there could have been no possible collusion.
By no possibility could the writers of these letters have seen Colt’s
despatches. Where coincidences arise they are absolutely undesigned, and
the points of agreement are those which necessarily occur when truthful
and independent records touch on the same incidents. Colt’s despatches
are a record of facts and events; the love-letters of Sophie Dorothea
and Königsmarck are love-letters first of all, and where mention is made
of persons and events, it is made incidentally and secondarily.
Nevertheless, many coincidences occur and afford strong corroboration of
the genuineness of the letters. I have noted them in more detail in the
correspondence itself. Here it will suffice to quote a few in
illustration of my meaning:—

           _The Letters._                   _Colt’s Despatches._

  On and after June 20, 1692, the     “The Duke of Celle is now at
 Princess dates her letters from     Brockhausen.”—Colt’s _Despatch_,
 Brockhausen, showing that her       June 17, 1692.
 parents, with whom she was staying,
 had moved thither from Celle.

  In her letter of June 23, 1692,     In his despatches of this time
 the Princess mentions that Prince   Colt also mentions that Prince Max
 Max is staying with the court of    was staying with the Duke of Celle
 Celle at Brockhausen.               at Brockhausen, he being in
                                     disgrace with his father because of
                                     the Moltke affair.

  “You have been dancing at Colt’s    From Colt’s _Despatch_, Hanover,
 _fête_.”—_Königsmarck to the        June 20, 1692, we learn that on
 Princess_, Venlo, July 5/15.        Sunday, the 18th, he gave a great
                                     “diversion,” which the Duke and
                                     Duchess and all the court attended.

  “I am grieved you are displeased
 because I went to Monsieur Colt’s
 _fête_, but I could not avoid
 going; they pressed me so
 much.”—_The Princess to
 Königsmarck_, Brockhausen, (?) July
 2, 1692.

  “What was the day of the
 _fête_?”—_Königsmarck to the
 Princess_, Dist, July 5/15.
  “Sunday was the _fête_ I spoke to
 you about.”—_The Princess to
 Königsmarck_, Celle, July 13/23,
 1692.

  “They say the Electress of          “Moltke was executed on Monday,
 Brandenburg is at Luisburg on a     and the court of Hanover has gone
 visit to her parents.”—_The         to Luisburg to be out of the
 Princess to Königsmarck_, Celle,    way.”—Colt’s _Despatch_, Hanover,
 July 18/28, 1692.                   July 18, 1692.

 “The floods still detain us here    “The extraordinary floods have kept
 unfortunately.”—_The Princess to    the Duke from Celle.”—Colt’s
 Königsmarck_, July 2, 1692.         _Despatch_, July 4, 1692.

  “We start to-morrow for             “The Duke since his return
 Celle.”—_The Princess to            hither....”—Colt’s _Despatch_,
 Königsmarck_, Brockhausen, July 7,  Celle, July 11, 1692.
 1692.

  Her next letter, July 9, is dated
 from Celle.

  “My Lord Portland showed me much    Colt mentions in his despatches
 favour, and assured me the King     that Lord Portland was with the
 held me in his                      King in Flanders during the
 esteem.”—_Königsmarck to the        campaign of 1692.
 Princess_, Wavern, August 14/24,
 1692.

  “The Duke of Celle has lost a       “The Duke here is really very much
 great many men [in the Battle of    troubled for the loss of his troops
 Steinkirk].”—_Königsmarck to the    in the late action.”—Colt’s
 Princess_, from the camp near       _Despatch_, Celle, August 5, 1692.
 Wavern, about August 5, 1692.

  The Princess, to Königsmarck, in a  “This court [Celle] will the next
 letter from Celle, August 6/16,     week remove from hence, the Duke to
 1692, notifies the movements of the follow his hunting, and the Duchess
 court, and says in two days she     goes to Wiesbaden,  near Mayence,
 will accompany her mother to        for her health.”—Colt’s _Despatch_,
 Wiesbaden (which she does).         Celle, August 5, 1692.

  “Max is going the day after         “The Electress of Brandenburg is
 to-morrow to meet the Electress of  passing by here on her way to
 Brandenburg, and will accompany her Luisburg, where the Hanoverian
 to Luisburg.”—_The Princess to      court is at a country
 Königsmarck_, Celle, August 6/16,   house.”—Colt’s _Despatch_, Celle,
 1692.                               August 12, 1692.

  “They tell me the Electress of      “Just now we have the news that
 Brandenburg has postponed her       the Electress of Brandenburg doth
 visit. She was to have arrived two  not come so soon as she intended,
 days after I left. All the horses   all things having been provided for
 were ordered for her equipage. The  her.”—Colt’s _Despatch_, Celle,
 Duke had given up to her his        August 12/22, 1692.
 apartments at Luisburg, and they
 also brought a band. All that for
 nothing!”—_The Princess to
 Königsmarck_, Wiesbaden, August
 21/31, 1692.

  “My news from your part of the      In his despatch, September 15,
 world [Hanover] tells me the Duke   1692, Colt mentions that the Duke
 is going to hunt at Epsdorff, where of Celle is at Epsdorff.
 your father already is.”
 —_Königsmarck to the Princess_,
 Denise, September 10/20, 1692.

  “I was hindered the day before      “We have just heard the welcome
 yesterday from finishing my letter  news that the French have failed in
 by the alarm that the French were   their design on Charleroy.”—Colt’s
 going to attack Charleroy, but it   _Despatch_, Göhre, October 7/17,
 came to nothing.”—_Königsmarck to   1692.
 the Princess_, Afflegen, October
 6/16, 1692.

  “The journey to Berlin will not     “The journey to Berlin is
 take place.”—_Königsmarck to the    postponed.”—Colt’s _Despatch_,
 Princess_, Hanover, November, 1692. Hanover, November 18, 1692.

These few coincidences, examples of many more, afford proofs of the
genuineness of the correspondence, which a perusal of it as a whole
cannot fail to strengthen. The very faults of the letters go to prove
their authorship. But the strongest evidence of all, in my opinion, is
to be found in the frequent, and unconscious, self-revelations of the
personality of the writers. These revelations do not always show the
lovers in the most favourable light, but at least they are very human.
Love has been defined as _l’égoïsme à deux_. If that be true, it would
be hard to find a stronger illustration of it than these letters afford.




                              CHAPTER XII.

                          THE DAWN OF PASSION.
                                (1691.)

                       What can we fear, we two?
           O God, Thou seest us Thy creatures bound
           Together by that law which holds the stars
           In palpitating cosmic passion bright;
           By which the very sun enthralls the earth,
           And all the waves of the world faint to the moon.
           Even by such attraction we two rush
           Together through the everlasting years.
                    STEPHEN PHILLIPS, _Paolo and Francesca_.


The first mention of Königsmarck in Colt’s despatches tallies with the
first letter in the following correspondence, and sets at rest the
question as to whether Königsmarck actually held a commission in the
Hanoverian service. Some doubt had arisen concerning the safety of
Hamburg; and Colt, writing to Lord Nottingham, says, “There is not the
least appearance of any danger for the city of Hamburg. The troops of
Hanover march towards the Elbe and two regiments of Foot under
Königsmarck and Cordons.”[64]

-----

Footnote 64:

  Colt’s _Despatch_, Celle, June 28/July 7, 1691.

-----

It was while Königsmarck was absent on this expedition that his
correspondence with the Princess began. The first letter, written while
he was on the march, runs as follows:—

                                                 “AHT, _July 1_.[65]

  “I am _in extremis_, and the only thing that can save me is a few
  lines from your incomparable hand. If I had the good fortune to behold
  them I should forthwith be healed. I hope you will not be so cruel as
  to refuse me this favour, for, since it is you who cause my
  sufferings, it is only just that you should send me comfort. Were I
  not writing to one for whom my respect is as great as my love, I would
  find better terms to express my devotion; but, fearing to offend, I
  end here, only beseeching you not to forget me wholly, and to believe
  me always your slave.”

-----

Footnote 65:

  Possibly Alt = Altkloster.

-----

The Princess did not respond at once; she had not promised to answer
Königsmarck’s letters, though she consented to receive them. She must
have known how dangerous it was for her to embark on a correspondence of
this kind; she hesitated, and, hesitating, yielded. After a little time
she seems to have sent him a few lines, and that the trend of her
epistle was not rebuke may be gathered from his reply:—

                                       “[ON THE MARCH, undated.][66]

  “I received your answer to-day. How anxious I have been all this time!
  I vow the fear that you had utterly forgotten me has been the cause of
  my illness lasting so long; the suspense gave me intense suffering.
  Now that I know the contrary I pick up courage, and shall hope soon to
  see you again. Verily, it is I who should complain, I who am
  constrained to take so many precautions and suffer cruel suspense. But
  I can now bear my hapless lot with fortitude, since the most amiable,
  captivating, and charming being in the universe is the cause of all.
  For the rest, I will never change unless you compel me. Ah! how happy
  I should be in your service!—my bliss would be perfect and I should
  wish for nothing else in the world! These words of mine mean a great
  deal; I do not know whether you weigh them well. If you would
  graciously deign to answer me two words, I should quite recover, and
  then be better able to assure you by word of mouth that I am verily
  your most obedient slave.”

-----

Footnote 66:

  Wherever square brackets occur the matter is interpolated.

-----

Alas! the Princess did not weigh his words well; perhaps she did not
grasp their full import, certainly she did not realise to what they must
inevitably lead. On Königsmarck’s return he seems to have presumed
overmuch on the Princess’s condescension, for he was ever a bold lover.
She treated him with reserve, and took alarm at his temerity and her
imprudence.

Königsmarck was only at Hanover a week, and then went off again to
Hamburg on a diplomatic mission to the King of Sweden.[67] The Kings of
Sweden and Denmark at first had been inclined to join the confederation
of the Allies, and sent envoys to the conference at the Hague; but after
the fall of Mons they showed signs of wavering, and were now intriguing
with the petty German courts, with the object of forming what William of
Orange called a “Third Party in Europe”. Duke Ernest Augustus, already
disaffected and leaning towards France, true to his policy of selling to
the highest bidder, coquetted with this Third Party, and, without
consultation with the Dukes of Celle and Wolfenbüttel, he entered on an
offensive and defensive treaty with Sweden.

-----

Footnote 67:

  “Since my last, July 31, the Count Königsmarck is sent from Hanover
  with the ratification of the late Treaty to Hamburg, either to carry
  it to Sweden himself or send it thence.”—Colt’s _Despatch_, Celle,
  August 4, 1691.

-----

The fact that Königsmarck was despatched on this mission shows that he
still stood high in the favour of the Duke of Hanover, who doubtless
sent him thinking, as he was a Swede by birth, he would be _persona
grata_ with the King of Sweden. In this Ernest Augustus was mistaken,
for the Swedish monarch loved not absentee nobles, and disapproved of
Königsmarck’s holding a commission in the Hanoverian service. Later he
marked his displeasure in a decided way. Frequent efforts were even now
made to induce the Count to quit an alien service and enter that of his
native King, and it would have been the right and proper thing for him
to do; but there was a magnet at Hanover which drew him thither with a
force he could not resist. His passion for Sophie Dorothea had
completely mastered him; without her, life was worthless to him, and he
was ready to cast away every consideration to remain by her side. While
absent on this mission he wrote this letter to the Princess, evidently
in answer to a note from her:—

                                                “HAMBURG, _July_ 24.

  “If you had been free from blame you would not have deigned to write
  at all; yet in spite of the way in which you have treated me, I needs
  must worship you still. The sorrow and contrition you express have
  determined me to leave here the day after to-morrow. If you still wish
  to comfort a poor dejected heart torn by jealousy and love, let me
  come back. You well know it is probably the only favour I shall ever
  ask of you, for I hope the good God will take me out of this world
  rather than let me suffer so. Do not, I implore you, refuse my prayer,
  and believe that whatever course you may force me to take I shall
  never cease to love you.

                _Alas! I love my destruction,
                And nurse a fire within my breast
                Which will speedily consume me.
                I am well aware of my perdition,
                Because I have aspired to love
                Where I should only have worshipped._”[68]

-----

Footnote 68:

  Some lines of German doggerel which can only be rendered thus.

-----

From this it would seem there was a likelihood of Königsmarck’s not
returning to Hanover at this time, and he had probably threatened to
enter the service of the King of Sweden. But, whether by desire of the
Princess or not, he came back, and she gave him audience as before.
Timid and fearful though she was, she could not resist the temptation of
playing with fire,—the very danger lent a zest. But still the Princess
held back from committing herself definitely, and her uncertain attitude
towards her lover threw him into a tumult of alternative hope and
despondency. The state of his mind is expressed in the following
letter:—

                                                “[HANOVER, undated.]

  “I am in the depths of despair at finding so little opportunity of
  speaking to you. I dare not even admire the eyes that give me life.
  For pity’s sake let me see you alone, that I may say four words—only
  four small words. Oh! how dearly it costs me to love you! But the joy
  of speaking to you now and then makes amends for all the pain. I shall
  go away to-morrow. God knows if I shall ever see you again, my life,
  my goddess! The thought that we may never meet more is death to me. I
  feel ready to plunge a dagger into my heart; but since I must live, I
  pray that it may be always for you.”

His threat to leave Hanover was not carried out for the “four words”
were granted, and the intimacy went on ripening until the end of August,
when the Duke of Hanover, attended by his ministers and a numerous
suite, went to Brunswick to meet his cousin Antony Ulrich in conference,
for Ernest Augustus still remained hostile to the Allies.[69]
Königsmarck went in his train, but Sophie Dorothea remained at Hanover.
On the journey Königsmarck wrote to the Princess, and again on receiving
an answer from her. That the intrigue must have grown during those few
weeks is evident from the fact that the cypher agreed upon between them
now makes its appearance in the correspondence, and from the bolder and
more affectionate tone of his letters. Hitherto he had signed himself
_Vôtre esclave_, or _Vôtre très-obéissant valet_; now he ends, _Adieux,
émable Brune. Je vous embrasse les jenous._ Truly a stride in intimacy.

-----

Footnote 69:

  Colt’s _Despatch_, Brunswick, August 28, 1691.

-----

                                     “[BRUNSWICK,] _August_ 20/30.

  “No mortal was ever so happy as I when, on arriving here, I found your
  letter. I am now in your good graces, and am losing all the weak
  suspicions that tore my heart in twain. Do not doubt my love; God be
  my witness, I have never loved as I love you. Were you to see me now
  you would exclaim, ‘Is it possible that any man can be so downcast?’
  My dejection is wholly the result of absence from you. My noble
  travelling companion[70] could tell you of the state in which he sees
  me daily, though you may be sure that I hide from him the cause. You
  may not believe it, but on the word of a man of honour, I am often so
  overcome that I am near swooning away; and yesterday evening, when I
  was out walking, and thinking of the many days that I must pass before
  seeing you, I became so agitated that it brought on a palpitation of
  the heart, and I was obliged to return home. I know not what would
  have happened had not my servant brought me a cordial, and even then
  it was a long time before I recovered. Were it not for your dear
  letter, I should have utterly broken down. Your medicine is excellent
  for my malady; send me some oftener.... I am ready to cast at your
  feet my life, my honour, my future, my fortune. I have forsworn all
  other women for you; if you doubt this, name any one you would like me
  to abandon, and I will never speak to her again. _Adieux, émable
  Brune. La poste pars, il faux finir. Je vous embrasse les
  jenous._”[71]

-----

Footnote 70:

  Probably Prince Ernest Augustus, youngest son of the Duke of Hanover.

Footnote 71:

  Here and elsewhere the writers are responsible for their French.

-----

The court returned from Brunswick, Königsmarck in its train, and
remained at Hanover through September. Again the Princess became alarmed
at the growth of the intimacy; she saw herself on the brink of a
precipice, and as she did not want to fall into it, she urged her lover
to go away for a time. Königsmarck promised obedience, but fell ill of
malarial fever, which he had contracted in the Morea—an illness of which
he did not fail to make the most. The Princess’s sympathies were
touched; nothing more was said about his leaving, and during his
sickness she even seems to have been so imprudent as to pay him stolen
visits at his house by night. It was not difficult. The house where
Königsmarck is reputed to have lived in Hanover is in a street hard by
the palace. There was a way through the gardens in those days, and under
cover of the darkness, disguised, with the help of Knesebeck, the
Princess could have avoided notice. Besides, at that time Königsmarck
probably had his sister Aurora staying with him, and she could be made
the excuse in case of discovery. But, all the same, the risk was
considerable. The Princess felt that she had gone too far, for when
Königsmarck recovered she again tried to check his ardour. All this is
touched upon in the four following letters which Königsmarck wrote to
the Princess during this period.

                                                “[HANOVER, undated.]

  “Alas! why do you hold out the hope of letting me see you alone
  without meaning it? I know you too well: you are not brave enough to
  venture on such a course, and I do not even ask you, for fear you
  should expose yourself to danger. You wish me to leave. It is settled
  my journey begins to-morrow week. You wish it—that is enough. I see,
  alas! too well that everything is against me. To live in Hanover
  without your society is impossible. I would rather go and plough the
  earth than stay here under such conditions. Oh! if I could only crawl
  away somewhere and die quietly! But, after all, nothing matters. I can
  no longer hope for happiness. My Intimate[72] takes tolerable care to
  keep us apart, and, for him to succeed, you have only to give credence
  to all he may tell you. I hope, however, that the love you seem to
  bear me will hinder you from being deceived. If you wish to do me a
  favour, let me know with whom you talk at court; it is not from
  jealousy that I ask, only from interest. If you answer this the same
  messenger will be waiting to receive your letter, at the same spot.
  Comfort me, I implore you, for I suffer much for love of you. If by
  chance you should play [cards] in the grand hall, my man, for fear of
  being seen, will be waiting in the gallery leading to your
  apartments.”

  “You have laid down a law which it will be hard for me to keep—to be
  all day long without seeing you, but, since you wish it, I must obey.
  I hope, however, that you will let me wait on you in your apartments
  this evening. If you cannot manage this, will you meet me to-night at
  my house? Let me know your decision. Should you decide on the latter
  course, you will find no one at my place; the door will be open, so
  come in boldly and without fear. I am dying of impatience to see you.
  Answer me soon that I may know what to do. Farewell, dear heart.”

  “Nothing could have comforted me more in my sickness than your sweet
  letter, I find it full of tenderness. I am sorry you have found the
  time so tedious. I suffer from the same misfortune, and have no chance
  of being happier to-day unless you wish to play. If my fever be not
  too great, I will pass under your windows in the hope of seeing you.
  You will not refuse me this grace; you know the sight of you will be a
  soothing balm in my sickness; a visit from you would be an infallible
  remedy. You speak to me of _passion_. Alas! it is for me to speak of
  it—mine is so great that it will consume me utterly at last. Oh! my
  dear, my dear! do you think that you love with as much passion as I
  love?... It is cruelly hard for me not to be with you always—I am
  compelled to keep away from you, God knows with what grief. The Count
  de Reuss[73] prevents me from ending my letter as I would.”

  “Of a truth I was ill pleased with the cold airs you treated me to
  yesterday, and I spent the night most miserably. I was in great sorrow
  and fain to weep, and all these emotions made me very feverish for
  nearly three hours. I vow, my divine beauty, that I never remember
  being in such a pitiful plight before. ‘Alas! alas!’ I cried, ‘God
  burns me with sickness, and gives me no comfort, for He freezes the
  heart of my divinity, and life is intolerable.’ I threw myself on my
  knees, tears in my eyes, and prayed that, if it were true that you
  loved me no longer, I might die.... I cannot tell you, therefore, the
  joy your letter gave me. I kissed it time and again. I hate myself for
  having thought you guilty of inconstancy; I cast myself at your feet,
  praying pardon, and I promise never to be so ready to believe things
  again.

  “I am awaiting Her Highness’s commands.[74] When you give me leave I
  shall fly to you; and if I am not wanted, I shall show that I cannot
  attach myself to any one else, for I shall take the first mail coach
  to join my regiment. I hope that in time Fortune will get tired of
  persecuting me so cruelly, and Fate will be in my favour; but whatever
  misfortunes may befall, I shall bear them with joy so long as the
  heart I adore remains constant to me. My happiness and fortune are
  there, my ambition is bounded there. For pity’s sake believe me
  faithful. To convince you the better how I love you, how I worship
  you, I sign this with my blood. Whilst you love me, you will be
  worshipped by

                                             ”KÖNIGSMARCK.
                                             “(_Written in blood._)”

-----

Footnote 72:

  Prince Ernest Augustus.

Footnote 73:

  The Count de Reuss was the uncle by marriage of Sophie Dorothea; he
  had married Angelica d’Olbreuse, sister of the Duchess of Celle.

Footnote 74:

  _I.e._, the commands of the Princess.

-----

Duke Ernest Augustus was now setting out on an autumn visit to the Duke
of Celle at his hunting-seats of Epsdorff and Göhre.[75] The Duke of
Celle was much keener on the chase than on affairs of state. Every
autumn he went to Epsdorff, a village some eight miles from Hamburg,
where he had a schloss, to hunt the stag and the wild boar; and then to
Göhre, a remote spot some fifty miles from Celle. He took his duchess
and his court with him; and this year he combined pleasure with
business, for he invited the Duke of Hanover and Duke Antony Ulrich to
hunt with him by day and discuss affairs of state in the evening. The
result of this visit was that the Duke of Hanover was persuaded to take
up a neutral, and no longer hostile, attitude towards William of Orange.

-----

Footnote 75:

  Colt’s _Despatch_, October, 1691, Epsdorff.

-----

[Illustration:

  FACSIMILE OF ONE OF KÖNIGSMARCK’S LETTERS TO THE PRINCESS.
  _Photographed from the original manuscript in the University Library
    of Lund._
]

Princess Sophie Dorothea was setting out for Epsdorff with her
father-in-law, but the day before starting she was taken ill.
Königsmarck at first hoped that the indisposition was feigned, in order
to avoid her departure from Hanover and from him.

  “Alas!” he laments, “we shall never be happy. No sooner do I recover
  from sickness than my adored one sinks under it. I suffered in mine,
  but yours makes me suffer a great deal more; it hurt me so much to see
  you in pain that I wished myself a hundred miles away. You will say
  that was not very kind, but I could not bear to see you in such agony.
  If perchance your illness were not so grave as it seems, it would be a
  little comfort, for I might think you were pretending, for love of
  me.”

He quickly found that she was not pretending, and as soon as she
recovered the Princess went to Epsdorff and then to Göhre. Königsmarck
suggested that he should go to Hamburg, which was near the latter place,
so that he might see something of the Princess; but she wisely begged
him not to go, and he went to spend the period of absence with his
regiment, which was quartered near Hanover. A little later he writes:—

                                          “[FROM THE CAMP, undated.]

  “I have been hoping to receive one line from your charming hand. Can
  it be, after all you told me, that I am quite forgotten? I cannot
  believe it. I will pardon you this time, but have pity. Without an
  assurance of your love I cannot live.... I will not go to Hamburg. I
  take Heaven for my witness that since you have been away from me I
  have not spent an hour without thinking of you, without picturing your
  charms. I delight in doing so; it nourishes my poor heart crushed with
  sadness. Why cannot I take wings like my desire? I should this moment
  be in your lovely arms, tasting the sweet delights of your lips.... I
  have already brushed away the thing asked of me, and I hope to
  succeed, but, remember, it is for the love of you that I am giving
  everything up.[76] I am shut up here in my room without seeing any
  one; I scarcely ever leave it. I am away with my thoughts, far away
  from the earth. If by chance an officer wants to speak to me
  concerning the regiment, I am furious at losing so much time without
  thinking of you. I hope after all these assurances you will not ask me
  again whether I love you. If you still doubt it will kill me. But I
  must tell you that I have a consolation here, close to me; not a
  pretty girl but a bear, which I feed. If you should fail me I will
  bare my chest and let him tear my heart out. I am teaching him that
  trick with sheep and calves, and he doesn’t manage it badly. If ever I
  have need of him—God help me! I shall not suffer long.”

-----

Footnote 76:

  Probably he refers to an appointment offered him by the King of
  Sweden.

-----

During this separation Königsmarck addressed other letters to the
Princess in a similar strain, full of extravagant expressions of
passion. It is not necessary to quote them, because they are, in the
main, a repetition of what has gone before. The Princess apparently
answered some of the letters, but she was chary of writing to him from
Epsdorff, for, in spite of all the caution observed, the intrigue had
begun to excite suspicion. It was mentioned to the Duchess of Celle, and
she took the opportunity of her daughter’s visit to remonstrate with
her, and to implore her to avoid further communication with Königsmarck.
The warnings of her mother, who dearly loved her, aroused the Princess
to a sense of peril. She made another effort to draw back. When she
returned to Hanover, she wrote to Königsmarck urging him to marry, as
the only way of freeing them both from the dangers that threatened them.
Her letter called forth the following remonstrance:—

                                                “[HANOVER, undated.]

  “Alas! the miserable day that I have feared so much has dawned. I must
  marry, since you wish it; it shall be done. I will obey your wishes;
  it is enough that you will have it so. My death-sentence is inscribed
  by the hand I adore. I confess I should never have expected to see so
  dreadful a sentence passed on me by you. But of what am I complaining?
  I must remember that I have loved you, and I ought to have known the
  sex better than to believe all you vowed to me. Alas! I was weak and
  believed it; I must now be firm enough to support the consequences.
  Your cruelty goes too far, for, unless you wished to wound me, you
  could never have treated me thus. Why has not God given you a heart
  less cruel and me a heart less tender?—we should agree better then. I
  have never been but yours; I wanted to be so all my life,[77] but you
  do not regard my constancy.... You wish me to marry to save myself
  from destruction, but you do not reflect that marriage would surely
  bring about my ruin. There are two ways of escape from this dilemma.
  The first, and the more agreeable to me, is for you not to suffer me
  to marry; and if my ruin follows, as I foresee, not to forsake me. The
  second will be easier for you. It is to let me marry, and swear to me
  on your oath that you will always cherish the affection you have
  seemed to show me. I will wait until your answer comes, which I hope
  to receive from your hand (not disguised, if you please);[78] and I
  mean to regulate my conduct accordingly, so that I may have nothing to
  reproach myself with. But you love me no longer—your head has
  triumphed over your heart; and it is not even enough that you love me
  no longer, you wish me to love you no more. What a hard thing! How
  will it be possible for me to obey? No, Madame, in spite of all, I
  shall always adore you; my love will be extinguished only with my
  life. Pray believe this from your most humble and affectionate
  servant.”

-----

Footnote 77:

  A reference to their early friendship.

Footnote 78:

  This is a reference to the fact that some of the Princess’s letters to
  him at this time were dictated by her only, and actually written by
  Knesebeck (_La Confidente_) to disarm suspicion. Some too she wrote in
  a disguised hand.

-----

Sophie Dorothea was by nature weak in judgment, strong in passion. She
could not sit down and pen the sentence of what she supposed must be
lifelong wretchedness to her lover, and urge him to marry while his
heart was still wholly devoted to her. She had neither the courage nor
the firmness to insist on separation; in fact, until she came face to
face with the alternative of giving him up for ever, she had not
realised how much she loved him nor how great an influence he had gained
over her. So the marriage scheme was dropped. She wrote him to the
effect that she could not help loving him, but he must restrain himself
and be more prudent in the future. She was rewarded by an ecstatic
reply:—

  “I am the happiest man in the world. If it be true that you love me as
  you say, and your love will last always, where is the bliss to equal
  mine? I fear my joy will be too apparent, that every one will see in
  my eyes it can only emanate from you. I will restrain myself as much
  as I can; but ‘when the heart is so proud the eyes play the traitor’.
  Your eyes, more than I dared hope, declared to me last evening the
  feelings of your heart. I am so overjoyed that I am hardly able to
  express myself. I hope to tell you this evening all I am not writing.”

It was now the autumn. Military operations in Flanders had reopened in
the summer, but the campaign of 1691 had been more or less of a farce.
The two armies, that of William and that of Louis, had marched and
counter-marched, advanced and retreated, without coming to an
engagement, and after having thus performed a stately minuet for some
months, both armies retired to winter quarters. The Brunswick prince
took no part in the campaign, and all this time Prince George Louis, who
was very friendly with William, had been sulking over his enforced
inaction at home. In October he was seized with a serious attack of
measles.[79] His illness aroused the slumbering sympathies of his wife,
and she nursed him towards recovery; doubtless she felt that such
conduct was the best answer to the malicious tales of her enemies.
Königsmarck was thrown into despair on hearing of the improved relations
between Sophie Dorothea and her husband, for his passion for her was
very virile and very selfish. He addressed to her this jealous protest:—

  “With what grief I hear that you have been in other arms than mine! I
  cannot express what I feel, but it must be so, I suppose; at least,
  you suffer it with regret, and take care to tell me. I confess I
  should never have enough power over myself to endure the embraces of a
  person I did not love; I would rather see all the Furies than an
  object I detested. However, your promises reassure me of your
  affection, and give me comfort; without that small consolation I
  should be miserable indeed. I adore and love you to distraction, yet I
  must not see you! Are there any torments like this in hell? But I can
  endure the anguish by remembering my martyrdom is through you, and it
  is for love of you I suffer: you are well worth the pain. I am wrong
  to be so disturbed since you assure me of your love. ‘What will assure
  me of your constancy?’ Your conduct is the guarantee I ask of you. It
  is superfluous for me to make new protestations of love and
  faithfulness, for I have given you solid and convincing proofs; but
  if, haply, you will not believe these, believe the vows I made you and
  am ready to make at any time.”

-----

Footnote 79:

  Colt’s _Despatch_, October 9/19, 1691.

-----

Despite this letter, the illness of the Prince made the Princess more
friendly with her husband, and this friendliness was accompanied by a
coldness on her part towards Königsmarck. When he remonstrated she
excused herself on the ground that he had shown her indifference. This
called forth the following:—

  “If I had behaved like you I might be accused of indifference, but
  when sorrow wears me to a shadow you are cruel to thus accuse me. All
  the people at court are asking me what ails me; they think my face as
  haggard as if I were recovering from a serious illness. I have been
  obliged to pretend that I fell downstairs; but many will not believe
  this excuse. Let them think what they please, so long as they do not
  suspect that the true cause of my illness arises from your injustice
  and disdainful airs. Do you think me the man to easily condone such
  conduct? If so, you are mistaken. I would rather go off to the Indies
  than be treated in this way. If our love were a little fashionable
  gallantry, well and good; I should accommodate myself to your moods,
  and quarrel with you almost every day, but I treat our affair more
  seriously, and therefore I cannot possibly submit to your coldness.
  Did I not beg of you, for God’s sake, to tell me what ailed you? But I
  could get nothing from you except, ‘Leave me in peace’. I answered,
  ‘No, I will know at any cost’. You then had the courtesy to say, ‘Get
  you gone’. I went at once, with a firm resolution not to appear before
  you again unless you positively ordered me. That is why I have not
  seen you this evening.”

The rest of the letter contains requests that he might know how he stood
with the Princess, so that he might shape his course accordingly. He was
beside himself with jealousy. He could not believe that she had any
compassion for her husband, and persisted in looking for the cause of
her coldness elsewhere. Especially he resented her attending the opera
and taking part in sledge-parties to which he was not invited, and he
wrote to Knesebeck complaining bitterly of the Princess’s treatment.

The Princess so far relented as to receive from her lover two letters
expressing grateful delight at the change of her conduct; but his
delight apparently was not unalloyed. When Prince George Louis was
better, the Princess left to visit the Duke and Duchess of Celle at
Wienhausen,[80] another country place of the Duke’s a short distance
from Celle. From Wienhausen she went to Celle, whither Königsmarck
followed her, greatly daring. The Duchess of Celle, who now learned that
Königsmarck had neither married nor gone away, and things were
apparently much as before, again remonstrated with her daughter, and
urged her to break with him definitely. The Duchess did not dream there
was anything more than a passing fancy, a little imprudence; but she
reminded her daughter that she was surrounded by enemies who would seize
on any pretext to encompass her ruin. The Princess saw the force of her
mother’s reasoning. She had not yet reached that point of passion which
takes no count of consequences; but Königsmarck had reached it, and
compromise seemed impossible. She implored her lover to leave her, at
any rate for a time. Seeming to acquiesce, he wrote:—

-----

Footnote 80:

  Colt’s _Despatch_, November 19, 1691.

-----

                                                  “[CELLE, undated.]

  “I see nothing but ruin before my eyes, but I hope to avert it by a
  glorious death, which I will seek all over the earth. It is the only
  thing to pray for now: for since I may not live with you, I will not
  live at all. I am very grateful to you for undeceiving me about your
  coolness. You give me back life by assuring me that all they tell you
  does not turn you against me.... I have had a letter from a friend who
  is in the same state as myself,—that is why he is going to the
  Morea.[81] If Fortune does not change, I shall go on that expedition
  with him, and, I hope, never return. Perchance you may be kind enough
  to have a memorial erected for me; if so, do not forget to inscribe on
  it that I welcomed death with joy, because I was forbidden to look
  into your beautiful eyes. Ah, Madame! how you make me suffer! Are
  these the delights of love?

                    _Amour vois les mos que tu fais
                    Aux où les biens que tus promes
                    Natus pas pitié de ma peine?_[82]

  When wilt thou have pity? When shall I overcome thy coldness? Wilt
  thou ever keep from me the rapture of tasting perfect joy? I seek it
  in thy arms; and if I may not taste it there, I care for naught else.
  No! if I may not be happy with you, I will not be happy at all. If
  fortune were to destine me to a kingdom, I would not care for it
  without you. On the contrary, if I desire anything for myself, to win
  renown, to push myself to great estate, it is only for the love of you
  and in the hope that you may love me more, for an insignificant lover
  without high employment cannot hope to be long in the good graces of a
  lady of your rank. If God spare my life, I vow I will remain a
  constant lover, and advance in dignity and honour. You see, Madame, I
  have a good opinion of myself. Know this: when one wishes to climb for
  the love of the lovely one, one succeeds or one sinks utterly; it will
  be one or the other with me. My resolve to leave you is not consistent
  with such tender love, I admit; but you suffer too much on my account.
  I should be the cruellest man on earth were I not to go away, and so
  give you a little relief from the persecution you are suffering; for
  when my enemies see me no longer happy, they will cease from tattling.
  But will absence injure me with you? Are you a woman who can still
  love without seeing the loved one? Will my envious enemies succeed in
  their infamous designs? Will you forsake me?”

-----

Footnote 81:

  Troops were being sent to the Morea at this time, and Prince
  Christian, son of the Duke of Hanover, wished to go with them. He did
  not go.—_Vide_ Colt’s despatches.

Footnote 82:

  This is a literal rendering of Königsmarck’s French.

-----

The Princess was so much frightened at the thought that her lover was
going on another perilous campaign in the Morea, where he had narrowly
escaped death the year before, and where Prince Charles was slain, that
she recalled her words and wrote begging him to stay. Königsmarck at
once seized the advantage he had gained; he became bolder and more
definite in his demands. For every inch the Princess yielded he took an
ell. He answered:—

  “You know only too well that I should not go away except on your
  account, and since you ask me to stay I will do so with joy. My
  greatest delight is to pay you my court. But, Madame, you are unjust
  to imagine I love you no longer. Is it for people we do not love that
  we change our moods and plans? Is it because I do not love you I
  suffer no end of humiliation, anxiety, and sorrow? I am not so unjust
  as you; I like to believe that you love me. There are many men who
  would not believe all you say took place, but for myself I set such
  store on everything you tell me that I believe it like the Gospel.
  Rest assured that my love is above all things. I see you in so tender
  a mood that I cannot find words to thank you enough, though I fear you
  are willing to let me continue in misery, even though you no longer
  fear your parents’ preachments. You are too charming, my divine
  Princess. I am so touched that I rule myself wholly according to your
  will. I would leave my head on the scaffold rather than neglect
  anything you may wish me to do. I had very little opportunity of
  speaking to you yesterday, yet I was much relieved, for the only sign
  I received, though given in haste, reassured me so much that I slept
  soundly. It is the first time I have slept since I came to Celle....
  Commune with your heart: if it be true to me, it will encourage you to
  do something bold. Courage, Madame; see me for once—no more—half a
  quarter of an hour. I wish to thank you on my knees for your
  constancy. It is the only thing I ask you. But do not risk anything
  for me; it might spoil all. It is better to suffer a little while than
  always.”

That his prayer was granted may be gathered from the following:—

  “The moments seem to me centuries. I cannot watch the daylight without
  raging. Why do not the hours shut up into moments? What would I not
  give for twelve o’clock to strike? Be sure to have ready _de l’eau de
  la reine d’Hongrie_, for fear I swoon of rapture. What! I shall
  embrace to-night the loveliest of women. I shall kiss her charming
  mouth. I shall worship her eyes, those eyes that enslave me. I shall
  hear from her very lips that she loves me. I shall have the joy of
  embracing her knees; my tears will chase down her incomparable cheeks.
  I shall hold in my arms the most beautiful body in the world. Verily,
  Madame, I shall die of joy. But so long as I have time to tell thee
  that I die thy slave, I care for naught beside.”




                             CHAPTER XIII.

                         CROSSING THE RUBICON.
                                (1692.)

                     Bist du mein?
                     Hab’ ich dich wieder?
                     Darf ich dich fassen?
                     Kann ich mir trauen?
                     Endlich! Endlich!

                     Art thou mine?
                     Do I behold thee?
                     Do I embrace thee?
                     Can I believe it?
                     At last! At last!
                              _Tristan und Isolde._


While the Princess was still at Celle an event happened at Hanover which
created much excitement. Colt writes: “The gates have been shut for two
days at Hanover, accompanied with a great consternation. Yet first the
two Moltkes were brought to court under a guard, where they are kept
close, and all their papers taken. One is Jagermaster,[83] and hath been
employed in the business with the Duke of Saxe-Gotha; and the other was
Lieutenant-Colonel, and had waited upon the Prince Max; and there is
also secured a secretary to the Duke of Wolfenbüttel, who formerly
served Prince Augustus, the Duke’s second son, who was killed in
Transylvania. And next day Prince Max was secured under guard in his
chamber, none of his servants being suffered to come near him; but the
Duchess, who is under great affliction, and the Duke say’d publicly that
there were designs against his person and Government, and many storeys
are dispersed about.”[84]

-----

Footnote 83:

  Grand Master of the Hunt.

Footnote 84:

  Colt’s _Despatch_, Celle, December 8, 1691.

-----

The story circulated by authority was that Count Moltke, who was in
waiting on the Duke, had presented a snuff-box to His Highness when he
was playing at quadrille. The Duke, suspecting something wrong, asked
the Count to take his cards for a moment, and going into the adjoining
room gave a pinch of the snuff to a pet spaniel, with the result that
the dog immediately fell dead. When he had given some hurried orders,
the Duke returned to the card-table, and presently told Count Moltke
that some one was waiting for him without. When the Count went out of
the room, he found himself a prisoner, and his arrest was followed by
that of his brother, the Wolfenbüttel secretary, and Prince Maximilian.

This was the rumour industriously spread abroad; but it was not correct.
Moltke had made no attempt against the life of his sovereign; but he had
undoubtedly plotted against his authority. The old question of the union
of the Dukedoms of Celle and Hanover, and the settling of all territory
on Prince George Louis to the exclusion of his younger brothers, had
cropped up again. This was the Duke of Hanover’s darling scheme, a
necessary step towards the coveted electorate, and he would allow
nothing to come between him and his ambition. The younger princes
stoutly opposed it and rebelled. The Duke of Wolfenbüttel secretly
abetted them, because primogeniture would add largely to the future
aggrandisement of Hanover; and even the Duchess Sophia regarded the plan
with dislike, as it pressed so hardly on her younger sons. Prince
Augustus being dead, it now fell on Prince Max, the third son, to rebel,
and Count Moltke and his brother aided and abetted him. The Wolfenbüttel
secretary was also implicated; the plot was almost ripe, and a rising
was planned, when the conspirators were betrayed by a double traitor,
who had wormed himself into their confidence by pretending to be their
friend. An outbreak of the populace was feared, for the people’s
sympathies were with the young princes in their resistance to this
innovation, and Prince George Louis was unpopular.

The Duke of Hanover’s resentment was very great, especially against his
cousins of Wolfenbüttel, with whom all relations were abruptly broken
off. Prince Max continuing mutinous, and, vowing he would never submit,
was kept a closer prisoner than ever; his guards were doubled and his
mother forbidden to go near him. Indeed, she herself was suspected and
examined before the council. It has been said that the Princess Sophie
Dorothea was implicated too, and Moltke was offered his liberty if he
would confess her share in the business, but he refused and denied. The
suggestion was probably made at the instigation of the Countess Platen,
who would start any lie against the Princess. There is no authority for
the statement; Colt in his long account of the affair does not even
mention the Princess’s name. She was at Celle at the time the plot was
discovered, and both the Duke and Duchess of Celle were in favour of the
ultimate settlement by primogeniture of the dukedoms on Prince George
Louis, seeing that he had wedded their daughter, and the children were
their only descendants.

The Princess and her children came back to Hanover with her parents
early in January for the carnival. “The court of Celle arrived here last
night,” writes Colt, “and were received with extra kindness, much
different to what I have seen since I have been in these parts, and they
seem to bind all their thoughts to secure the union of these two
dukedoms.”[85] And again: “The court of Celle will continue here for
some time, and the Duke and Duchess of Celle shew an extraordinary
fondness for their daughter and grandchildren”.[86]

-----

Footnote 85:

  Colt’s _Despatch_, Hanover, January 5, 1692.

Footnote 86:

  _Ibid._, January 8, 1692.

-----

By this time Prince Max had been sent away as a prisoner to the castle
of Hamelin, and after a good deal of blustering had promised to submit
to paternal authority under certain conditions. Further inquiries
revealed that the plot was an old one and had many branches. Duke Antony
Ulrich had been the moving power, and both the dead princes, Augustus
and Charles, were inculpated. The feeling at the Hanoverian court ran
strongly against Duke Antony Ulrich, and even the Duchess Sophia found
herself exposed to resentment, though nothing could be proved against
her, poor lady, beyond that, having a mother’s heart, she had helped her
unruly sons now and then out of her slender pin money (not that she had
much to give—Countess Platen saw to that) when their father had cast
them out with the proverbial shilling. It must have been a sore time for
the proud, high-spirited Duchess. To add a drop more of bitterness to
her cup, the Duchess of Celle was now at Hanover, a witness of the
humiliation of her rival, and herself flattered and courted. It may be
doubted if Eléonore had sufficient magnanimity not to vaunt her triumph;
yet she would have done well to be humble in the days of her prosperity,
for even at this, its apogee, there was a far more dangerous intrigue
than any Prince Max was involved in, secretly but surely undermining her
future happiness, and threatening to bring disaster on her cherished
schemes, and ruin and dishonour on all most dear to her.

But whatever misery and wretchedness lay behind the scenes, externally
the court of Hanover was as gay and brilliant as ever. The New Year
opened as usual with the carnival, an Italian opera, and a series of
festivities, in which all took part, from the court down to the common
people. The taverns were thronged with mummers and masqueraders, the
streets of the old town were bright with booths and bunting, and a large
concourse of merrymakers flocked to Hanover from the surrounding towns
and villages. The nobility came from their country estates, and many of
the neighbouring princes and princesses came for the carnival too. In
all these festivities Sophie Dorothea was the central figure. Every one
paid court to the beautiful young Princess of Hanover, who, high in the
favour of her parents and the Duke of Hanover, triumphed for the moment
over her enemies and seemed to gather up in herself and her children all
the brilliant hopes of the House of Brunswick-Lüneburg.

The children formed the strong link of the alliance between Celle and
Hanover. Even the Duchess of Celle had come to see that, however much in
her heart she might dislike the Duchess Sophia and the Hanoverian
influence, henceforth their interests were to a great extent identical.
The young Prince George Augustus was now nine, the little Princess
Sophie Dorothea five; they were her grandchildren and the
representatives of the fast accumulating dignities of the House. The
future union of the dukedoms was settled, the electorate of Hanover was
almost assured, the crown of England, now that William and Mary had
ascended the throne, no longer a mere mirage. Who could tell to what
brilliant future these children might not be destined? Her
descendants—the descendants of the hated and despised Eléonore—the
“Frenchwoman,” the _canaille_, the “Signora,” the “little clot of
dirt”—might live to ascend the mightiest thrones of Europe.[87] These
considerations might well make Duchess Eléonore pause, and make her
watch closely the conduct of her daughter, lest by folly or indiscretion
she might blight her career and injure the prospects of her children.
She again spoke to the Princess and urged her to avoid Königsmarck. The
Princess-Dowager of East Friesland, who, with her daughter-in-law, had
come to Hanover (ostensibly for the carnival, in reality to try to
smooth things down between the Dukes of Hanover and Wolfenbüttel), also
repeated certain rumours she had heard to the Duchess of Celle, who in
turn communicated them to her daughter. The Princess was frightened, and
directed Knesebeck to tell Königsmarck of what had passed, and to
impress on him the need of greater caution in the future. Königsmarck
wrote:—

                                             “[HANOVER, _February_.]

  “I am extremely surprised to learn from La Confidente all that has
  happened. As I had heard nothing from you, I was in despair; but when
  your letter came it was so loving that I will not hint at what I
  feared most. I again picked up a little courage. What worries me most
  is that your mother has been preaching at you; for though she may be
  on your side she is sure to watch you closely, and when she learns
  that you have been talking to me she will become more suspicious, and
  I fear will tell everything to the Duke. Try to prevent that, or we
  are lost for ever. I am grieved to be the cause of all this trouble.
  But you are so sweet and charming, it is not my fault; you must blame
  yourself for having made in me such an unlucky choice. It is cruel to
  think that while everybody can make love to you, and you can speak to
  whom you will without any fault-finding, I am the only one excluded.
  When I think how your mother encourages Monsieur Welling,[88] on the
  one hand, and on the other forbids me to speak to you, I am so enraged
  that I could stab her, and I wish her a thousand times a day to the
  devil. If the earth were to open and swallow up her and the
  Dowager,[89] how glad I should be! I believe all the fiends plot
  together to annoy me, but they will not succeed if only you remain
  faithful. I can patiently endure all things so long as you do not
  change, but I fear they will terrify you so that in the end they will
  succeed in their diabolical plans. How I hate them! Were I lord of the
  thunderbolts there would be many grey heads battered about; but as I
  am not, I can only implore you to hate all those who are working
  against me, and urging you to forget me. You will not refuse this
  prayer if you have any love left for me. If you wish, I will go away
  to some village near, for I cannot veil my eyes so that the world does
  not see my adoration; but if you will suffer me even to look at you,
  you will give me joy,—without that I cannot stay. Be merciful and
  write to me. Forget not to assure me of your love, for now is the
  time; if your heart begins to cool, the plotters will succeed in their
  infamous designs.

  “Now as to reproaches. You might have spoken to me coming out of the
  Princess’s[90] door, for your father had already retired, and there
  would have been no danger on account of the Prince. But terror
  prevented you; I know you so well. I have everything to fear; every
  one plots against me, men and demons, and even old women, who are
  worse than demons.”

-----

Footnote 87:

  As, in point of fact, they did, George Augustus as George II. of Great
  Britain; Sophie Dorothea as Queen of Prussia, and mother of Frederick
  the Great.

Footnote 88:

  “Baron Welling is come hither to prepare matters.”—Colt’s _Despatch_,
  Hanover, January, 1692.

Footnote 89:

  The Princess-Dowager of East Friesland. “The two Princesses of East
  Frise [Friesland] arrived yesterday.”—Colt’s _Despatch_, Hanover,
  February 9, 1692.

Footnote 90:

  The Princess of East Friesland.

-----

The Princess was torn by conflicting emotions—her infatuation on the one
hand, and her dread of discovery on the other. She had not yet
capitulated wholly; but under the impetuous assaults of her lover the
outworks were falling one by one, the citadel would soon be stormed.
While she was hesitating, the carnival broke up, and Sophie Dorothea
returned with her parents to Celle. The Duchess Sophia seems to have
gone too.[91]

-----

Footnote 91:

  “The Duke of Hanover hath sent all the women hither.”—Colt’s
  _Despatch_, Celle, February 23, 1692.

-----

The Duke of Hanover had an object in sending “all the women” out of the
way, for he wished to try his prisoners and bring Prince Max to his
knees—things he could do better when freed from feminine influence. He
soon succeeded, for Max renounced his claims, and the prisoners were
found guilty and sent back to their prison to wait sentence. The Duke of
Hanover then went to join his brother at Celle, where much company was
assembled, including the Duke and Duchess of Saxe-Eisenach. Königsmarck
was there too, perhaps in the suite of the Duke of Hanover, possibly on
a visit to his brother-in-law, Count Lewenhaupt, to whom the Duke of
Celle had recently given the command of a regiment of Foot.[92]

-----

Footnote 92:

  “The Duke of Celle hath at last given the new-raised regiment of Foot
  to the Count Lewenhaupt, a Swede, brother-in-law to Count Königsmarck,
  who commands a regiment of Hanover.”—Colt’s _Despatch_, January 22,
  1692.

-----

Königsmarck was, of course, invited to all the court festivities at
Celle, and had many opportunities of meeting the Princess. But she was
on her guard in public, so much so that the Duchess of Celle could
detect nothing definite, though she seems to have sounded Königsmarck,
if we may judge from his next letter to the Princess. In this letter
appears the first hint of an idea which gradually matured in the
Princess’s mind side by side with the growth of her passion—namely, that
she and her lover should escape by flight from a situation intolerable
to both.

                                                  “[CELLE, _March_.]

  “La Confidente will tell you that I was more than satisfied yesterday,
  though I had no other delight than pressing your hand. Our restraint
  has its charms, for though the last few days I have seen you only in
  places where even the language of the eyes is scarcely possible, I
  have had many happy moments. What a delight _ma petite_, for us to be
  able to communicate with impunity in the presence of thousands of
  people! What a delight! Speak to me a little more in the same way, but
  only when there is no risk, for I should be sore distressed to cause
  you more trouble than I do already.... Keep in the same mind as you
  were yesterday, and though the whole world conspire against us, never
  mind so long as we love one another. They will soon tire of preaching
  at you, and then we shall enjoy perfect peace. I have not yet seen
  Aurora, but I shall know all from her. I have had a long conversation
  with the Duchess of Celle. I believe her to be the most deceitful of
  women. She says the prettiest things to me, yet all the time she is
  doing her best to ruin me with you. I hope to Heaven she will not
  succeed! Do not believe all these women may tell you, for they will
  make every effort to set you against me. But I should be wrong to
  doubt you _after the proposition you made to me—that you are willing
  to leave all this pomp and splendour and retire with me to some corner
  of the world_. After that I have nothing to fear. I accept your offer
  with joy. You have only to say the word and I am ready. If the result
  of your parents’ persecution be to force you to take such a step, I
  hope they will persecute you a hundred times more, so that you may act
  promptly. Why should we not fly to-night?

  “Surely, Madame, my manner towards the Duchess of Saxe-Eisenach[93]
  must have shown you that my heart is all yours, and no other beauty
  can find place there, not even that princess. I hope you have no cause
  to complain of my behaviour to the other ladies here. It is true I
  flattered His Highness’s mistress,[94] in the hope she would tell me
  what she was about, and she would not say anything. I stand well with
  Monseigneur,[95] and he shows me more courtesy than usual.”

-----

Footnote 93:

  “The Duke and Duchess of Saxe-Eisenach are come hither.”—Colt’s
  _Despatch_, Celle, March 4, 1692.

Footnote 94:

  Countess Platen.

Footnote 95:

  Duke of Celle.

-----

The Princess, during the next few days at Celle, seems to have behaved
with more circumspection. In this she was only obeying the dictates of
common prudence. Nevertheless her precautions called forth the following
remonstrances:—

  “I imagined that in possessing your love I should be the happiest man
  in the world. I little thought I should have so few opportunities of
  speaking to you. I tell you frankly this continual restraint falls far
  short of perfect felicity, and my happiness will never be complete
  until I enter upon it wholly. Believe me, this is true. I was speaking
  to La Confidente about it last night; she will tell you my wishes
  anon. I have to talk to you just like every one else, and precautions
  have to be taken, though they wound and vex us. Let us hope for better
  times, for until then we are doomed to suffer. Meanwhile forget
  nothing that will give me comfort, and assure me of your tender love;
  you cannot do this better than in letting me see you as often as
  possible. Did you really notice how the Duchess of Saxe-Eisenach
  attacked me? I hope when I have answered her two or three times as
  curtly as possible, she will clearly understand that I want no
  intercourse with her.”

  “Your kind note assures me of your tender love and assurances must
  suffice for the present. But, Madame, I am not the man to let myself
  be made sport of, and if your promises do not agree with your conduct
  they will not make the slightest impression on me. You have not
  treated me very well the last two days, and I cannot quite believe
  your notes; but if you change your manners, I am quite ready to accept
  your protestations. I am forced to assume an extremely distant manner
  towards you, and it makes me furious; I wish you could alter it, but
  you cannot. Pardon me once more. It is my hot temper—I know it, but
  you are the cause.”

Königsmarck’s “hot temper” seems to have led him into a breach of good
manners, for later we find him writing:—

  “If you could see my despair you would forgive me the fault I have
  just committed. I was piqued and annoyed because you would not deign
  to look at me once during the play, though I sat immediately opposite.
  I do not deserve your haughty airs; the sacrifice I have made for you
  of the Duchess of Saxe-Eisenach[96] at least deserved a glance. You
  can see for yourself that I hardly look at her, and when she speaks to
  me I answer her very briefly, so as to cut short any further
  conversation. Her lady-in-waiting says that the Duchess finds me much
  changed. But a truce to all that; it is not worth speaking about. Give
  me pardon, Princess, I implore you, and arrange for me to see you
  to-morrow. I could hardly get a glimpse of you, for the dancing made
  me very hot, and, as I was unable to change my linen, I did not like
  to come near you. This is a poor excuse, and I can only throw myself
  upon your mercy. La Confidente will intercede for me. I hovered
  outside your apartments for half an hour to see if La Confidente were
  coming out. I wanted to knock at your back door, but I dared not. What
  torment for me to miss the society of my adored one! What a night I
  shall spend! _Grand Dieu!_ what was I thinking about? What demon
  possessed me? If you will not forgive me you will drive me to despair.
  I shall go away at once and weep over my sins in the regiment, so let
  me know my fate. Farewell, my dearest one. Shall I dare to call you so
  again? Verily I do not deserve that privilege. I am in torment. When
  will you send me an answer? For the love of Heaven, let me have one
  soon.”

-----

Footnote 96:

  “The courts of Hanover and Saxe-Eisenach go from hence after
  to-morrow; there has been much company here for several days.”—Colt’s
  _Despatch_, Celle, March 8, 1692.

-----

The Princess forgave him, probably on the morrow, and how fully may be
gathered from the following rapturous epistle:—

  “I slept like a king, and I hope you did the same. What joy! what
  rapture! what enchantment have I not tasted in your sweet arms! Ye
  gods! what a night I spent! The memory of it blots out all my
  troubles, and for the moment I count myself the happiest man on earth.
  You see, it rests wholly with you to make me happy, and when I am sad
  you are the cause. Adieu, dear heart. How long the day will seem to me
  without seeing you! Adieu.”

And he wrote later the same day:—

  “Verily I am overwhelmed by the tokens of love you have vouchsafed to
  me. I shall never be able to show you my gratitude, but shall always
  be your debtor. I love and I am loved. Is there any bliss approaching
  mine? I count myself the happiest of mortals, and even of the gods.
  Ah! most beautiful one! The tenderness you have shown me compels me to
  love you, and makes me despise the favours of good and the caprices of
  bad fortune. Time will bring no change in my love. I would abandon for
  you all ties—family, relations, women, even wife and children had I
  any. My passion intoxicates me. I can no longer think—words fail. I
  commit myself to your keeping; do with me as you will. I can scarcely
  keep my heart within bounds; it strives perpetually to burst away and
  thank you for its captivity, for it loves to be the slave of one who
  treats it so generously. I fear I shall lose it altogether, but as I
  cannot live without a heart, for pity’s sake, Madame, give me yours in
  return, for without one or the other I shall die. Do not put off my
  seeing you this evening, I beseech you. You have convinced me so
  deeply that you love me, that I have never loved you so much before.
  You have never appeared to me so altogether lovely. With crossed hands
  and bended knees I thank you for all you have vouchsafed unto me.
  Suffer me therefore to see you again to-day, and do not put me off. I
  should die.

  “The Prince went away to-day at eight o’clock. He is angry because you
  wished to remain with your mother. All goes wonderfully well.
  Farewell.”

On the return of the court to Hanover, Duke Ernest Augustus concentrated
his energies on obtaining the long-deferred electorate, and he made the
electoral bonnet a positive condition to his rejoining the Allies.
William of Orange was already at the Hague, busily making arrangements
for the forthcoming campaign of 1692. He found that Denmark and Sweden
threatened to become actively hostile. Brandenburg was sullen, and
Saxony disaffected. He could therefore ill afford to lose the services
of the Duke of Hanover, and had again to promise him his support and
influence with the Emperor for the Electorate. But Ernest Augustus
wanted something more than promises. “This Duke,” writes Colt, “is
certainly resolved to make all things as sure as he can with the Emperor
before he lets his troops stir out of the country.”[97] The Duke of
Celle, who was warmly on the side of the Allies, generously waived his
claim as elder brother to the electorate, seeing that his younger
brother could be gained on no other terms. But still the Emperor
hesitated. He knew that the French agent was at Hanover, and intrigues
were on foot with Denmark and Sweden, and he stipulated that the Duke
should first declare against France. As neither side trusted the other,
negotiations did not advance very quickly.

-----

Footnote 97:

  Colt’s _Despatch_, Hanover, April 15, 1692.

-----

In the meantime Königsmarck went on one of his frequent journeys to
Hamburg, ostensibly to visit his estate hard by, probably to combine
pleasure with his business. Hamburg was then a strongly fortified town
much frequented by the princes of northern Germany. Some ten years
previously the first theatre in Germany for operas was opened at
Hamburg, and this helped to make it a favourite resort of the gay world.
Just at this time it gained a special importance, as it was the
meeting-place of many of the representatives of the great Alliance,
including several German princes and the disaffected northern Powers who
came thither to intrigue concerning the coming campaign. Königsmarck’s
visit might possibly have had something of a diplomatic nature, but no
hint of this appears in his letters. His relations with the Princess had
continued in unbroken harmony, if we may judge from the little note he
sent her on the eve of his leaving:—

                                                “[HANOVER, undated.]

  “I should deem myself all unworthy of your love were I to go away
  without assuring you how deeply I am sensible of your kindness. Yes,
  beautiful mouth, you love me, I doubt no longer, and my bliss is
  perfect. I start with that belief only.... The letter inclosed from
  Hamburg will show how things are going with my sister. I will write
  you more fully. I kiss your hands. I am all yours.”

The ensuing letters which he wrote to the Princess when on this journey
explain themselves:—

                                               “HAMBURG, _March 22_.

  “I have reached here at last, after great trouble and danger, for
  about a league from Hanover my carriage broke down, and in crossing
  the Elbe I thought I should have been drowned. My servants had taken
  lodgings at the inn to which I usually come, and to crown all, I found
  that the Princess d’Otfrise[98] and the Duchess of Saxe-Eisenach were
  lodged there. I was greatly puzzled what to do, for they sent word for
  me to come and dine with them; but, my dear little heart, I remembered
  my promise to you, and determined to decamp. So I pretended that I had
  pressing and urgent business which compelled me to leave at once, and,
  without seeing them, I marched off and changed my quarters. But I did
  not leave the town, for I found my brother-in-law and sister[99] here.
  I gave my sister an exact account of all that had taken place since
  she left, and she did the same to me....

  “To come to my story, they say I named you personally.[100] You know
  the rest. I need not justify myself to you; you know me too well. I am
  now trying to find the author of this underhand business. Should I
  unearth him, I will avenge myself in a way that will make others
  careful not to invent any more lies. My brother-in-law also has a
  little matter to settle. Some one said in his cups: ‘O, truly, when
  one has a sister-in-law who sleeps with a prince one can soon have
  regiments’.[101] They say that the author of this story is
  Lieutenant-Colonel Grot, or little Count Steinbock. We shall demand an
  explanation sword in hand, and see what they will say. I leave
  to-morrow for my estate. Farewell.”

-----

Footnote 98:

  East Friesland. Colt sometimes calls her “Otfrise” too.

Footnote 99:

  Count and Countess Lewenhaupt.

Footnote 100:

  It is worthy of note that the same charge, boasting when he was in his
  cups, of his intimacy with the Princess was made against Königsmarck
  two years later (1694) at the court of Dresden.

Footnote 101:

  This refers to Aurora von Königsmarck and the recent appointment of
  Count Lewenhaupt to a regiment of Celle.

-----

                                                        “_En Route._

  “On dismounting here they gave me three of your letters. Picture my
  joy! I had begun to think that you had quite forgotten me. M. de
  Bielke has begged me to come to supper with him, but as some ladies
  with whom I used to flirt will be there, I am not going, for I want to
  have the satisfaction of swearing to you that all the time I am away I
  have not said sweet things to any woman whatsoever.... Do not write to
  me any more. Two of your letters have been sealed with another seal,
  and that makes me fear. I will show them to you.”

                                  “_Monday evening at_ REINBEK.[102]

  “As I again catch the post here I cannot let it go without writing,
  and I think this letter will reach you sooner than the one I sent this
  morning by my servant. Let us unite against those who would break us
  asunder; they will tire when they see our constancy. It is distraction
  to have no news from you and to be unable to hold you in my arms. I
  must arm myself with patience, little by little, for I am sore afraid
  that this summer I shall have to exercise myself greatly in that
  virtue. The postillion is on horseback. If I could be in his place I
  could see you by dinner-time, but as it is I cannot until after
  to-morrow. I am raging that old Time should lag so much. I spend every
  evening in miserable inns. Since I left Hanover I have only slept on
  straw; but (think of my impertinence!), uncomfortable though I was,
  every moment I wished you with me, without thinking that you would be
  uncomfortable too. If my desire had come to pass I should have pitied
  you; for you would often have been very badly off for a bed, and
  roughly lodged. Farewell. I shall die if I do not see you soon.”[103]

-----

Footnote 102:

  Reinbek is a village close to Hamburg.

Footnote 103:

  The letter concludes with many more expressions of devotion.

-----

On his return Königsmarck renewed his court to the Princess, with
varying fortune as before.

Great military activity now prevailed at Hanover and Celle. The Duke of
Hanover, satisfied that the electorate was to come soon, at last
declared for the Allies. The diplomacy of William of Orange had
triumphed all along the line. The Brunswick princes were sending troops
to Flanders. Saxony had been bribed with a present of one hundred
thousand rix-dollars and the promise of the Garter. Brandenburg had been
conciliated; and, last and most difficult of all, Denmark and Sweden
were appeased for awhile. But these negotiations lost time; and while
the Allies were haggling and William conciliating Louis again took the
field. In vain William tried to hasten his confederate princes; they
were late as usual in sending troops. The French king started on his
campaign, and his progress resembled a triumphal march. To gratify his
love of display, Louis held a grand review near Mons, the scene of his
triumph the previous year. The pageant over, he set forth to lay siege
to Namur. Fully alive to the advantage gained by the French, King
William made every effort to hurry his laggard allies, with the result
that the troops of the several princes gradually took the field.

The troops of Celle and Hanover were to be commanded by Prince George
Louis, and preparations at Hanover were pushed forward with all speed.
Königsmarck was to go with his regiment; but to the astonishment of all
he manifested no enthusiasm to serve in the campaign, and lingered until
the eleventh hour. His letter to the Princess will explain his conduct.
Knowing how she was spied upon, and doubtful of her strength and his,
the Princess was afraid to risk a parting in private. He writes:—

                                                 “[HANOVER, _June_.]

  “The reluctance you have shown to speak to me surprises me; nay, more,
  it makes me tremble. But I will still try to believe that you could
  not do otherwise without giving ground for suspicion. Yet one should
  risk something when it is a question of ‘Good-bye’ for six
  months.[104] I think so, for instead of going I linger here. See how
  much I love you! I neglect my duty, which calls me away for the rest
  of the year, though it is so urgent that I ought to go at once. But,
  my dear one, how can I leave without bidding you adieu? My love does
  not suffer me—I would rather die. I will not reproach you; I will keep
  silence and watch you at the games, for Madame la Princesse must play,
  apparently! I will go; but it must be from your lovely eyes that I
  learn my fate. If you do not like to _say_ ‘Good-bye,’ let me see it
  in your eyes,—they will give me light. Unless I cruelly deceive
  myself, I shall find much love in them. If I had sufficient
  self-control could I not have gone away—could I not have had orders so
  pressing that it would have been impossible for me to return, or
  perchance feigned an illness as an excuse for not bidding you
  farewell? Yet I am glad that you give me the opportunity of showing
  you how much stronger my love is than yours. I am truly your slave,
  and wear your chains with joy.”

-----

Footnote 104:

  The Hanoverian troops were away about six months—June to late October.

-----

And again:—

  “I cannot leave Hanover without writing to you, yet to write renews my
  grief. The torments of hell would not pain me more than distance and
  absence from you. How happy I should be if I could be as one of the
  least of your servants, to be near you, to hear your voice! I would
  willingly change my condition for the common sentinel, for at least I
  could stand under your windows and worship you from there. Alas! that
  cannot be; and since I am destined to suffer, assure me of your love
  and constancy. Adieu.”

At last Königsmarck tore himself away, and left Hanover for the camp, to
march on the morrow to Flanders. At this point the Princess’s letters
begin.




                              CHAPTER XIV.

                        THE PRINCESS’S LETTERS.

             My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
                               ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

             I can but do as wills the spirit in me,
             Which is your spirit’s servant. Ah! my lord,
             My one love every way, my poor heart’s blood,
             Breath of my lips, and eyesight of mine eyes,
             How did I live the life that loved you not?
                                                SWINBURNE.


The Duke of Hanover, astute time-server that he was, must have doubted
at first whether he had done wisely in again throwing in his lot with
King William, for victory everywhere attended the arms of Louis. The
French king made rapid progress with the siege of Namur, and on the
eighth day the virgin fortress surrendered to his conquering army. The
citadel fell three weeks later. This victory marked the summit of the
great monarch’s glory. Te Deums were sung in all the churches of France,
and his camp rang with shouts of triumph. But even in this hour of
victory there came to Louis a reminder that he was not everywhere
invincible; for while he lay before Namur, his priests chanting, his
cannon blaring, sounds of rejoicing reached him from the camp of the
Allies—rejoicings over the naval victory of La Hogue, wherein the
English admiral, Russell, had utterly routed the French ships, and
shattered for ever James II.’s chances of reascending the throne of
England. The French king affected to treat this reverse lightly, and a
short time after retired to Versailles, leaving Luxemburg, the first
general of France, in command of the army.

William hastened towards Namur in the hope of bringing relief, but he
was too late. Between him and the already fallen fortress lay the troops
of Luxemburg. The grand army of the Allies then took up their
headquarters at Lambeque, and William was sometimes there and sometimes
at Brussels. About six miles from Lambeque, at Steinkirk, Luxemburg had
encamped with the main body of the French army. Thus the two armies
remained throughout July, almost within sight of one another; but the
country between was full of hedges and ditches, and neither would make
the attack. The delay gave William one advantage: it afforded time for
the laggard troops of his German allies to come up.

The Hanoverian troops, commanded by Prince George Louis and accompanied
by Prince Christian, fifth son of the Duke,[105] and with Königsmarck in
command of a regiment of foot-guards, began their march to Flanders the
first week in June. On the day they set out the Duke of Hanover,
accompanied by Prince George Louis and the English envoy Colt, went to
the camp and held a grand review.

-----

Footnote 105:

  For whom the Duchess Sophia wished the command of an English regiment,
  which he did not get.

-----

The Duke of Hanover ordered a general thanksgiving to celebrate the
victory of La Hogue and so testify his fidelity to the English king. To
set the seal upon it, Colt gave a magnificent entertainment, a banquet
and a ball. He writes:—

“The Duke and Duchess with all their courts have done me the honour to
sup with me, when they and the greatest part of the city proclaimed
their affection and good will to His Majesty.” And again: “My share in
the affair [the general rejoicings] you will see at large in the paper
apart [probably the bill] which I hope will be approved of. I have on
this occasion given a greater diversion than ever they saw in this
place.”[106]

-----

Footnote 106:

  Colt’s _Despatches_, Hanover, June 20, 1692.

-----

Sophie Dorothea was present at Colt’s entertainment and took part in the
festivities. Her husband, who went to Brockhausen after the review to
take leave of the Duke of Celle, came back to Hanover on purpose to
attend the celebrations, and a few days later he set out for Flanders.
The Princess then left Hanover on a visit to her parents at Brockhausen;
she remained there for some weeks. Prince Maximilian was also staying
with the Duke of Celle, still in disgrace with his father, and urging
his uncle to use his influence to save Moltke’s life. His prayers were
unavailing. Moltke was executed at Hanover in the second week of July.
and the court went to Luisburg—a country place of the Duke of Hanover,
about twenty leagues distant—to be out of the way.

All this time, from the day of their parting, the Princess was in
constant correspondence with Königsmarck, who was marching with his
regiment to Flanders. He joined the grand army near Brussels about the
middle of July, and his letters to the Princess were written from the
camp and different halting-places on the line of march, while she wrote
to him from Hanover and Brockhausen.

Whatever restraint Sophie Dorothea may have put upon herself in public
converse with her lover, no trace of it appears in her letters.
Believing that she was writing to him alone, she pours forth her soul in
absolute abandonment. She gives herself to him so completely, so
unreservedly, and withal so intimately, that one almost shrinks from
laying bare this confession of woman’s love for man.

[Illustration:

  FACSIMILE OF ONE OF SOPHIE DOROTHEA’S LETTERS TO KÖNIGSMARCK.
  _Photographed from the original manuscript in the University Library
    of Lund._
  NOTE.—This letter is in the Princess’s own handwriting—not copied by
    Knesebeck.
]

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                                “[HANOVER, undated.]

  “I spent the stillness of the night without sleeping, and all the day
  thinking of you, weeping over our separation. Never did a day seem so
  long to me; I do not know how I shall ever get reconciled to your
  absence. La Gouvernante[107] has just given me your letter; I received
  it with rapture. Rest assured I will do even more than I have
  promised, and lose no opportunity of showing you my love. If I could
  shut myself up while you are away and see no one I would do so gladly,
  for without you everything is distasteful and wearisome. Nothing can
  make your absence bearable to me; I am faint with weeping. I hope to
  prove by my life that no woman has ever loved man as I love you, and
  no faithfulness will ever equal mine. In spite of every trial and all
  that may befall, nothing will sever me from you. Of a truth, dear one,
  my love will only end with my life.

  “I was so changed and depressed to-day that even the Prince, my
  husband, pitied me, and said I was ill and ought to take care of
  myself. He is right,—I am ill; but my illness comes only from loving
  you, and I never wish to be cured. I have not seen any one worth
  mentioning. I went to visit the Duchess [Sophia] for a little while,
  but returned home as soon as possible, to have the joy of talking
  about you.[108] La Gazelle’s husband[109] came to wish me good-bye; I
  saw him in my chamber, and he kissed my hand.

  “It is now eight o’clock, and I must go and pay my court. How dull I
  shall seem!—how stupid! I shall withdraw immediately after supper, so
  that I may have the pleasure of reading your letters again, the only
  pleasure I have while you are away. Farewell, my worshipped one. Only
  death will sever me from you; all human powers will never succeed.
  Remember all your promises, and be as constant as I will be faithful.”

-----

Footnote 107:

  This must have been another name for the Fräulein von Knesebeck, _La
  Confidente_.

Footnote 108:

  _I.e._, with _La Confidente_.

Footnote 109:

  _La Gazelle_ may have been Countess Lewenhaupt (so called because of
  her gazelle-like eyes), whose husband was about to march with the Duke
  of Celle’s troops to Flanders.

-----

                                    “[HANOVER,] _June_ 12, _Sunday_.

  “I have no news of you; I am restless, in despair, full of sad
  forebodings. I cannot believe that you would willingly neglect me, you
  have so deeply convinced me of your faithfulness; but I love you too
  fondly to be free from the anxiety inseparable from such love. I am
  not getting reconciled to your absence; it is intolerable, and nothing
  can equal my grief at being so far from my adored one. I deluded
  myself with the hope that I might have seen you after the review; I
  could have done so in all liberty, as the Prince was away. That false
  hope made me keep vigil two nights at the window, and every one who
  passed I fancied was you. La Confidente kept telling me differently,
  but I would hear no reason.

  “I must give you an account of my day. I retired after dinner. In the
  evening there was music, and I played a little,—that is all. You must
  be pleased with my conduct.... Do not forget your oaths, nor let
  absence lessen the love you swore to me, for I love you to madness,
  and the mere thought that you may forget is enough to upset my reason.
  Above all, be faithful to me, or I shall die. The Duchess to-day spoke
  much of your beauty and the regularity of your features. Alas! I fear
  me others will discover this comeliness too; it will cost me many
  tears.

  “I must end this. It is three o’clock, and I must go to bed. Never
  doubt my fidelity; it is inviolable. I will live and die yours only.”

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                               “[THE CAMP, undated.]

  “You must let me complain, _ma chérie_, of the mean farewell you gave
  me. My love deserved something far different; but if you had a heart
  of ice you could not have given me a colder parting. I found the
  company very lively at the camp, every one sword in hand, prancing to
  the music of trumpets and kettledrums; but it all diverted me so
  little that I wished myself twenty leagues away. My dejection was so
  apparent that Monsieur Bielke[110] asked me what was the matter, and
  why I would not drink a glass of wine with him. I told him that I knew
  he was vexed about Aurora, and I was annoyed too, but I hoped he would
  not blame me in any way, as I knew nothing about it. He embraced me,
  and said he was sure I did not, but the pain she had caused him the
  last two days surpassed everything; and much more—too long to write—I
  will keep it for word of mouth. I will only add that he swore awful
  oaths that he would never speak to her again. The clinking of glasses,
  the noise of trumpets and kettledrums,[111] mingled with the softer
  sound of flutes and the hoarse cries of men drinking, made the
  drollest harmony in the world; but the revelry gave me opportunity to
  hide myself in a corner and dream at will. Whilst the others kissed,
  embraced, danced, stripped, and jumped on the tables, I thought only
  of my sad plight, and I found it so miserable that, in spite of all
  the festivity, tears sprang to my eyes and I was obliged to steal away
  to go to bed. Three hours of absence from you have grieved me so much
  that I am no longer master of my heart. I am so overcome with all
  these emotions that I have been beside myself all the evening.”

-----

Footnote 110:

  “Count Bielke (a Swedish envoy), the most dangerous man in these parts
  ... full of French designs.”—_Vide_ Colt’s _Despatches_, June, 1692.

Footnote 111:

  “According to that old Teutonic fashion with which Shakespeare has
  made his countrymen familiar, as often as any of the great princes
  proposed a health, the kettledrums and trumpets sounded.”—Macaulay’s
  _History of England_, vol. iv., p. 7.

-----

                                     “[WHILE ON THE MARCH, undated.]

  “In this unpleasant abode nothing could be so dear to me as your dear
  letter. I read it again and again; I know it by heart, word for word.
  It is charming and tender, and heals all jealous pains. Be as good as
  your word, or you will never see your lover alive again.

  “I knew the Prince was not returning to Hanover after the review, and
  therefore determined to take the post to see you, but I was watched so
  closely by a spy of Countess Platen that I dared not risk it. The
  post-horses were ordered and ready, but I could not get rid of the
  man, who is named Mesbuck. You may imagine my rage, for I dreamed of
  the happiness of surprising you; but my plan miscarried. I have not
  had a happy moment except those your delightful letter gave me. I am
  an hour from Detmold. The Count sent a coach with six horses to meet
  me, and a message to say I would find very pleasant company at his
  house; but I excused myself on the ground that I was too tired. I did
  not tell him that love fatigued me. My major went to the party in my
  stead, and on his return told me all about the company, with whom he
  was greatly delighted. He praised the ladies to the skies. Meanwhile I
  had gone to bed to think over my sorrows. I found them piteous, and
  trembled to see myself near the brink of an abyss. But why should I
  worry you? I have told you so many times that I fear your inconstancy,
  and you have so often reassured me, that I am a fool to doubt; yet I
  always fear. Water falling drop by drop pierces the most stony heart,
  and I am sure you will listen to me. You will give me your heart. You
  must ward off evil at the beginning.

  “In bidding farewell to us all, Marshal Podevils[112] spoke to me with
  much friendliness and sincerity (it was between us alone), and he said
  something which startled me greatly. He said he believed me to be a
  man capable of much dissimulation, and he feared I had dissembled with
  him. I was taken aback, and made him many protestations. He answered
  that he wished to believe me, and promised his friendship; but, in
  bidding good-bye, he again took me aside and said: ‘My dear friend,
  may God guard thee, but take this advice from me: do not let thy love
  ever hinder thee from thinking of thy fortune.’ I replied that
  contentment had more charms for me than ambition; but he turned away
  and answered nothing. He left me full of cruel suspicions. Try to find
  out what it is all about, I implore you. Aurora’s letters predict
  nothing good. Misfortune everywhere; but so long as one holds the
  loved one, what matters the price?”

-----

Footnote 112:

  Field-Marshal Heinrich von Podevils is spoken of in this
  correspondence as _le bon ami_, the good friend of Königsmarck and
  Sophie Dorothea; and indeed he was so. Marshal Podevils was born in
  1615 in Pomerania, and took service in the Thirty Years War. His
  military talent was first discovered by the famous Duke Bernard of
  Saxe-Weimar. At the death of the Duke, Podevils entered the French
  Army, and advanced rapidly in honour, and, because of his good
  services, he was naturalised in France. But Podevils was a Huguenot,
  and, in consequence of the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, he left
  the French Army, and took service under Duke John Frederick of Hanover
  as Colonel-in-Chief of the Hanoverian Army. When Duke Ernest Augustus
  succeeded to the Duchy of Hanover he appointed Podevils successively
  General, Field-Marshal, President of the Council of War, and Governor
  of the Royal Palaces of Hanover. Podevils died at Hamburg in 1696,
  full of years and of honour. The fact that such a man was the true
  friend of Königsmarck, and thought highly of him, speaks much in
  Königsmarck’s favour.

-----

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                           “[HANOVER,] _Monday_, 13.

  “I have this moment received your letter—at last. I hungered for it; I
  was sick with sadness. Nothing now gives me joy but the token that you
  remember me: I am sensitive to that—all else is indifferent. _Grand
  Dieu!_ what happiness it would have been if you could have come back!
  I think I should have died of very joy. But, alas! it was not to
  be....[113] This is not the only grief Countess Platen will cause me;
  I believe all my troubles will come through her. What our good friend
  Marshal Podevils said to you doesn’t make me anxious; it concerns me,
  it is true, but he is an open and honest man, and we have nothing to
  fear from that quarter. I am indeed grateful that you refused the
  invitation to join the company at Detmold. It is charming that you
  should think of me; I pray you continue to do so, and be sure I am not
  unworthy. My one thought is how to please you, and I shall succeed. I
  am in despair that Aurora has not....”[114]

-----

Footnote 113:

  Some lines are missing here.

Footnote 114:

  The letter is torn off here. Doubtless the Princess is beginning to
  allude to Aurora’s intrigue with Count Bielke, mentioned in
  Königsmarck’s letter.

-----

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                          “IN THE COUNTRY OF TEGLENBURG, [_June_] 8.

  “I should feel that I had committed a mortal sin were I to miss a
  place where the post passes without assuring you of my very humble
  obedience, though I can tell you of nothing but my love, and how
  little life has for me when I am away from your sweet self. The
  farther I am from you, the more I adore you. I fret night and day
  without finding any comfort. Sometimes I wish the French would be
  beaten, for then there would be a ray of hope that I should see you
  again, because the King[115] would not require me; sometimes I wish
  myself dead, since I have to live without seeing you. In this way am I
  agitated day and night, without any hope of relief. What will become
  of me, dear one, should my love drive me to madness? Comfort me in my
  sad estate, and reassure me that I shall see you again—the most
  gracious lady in the universe, the most constant, and the most
  faithful. But I desire a constancy without any reproaches or any
  coquetry.

  “I dined at Monsieur Bussche’s[116] yesterday; the company was not
  very choice—only some flighty people, so lively that they disgusted me
  in my sad mood. Madame, his wife, dined with us. She is the best woman
  in the world. I don’t know if you are well acquainted with her; she is
  extremely thin, her age is fifty, but she is very witty, and her
  conversation pleased me the more because it ran mainly on morality and
  devotion. I certainly go in for the latter. I pray always that my
  passion may not become fatal to me, and God may keep you constant and
  make you an example to all your sex. I commend you to the Divine
  protection to keep you straight, so that I may never be tortured by
  thinking you behave badly. I hope to receive some of your letters from
  Wesel.”

-----

Footnote 115:

  King William III. of England, commanding the allied armies.

Footnote 116:

  This Bussche must not be confounded with Bussche who married Catherine
  Meisenbug (sister of Countess Platen), sometime the mistress of Prince
  George Louis. That Bussche died in 1688, and, as we have seen, his
  widow subsequently married General Weyhe. The Bussche above mentioned
  was a kinsman. He was subsequently president of the court which
  divorced the Princess Sophie Dorothea from the Electoral Prince.

  A little later we find Colt also writing: “They have sent Monsieur
  Bussche, one of their privy councillors, to the Elector of
  Brandenburg, to press him to a speedy compliance with his former
  promise.”—Colt’s _Despatches_, Hanover, June 26, 1692.

-----

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                           “[HANOVER,] _Monday_, 20.

  “At my awakening they gave me your letter. I found it charming,
  loving, and all I would have it to be. Continue to feel as you write,
  for if you change I will not live. When I think each step you take
  removes you farther from me, I despair. Thousands of times I have
  thought of following you. What would I not sacrifice to be always with
  you! Alas! I should be too happy; there is no such perfect joy in this
  world. I avoid all men, and speak only to women: pray do not thank me
  for this, for I am pleased to do it. I never leave my chamber. I start
  to-morrow,[117] and go this evening to bid farewell to the Duchess.
  Prince Ernest is going to visit the Electress of Brandenburg, and
  perhaps they will return together.

  “If I were to tell you all I feel and how vast is my love, I should
  never end; it is beyond all I can find words to tell, and I should
  count myself happy indeed were your love to equal mine. I will not
  preach to you to be faithful to me, it would be unavailing; but I
  shall die if you are not. I have told you thousands of times that all
  the peace of my life depends on your fidelity. You may find others
  more lovable, but never one so loving; your slightest wish will be
  always law to me. But why should you change? You are loved to
  idolatry—your heart is sound. Farewell, _cher enfant_. You will be for
  ever loved.”

-----

Footnote 117:

  For Brockhausen.

-----

The next day the Princess left Hanover for Brockhausen on a visit to her
parents. Colt mentions in his despatch of June 17 the fact that the Duke
of Celle was staying at Brockhausen, thus corroborating the Princess’s
letters, which are written from there after the 20th.

                                             “BROCKHAUSEN [undated].

  “The only joy left me now is assuring you of my unalterable devotion:
  my love grows daily. I am glad to be in this quiet place, for it gives
  me more time to think of you: my mind is full of you only. My father
  and mother often speak to me, but I don’t hear them, for my heart and
  my thoughts are far away—with you. I have not had a moment’s happiness
  since you left; and when I think it will be four or five months before
  we can meet again, I fall into a melancholy I cannot hide. Sad
  forebodings crowd in upon me; I fear they will separate us for ever,
  or put obstacles in the way of our happiness. I see myself on the edge
  of a precipice (as indeed I am). If you saw my sad state you would
  pity me.

  “You may be easy about my conduct; nothing on that account need ruffle
  your quiet or trouble your rest. To-day, for instance, scarcely was I
  dressed than I had to dine. Afterwards I went to see my mother for a
  little while, and then she sent me home.[118] Max[119] escorted me. I
  left him in the antechamber; I did not stop a moment. He is more
  stupid than ever; he was quite confused. My father came to see me and
  showed me many attentions. I played with Chauvet.[120] We supped, and
  then I retired, without staying to talk to any one. Good-night; I must
  to bed. Alas! what sad nights since you left me! When I think of the
  joys we shared together and my loneliness now, a great pang goes
  through me. Be true, dear one,—all the happiness of my life hangs on
  it. I live only for you.”

-----

Footnote 118:

  The Duke of Celle’s hunting-box at Brockhausen was very small, and, as
  the accommodation was insufficient, the Princess and her suite were
  lodged in a house hard by.

Footnote 119:

  Prince Max was staying with the Duke of Celle for a time, who was
  trying to talk him to reason (_vide_ Colt’s despatches). The
  Princess’s estimate of Prince Max’s character agreed in the main with
  that of Colt, who, speaking of his share in the Moltke plot, says:
  “Nor indeed was his [Prince Max’s own capacity very fit for it, though
  he is a very worthy gentleman, and much improved since he hath been at
  home these two years, having before lost his time by being too much
  delighted with the pleasures of Venice, where he had been in service
  five years.”

Footnote 120:

  Marshal Jeremiah Chauvet was one of the Frenchmen whom the Duchess
  Eléonore brought in her train to the court of Celle. He was not of
  noble birth, but the son of a blacksmith in Lorraine. In 1670 the Duke
  of Celle advanced him to the rank of colonel, and he became
  successively major-general, general, and field-marshal.

-----

                                 “BROCKHAUSEN, _June_ 25/_July_ 5.

  “I hoped to have had news of you from Wesel, and am much cast down
  because none came. I attribute it to the carelessness of your servants
  at Hanover, for I scarcely think you would neglect me: at least, let
  me flatter myself to that extent; it is the only consolation I have
  left. When I think you love me I forget all the disasters which
  threaten—but I shall worry you with my fears. My father and mother
  overwhelm me with kindness, and, most reassuring, they have not
  mentioned your name since I came here. I am rather surprised at this,
  but I hope they are satisfied with what I told them before.

  “I heard yesterday of the death of La Court’s[121] brother. It was a
  shock, for I thought of you. Like you, he was young, he was well, yet
  now he is dead. You cannot imagine my sad reflections: I fear for you
  more than ever. If you truly love me, be careful of yourself for my
  sake; for if anything happened to you, what would become of me? I
  would not stay a moment in this world; life would be impossible. As it
  is, since you went away, I lead only a lingering life; but I look
  forward to seeing you again, and that hope brings consolation. What
  would be left if I lost it? But I will not fret myself with these sad
  thoughts; all my prayers and desires are for your safety. Day and
  night, night and day, the good God is troubled with the prayers I
  offer Him for you. If you but knew how intense is my love you would
  pity me; it increases every moment, absence does not lessen it.
  Without change or swerving I love you, and everything that touches
  you, so tenderly, so perfectly, so _delicately_, that imagination
  fails to tell.

  “I take a positive delight in avoiding persons. My parents and
  Bernstorff are pleased. They think I shun every one because I wish to
  be with them; they little know it is because of you—that I may show
  you my devotion and my love. They talk of going to Wiesbaden. My
  mother wishes it, as her health is very indifferent, and my father
  thinks of going too, and they want me to go with them. Let me know if
  you approve. If you do not, they will find it difficult to make me go;
  but as long as I please you the rest counts for nothing.”

-----

Footnote 121:

  Probably some court lady at Hanover.

-----

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                  “BORGUEM _on the_ 16_th_ [_June_].

  “My courier has brought me a packet of letters without any from you;
  it is incredible. The post goes by again to-morrow, and if I get none
  it will nearly kill me. I hope my correspondent has sent them to
  Antwerp. I have written to the Widow Goodsblut; but if it turn out
  that she has none either I shall die of grief. Have you forgotten the
  man who worships you in the space of a fortnight? I shall wait eight
  days, and then, if I hear nothing, I shall know you love me no longer,
  and I will hasten to the grand army (as soon as I know from Antwerp)
  and seek a glorious death. Then you can boast that your unfaithfulness
  has killed me. But first tell the world the promises you vowed to me,
  and let that theatre judge if I were wrong in seeking death. Can it be
  that God has made such a charming woman with so little fidelity? I am
  like a man on whom sentence of death has been passed and who is
  waiting for the hour of his execution. I hardly feel as if I were
  alive. My mind is so troubled that I can scarcely finish this page.
  Farewell, perhaps for ever!

  “I am three leagues from Wesel. The post goes by again without any
  letter from you. Cruel one! is it possible that you have such a
  traitor’s heart, and forget me so soon?”

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                 “BROCKHAUSEN, _June_ 27/_July_ 7.

  “I do not deserve your reproaches; I shall never deserve them. I
  cannot imagine why you accuse me of negligence, for even if you do not
  receive my letters you ought to know me well enough not to lay the
  blame on me. The fault is not mine, I assure you. Is it possible you
  mean all you say? You occupy my heart solely and entirely; all the
  rest is of so little account that I do not give it a thought. I have
  written with all possible regularity; if I could have written oftener
  I would have done so gladly, for my only pleasure is to make you
  remember me and assure you of my love and faithfulness. But this place
  [Brockhausen] is so far from every means of communication that it
  greatly delays the joy of receiving your letters, and the same reason,
  I fear, may lead to your receiving mine very irregularly; besides, the
  floods are so great that the couriers cannot pass, and so they are
  obliged to remain here all the week. I spend the whole day with my
  mother, who talks to me of the danger of abandoning one’s self to
  one’s _penchant_. I say ‘Amen’ to it all, and so get on well with her,
  and all of them.

  “I have a thousand fears about you. Chauvet told me yesterday that
  according to all appearances there might be a battle to-day. You know
  how I love you. Imagine, then, my state of mind when I think that the
  only being I care for in the world, for whom only I live, is exposed
  to thousands of dangers. If you love me, take care of yourself; I
  should die if any accident were to happen to you. I am leading the
  saddest life imaginable. The more change I have the more I find that
  cure is useless, for everywhere I carry my love and my sorrow. The
  burden is no easier for me in this peaceful place. I see no end to my
  worries, and the time I have to get through without you seems an
  eternity. But what joy when I see you again! It will be impossible for
  me to moderate my transports; I fear everybody will see how much I
  love you. It matters little, for you are worthy, and I never can love
  you enough.”

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                        “VENLO, _July_ 1/11, 1692.

  “It is true, then, that you have forgotten me, and the pleasures of
  the comedy, the music, and, what is worse, the foreigners,[122] are
  the cause of your forgetfulness? I know it from Monsieur le
  Prince,[123] with whom I dined to-day. I suppose this is the way to
  love; but I, alas! cannot. I have neglected everything since I left
  you; I have even forgotten to shave, and I went all unkempt to the
  court quarter of the camp. Everybody stared. Even the Prince asked me
  what was the matter, for he found me so haggard and worn. I pretended
  that I had the colic; he little knew the truth. Until now I only
  feared that you had forgotten me; but since I know that the
  Piedmontese Count and the Austrian have arrived, I no longer doubt
  your inconstancy. Cruel one! I know my rivals. Yes, I know them, and
  that is sufficient. But you have to deal with a man who loves you to
  distraction, and you made me believe you loved me in the same way. I
  have neglected fortune, happiness, everything for you, and you treat
  me like this! It is abominable. I will avenge myself and die. Yes, I
  will avenge myself in such a way that the whole world will ring with
  my wrongs. You wished to remain in your chamber to bewail my
  departure. Your chamber became the opera house, your weeping came from
  laughing overmuch, and your consolation, instead of reading my
  letters, as you told me, was in hearing sweet things from others. It
  is too much. I can bear no more. You drive me to extremities. I will
  join the Elector of Bavaria’s service, and then seek those who have
  stolen from me your ungrateful heart.”

-----

Footnote 122:

  They were probably special envoys, who had come to Hanover on business
  connected with the campaign against the Turks in the Morea, the
  intrigues concerning the Electorate, and other matters. Colt mentions
  that a Baron Eck came to the court of Hanover in June from the Elector
  of Saxony, and also a Baron Hasfelt “on his way to France”.

Footnote 123:

  Prince George Louis, who had now joined the troops.

-----

                                                     “VENLO, 1/11.

  “I am sighing and trembling while I write this to you. I have no idea
  how I stand with you, for I have received only one of your letters. I
  am cursing my bad luck, but, alas! that does not give me comfort in my
  misery.[124]... No, by Heaven! I will not lose you! I will move heaven
  and earth before I give you up. Were you to change yourself into
  Jupiter I would not fear the thunderbolt, but would try to avenge
  myself on my rivals. I could not get leave to go to the grand army, so
  I must wait until our troops march. It is annoying; but I bear all
  with patience.

  “My sister would like to know if the court is going in the autumn to
  some baths, as she would greatly like to go to pay her respects to
  Madame la Princesse. La Confidente says nothing about the
  unfaithfulness of her good mistress, but that is only natural, for if
  I cannot trust you, neither can I trust the people about you. But you
  know well that God will punish you; there is nothing so certain as
  that. Take heed therefore and beware.”

-----

Footnote 124:

  Here follow pages of reproaches and upbraidings.

-----

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                “BROCKHAUSEN, _June_ 30/_July_ 10.

  “Two of your letters reached me to-day, but instead of finding them
  full of love, I found reproaches which I do not deserve nor shall ever
  deserve. I cannot tell you my surprise at the tone of your letters. I
  have done absolutely nothing since you left. I shall never do anything
  all my life except what will be agreeable to you, for my one desire is
  to make manifest the love I bear you. My constancy is without flaw,
  and I am far from being the coquette you so unjustly call me. I could
  not help bursting into tears when I read all the hard things you
  wrote. What right or cause have I given you to have such a bad opinion
  of me? Is it because I love you to adoration, because I neglect all
  the friends I have in the world, because I have not heeded the
  lectures and preachments of my parents, nor thought of all the
  misfortunes that may come upon me through this? I cannot express to
  you my grief. You hint at my pleasing people who may supplant you in
  my affections; they assuredly do not deserve the honour you do them,
  and I am ashamed to have to excuse myself on their account. I spoke
  very little to the Piedmontese Count, and not a word to the Austrian.
  I wrote to you very precisely about everything I have done and
  everything I am prepared to do for you. I have sworn all the vows you
  wished, to convince you thoroughly of my good faith. Nothing will make
  me change. I love you far above what I can tell you, even when you
  give me cause to repent. Yet you will attach yourself to the Elector
  of Bavaria, you will forsake me, and all for a suspicion that has not
  the least appearance of reason! Is this loving? Do you love me still,
  or are you only seeking a pretext to leave me? If you still have
  doubts it will be very easy for me to clear them away, for I have
  taken no step nor done anything whereof my conscience is afraid. I
  will gladly swear thousands of dreadful oaths to you on my innocence.
  I shall have no peace until I know how I stand with you. If the
  tenderest love and the most inviolable faithfulness will satisfy you,
  you may be satisfied, for no love was ever so sincere as the love I
  bear for you.”

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                     “FOUR LEAGUES FROM VENLO, 5/15.

  “The lieutenant who went to the court quarter of the camp brought me a
  large bundle of letters. I was in highest joy, thinking surely I
  should find some from you; but I was deceived, for I found nothing
  except letters from Prince Ernest and from Marshal Podevils. Every one
  is writing but you. I have reproached you so much that I will say no
  more, except that you have been dancing at Colt’s _fête_.[125] I will,
  however, wait for your letters from Antwerp, which I hope will clear
  up everything. But you cannot excuse your behaviour at Hanover,
  especially when the foreigners were there; and whatever the Duke might
  have wished you to do, you ought not to have consented. This will be
  the very last letter I shall write to you if I hear nothing from you.”

-----

Footnote 125:

  Colt’s _fête_ was given on Sunday, June 18.

-----

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                “BROCKHAUSEN [undated (? _July_ 2)].

  “I suffer agony, and can no longer bear the pain your unjust
  suspicions cause me. You told me yourself to write only once to Wesel,
  and all my other letters have gone to Antwerp. You ought, however, to
  have received some of them. I know not to whom to attribute this
  carelessness, but you are greatly in the wrong if you believe that I
  have forgotten you. Time will prove my innocence and your injustice. I
  am hurt to the quick, for since your departure my only thought has
  been how best to show you my fidelity. I am grieved that you are
  displeased because I went to Monsieur Colt’s _fête_, but I could not
  avoid going, they pressed me so much. The foreigners did not detain me
  at Hanover; they left a few days before I came to Brockhausen; I have
  already told you I did not talk to them. I am incapable of deceiving
  you, even in thought; I love you too passionately. Yet you believe I
  betray you. You will not write to me. You plunge me in despair. How do
  I know? What if some one has held back my letters to make us quarrel?
  I have thousands of evil forebodings and many fears, but you cap them
  all and overwhelm me with grief by believing me guilty. Ought it even
  to enter your mind that I should fail in the love I bear you? I would
  rather fail to myself, for you are a thousand times dearer to me.

  “Unfortunately the floods still detain us here.[126] I am grieved
  because of my letters. We may be here for a week, perhaps.”

-----

Footnote 126:

  “The extraordinary floods have kept the Duke from Celle.”—Colt’s
  _Despatches_, July 4, 1692.

-----

                                             “BROCKHAUSEN, _July_ 7.

  “We start to-morrow for Celle, where I hope to find some letters from
  you; I am in sore need of them to deliver me from this anxiety. I have
  not a moment of peace. I am trembling for fear we are betrayed; but
  what I fear most of all is your violent temper, which will not let you
  reflect in the least, nor give a thought without at once believing me
  guilty. This suspense is driving me mad. To-morrow I shall know what
  to expect. If I find nothing I am lost. Good-bye.”




                              CHAPTER XV.

                           DOUBTS AND FEARS.

                    Ah, Love, but a day,
                    And the world has changed!
                    The sun’s away
                    And the bird estranged.
                       BROWNING, _James Lee’s Wife_.


The floods having abated, the court of Celle left Brockhausen and
returned to Celle. The Princess accompanied her parents and continued to
stay with them. She feared at one time she might have to join the
Hanoverian court at Luisburg; but instead she remained at Celle, and
made preparations for a long visit to Wiesbaden with her mother. On
arriving at Celle she writes to Königsmarck:—

                                                   “CELLE, _July_ 9.

  “I was burning with impatience to get here,[127] for I hoped to find
  your letters. Alas! there were none, and I spent a night of tears.
  Again I hoped to receive one this morning. My hope was vain, and for
  the last eight days, ever since you wrote me that cruel letter, I fear
  that we are betrayed. I am trembling on the edge of a precipice, but
  my own danger is the least of my anxieties. I scarcely think of the
  misfortunes, inevitable and unavoidable, which surely await me if
  discovered: you, only, occupy my thoughts. More than death or disgrace
  I fear that you may leave me; if you do, there is no more happiness
  for me. You are all my life, and if I lose you, nothing in the world
  will console me. I shall not have a moment of peace until my fears are
  set at rest.

  “I received a letter from your sister[128] this morning saying that
  you had written her a violent letter about me, and she had a good mind
  to send it on. I wish she had; at least, I should have seen what you
  thought of me. She tells me also that if my parents go to the baths at
  Aix, she will go there with her sister.[129] At present they speak
  only of Ems or Wiesbaden, but it amounts to the same thing. I have
  already asked whether you approve of my going on that journey. Le
  Satyre[130] is here. He tells me that a little while before the
  discreet Prince’s departure, some woman asked His Highness whether he
  did not wish to fight you because you got on so well with me, whereas
  he seemed to be on bad terms with me for a long time past. It is not
  difficult to guess who asked this question![131] I have a continual
  palpitation of the heart, which I attribute to my anxiety the last few
  days. You make me suffer, but I suffer gladly for your dear sake.”

-----

Footnote 127:

  “The Duke, since his return hither ...”—Colt’s _Despatches_, Celle,
  July 11, 1692.

Footnote 128:

  Aurora von Königsmarck.

Footnote 129:

  Countess von Lewenhaupt.

Footnote 130:

  Some Hanoverian courtier.

Footnote 131:

  (?) The Countess Platen.

-----

                                             “CELLE, _July_ 15/25.

  “I shall know my fate to-morrow; I am waiting for it with such anxiety
  that I cannot sleep. I feel sure that if you had received my letters
  you would not have missed two posts without a line, unless indeed you
  take pleasure in bringing me to despair. Everything tends to confirm
  my fears that we are betrayed. If Countess Platen begins to meddle you
  may imagine what there is to dread, but I tremble most at your own
  violence. You say you will enlist in some other service, and I shall
  see you no more. The thing may already be done for aught I know. I am
  terribly depressed; it may be a foreboding of misfortunes to come. All
  I can say is, that if it costs you so little to give me up, you have a
  very feeble love after all. When the heart is deeply touched one does
  not give up the loved one so easily; at least, one takes the trouble
  to examine thoroughly the charges against her. But I cannot expect you
  to have the patience to do that; I know your ways too well. At the
  first hint you will break away altogether: perhaps, later, thoughts
  and reflections will follow; but it will be too late then, and I shall
  have the grief of loving you to adoration, and knowing all the while
  that you have never truly loved me. The thought is so maddening that
  it nearly turns my brain. Farewell. You will be the cause of all my
  misery in the same way as you have been the source of all my
  happiness; but I love you—_Mon Dieu!_ how I love you!”

[Illustration:

  SOPHIE DOROTHEA.
  _From a painting formerly at Ahlden, now at Herrenhausen_.
]

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                          “NEAR DIST, _July_ 5/15.

  “At last I have been so happy as to receive two of your letters, and
  as one is dated Monday, the 13th, and the other the 16th, I don’t
  think there are any missing. But you tell me in one that you spoke in
  the preceding letter of the foreigners at Hanover. I have not seen
  that yet. The last came from Antwerp, on which was all my hope. I
  received them in a packet—two letters, as I notify above; but what
  makes me uneasy is that they have been sealed with a wafer and not
  with your usual seal. I beg you tell me the reason, for it makes me
  most anxious. A funny thing has happened. I wrote to Prince Ernest
  joking about many ladies of our court; I also spoke about Madame la
  Princesse, but in such terms as respect commands. I sent the letters
  to the commissary, to forward to Hanover. A certain adjutant happened
  to see the man carrying the letters, looked at the top of them, and as
  he found one addressed to ‘Monsieur le Prince’ he looked no farther,
  but took the whole bundle to our general,[132] who, without looking at
  the superscription, opened it, but seeing it was written in terms of
  great friendship, he only read, he says, the beginning, and sent it
  back to me, sealed by Lenner, who swore to me that the Prince did not
  read it all through. The harm would not have been very great, except
  that I spoke of La Platen and Schwartzen and La Schulenburg[133] a
  little lightly. Your story about those two made me laugh as much as my
  sadness would allow,[134] but I cannot forget the stay you made at
  Hanover when the foreigners were there. At any other time I should
  have forgiven you, but as it is I know not what to say.

  “The day before yesterday I had a long conversation with my colonel’s
  wife in the Capuchins’ garden, where I was taking a solitary walk. She
  came up with her husband and several officers, and took upon herself
  to chaff me about my beard. Then she went on to say she pitied me
  because I was so unlucky, and another man was more successful. I
  pressed her to tell me whom she thought I loved. She would not tell me
  positively, but she let me know enough to be sure she meant you. I
  urged her to tell me the name of the happy man; I did not want to know
  the name of the lady, only the cavalier, but she refused. I begged of
  her to tell me where she got her information. She said nothing
  definite, but enough to make me guess she got it from Madohr. You
  cannot think what an impression it has made on my mind. I tell you
  frankly that unless you cure me of my new and just suspicions I shall
  never return to you. It will be hard for me; I shall not be able to
  survive it. But it is better to die than to live without being
  loved.... In finishing my letter I took up yours again to look for a
  little comfort. I found some; but as you only give me an account of
  the 13th, and as the Prince went on the 6th,[135] I want to know what
  you were doing the other days. Apparently the foreigners were at
  Hanover, for the Duchess took you to the comedy on the 13th, a sure
  sign that the foreigners were there, otherwise the comedy would not
  have been played. On the 15th the little man[136] went. You kept your
  room, but not on the 16th, 17th, 18th, and 19th. What was the day of
  the _fête_?[137] There were three days you might have kept indoors,
  for the Prince’s departure was a good pretext; but the desire to be
  seen by the foreigners made you forget all your promises. You cared
  nothing about the Prince’s departure nor for mine; both must have been
  very welcome to you.... You tell me in your letter, ‘let us love one
  another for ever’. Did you really think about what you were writing?
  At that very time I believe your mind was full of pleasing Monsieur le
  Rittermeister.[138] No doubt he told you that he had come from the
  wilds of Turkey to admire your beauty, of which he had heard the Turks
  speak when he was a prisoner amongst them. He charmed you, for that
  sort of flattery is sure to please a woman, and you doubtless believed
  he was telling you the truth; but he only came to Hanover to pick up a
  few hundred ducats to set up his ruined equipage again before
  Grossvardein. I tell you that I cannot speak of the man without my
  blood boiling. I may suspect you wrongly, but appearances are against
  you. I have suffered torments for weeks from not having received your
  letters. Your departure from Hanover did not take place when you said;
  I knew from the first that the foreigners were there. You go to the
  comedy, the festival, and the music, notwithstanding that you had a
  good pretext to remain in your rooms; and, above all, I know that you
  talked with that Count. That is the foundation for my suspicions.”

-----

Footnote 132:

  Prince George Louis, commanding the Hanoverian troops.

Footnote 133:

  Ermengarda Melusina von Schulenburg, afterwards Duchess of Kendal,
  mistress of the Prince of Hanover.

Footnote 134:

  This must refer to something in a missing letter.

Footnote 135:

  _I.e._, to Brockhausen after the review, which was held on June 6,
  and, as we have seen, he did not return to Hanover for some days.

Footnote 136:

  “The little man”—the Prince, who set forth for Flanders on the 15th
  (25th).

Footnote 137:

  Colt’s party and the public rejoicings to celebrate the victory of La
  Hogue.

Footnote 138:

  A nickname for one of the “foreigners”.

-----

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                             “CELLE, _July_ 13/23.

  “This morning I have received a letter from you—at last. I cannot
  describe my misery and suspense the last twelve days; now nothing can
  equal my joy. Though you reproach me so bitterly, and though you
  suspect me, it is so easy to justify myself that I am not in the least
  anxious. My anxiety is lost in the fact that you are unchanged; and I
  find charm and tenderness in all you say. I implore you remain in this
  mood, and rest assured that I would rather die a thousand deaths than
  do anything to displease you. I appreciate your sensitive tenderness.
  I can assure you that all the actions of my life will bear witness to
  the love I have for you. I am surprised that you still write about the
  foreigners. I wrote to you every day everything I did—I forgot no
  detail; but you mix up my narrative so much that I must endeavour to
  make clear all the points which puzzle you, and again relate
  everything. The Prince went to Brockhausen after the review. He
  returned to Hanover the Friday following. On Saturday he and the Duke
  paid me a visit according to custom, and the same day the Count who
  vexes you so much put in an appearance. It is true I played in the
  evening, but I only spoke to him at the dinner-table, and that very
  little. The next day was Sunday. After dinner there was music. I
  appeared rather late. I played cards, as usual, and I spoke a few
  words to the Count as he was looking on at the game. On Monday the
  Prince and the Duke went back.[139] The Duke was to have come for the
  comedy, but the Duchess came alone to it, and afterwards she went
  back. I am ready to make any vow you like that I had not the least
  flirtation with the Count, nor had I the wish or thought to talk to
  him. The day he took his leave I was passing through the antechamber
  of the Duchess’s apartments, but I did not pause a moment; I went home
  directly. He went away the next day (Tuesday). On Wednesday I did not
  leave my chamber, as the Prince left. I did not appear either on
  Thursday or Friday. I saw no one for four days except my women. On the
  Saturday, when the Prince and the Duke came, I had to show myself; and
  on Sunday was the festival of which I have told you so much already
  that I have no more to say. On Monday I took leave of the Duchess. On
  Tuesday I went home.[140] I am glad my memory is better than yours,
  for, were it to fail, you are just the man to pick a quarrel about
  nothing. I should have a rough time of it; but carping as you are, I
  defy you to find fault with my conduct, for it is irreproachable, and
  my love passes words. You must surely see from all I have just told
  you that it was not for the Count’s _beaux yeux_ I lingered [at
  Hanover]. I am ashamed to be compelled to justify myself concerning
  him. Neither he nor any man in the world could make me take any step
  displeasing to you. I know, alas! your sensitiveness on these matters.
  Your suspicions and accusations of coquetry drive me to despair. I
  have renounced such arts for ever, and in giving myself to you, I
  think only how best to please you: all my wishes are bounded there.

  “It is hard to excuse you for your injustice, except on the ground of
  the silly things your colonel’s wife told you. Have I made any
  impression on your mind? You remember, I told you a thousand times
  that my enemies would spare no effort to part us, and begged you
  urgently not to listen to their tales. However, ask the woman to give
  you the name of the cavalier, so that I may see how far her audacity
  goes. Were I at Hanover people might tell me the same things about
  you, but I should not so readily believe them, for I trust you, and
  your promises. Believe me, my heart is safe in your keeping. When you
  think of your merits and of my love you ought to have no uneasiness; I
  belong so truly to you that death alone can part us. The last twelve
  days I have known, alas! the extent of my tenderness too well to
  believe any one ever loved so strongly as I love you. I had no doubt
  that I was betrayed, and the Countess Platen had meddled; but though I
  was in danger of being lost for ever, I vow I never even thought about
  it, for you alone made me anxious. I feared to lose you; I trembled
  lest on the impulse of the moment you would enlist in the service of
  the Elector of Bavaria, and I should see you no more! But I am far
  different to-day: my joy is now so great that I cannot hide it. Why am
  I so far from you? What joy to be with you, to prove by my caresses
  how I love and worship you. In God’s name, believe me, and put away
  anything which might make you doubt. Above all, do not heed the silly
  tales you may hear. We have any number of people to fear; therefore
  let us be on our guard. Be unto me as I am to you. If you remember,
  you once said you would give up war and live for me alone, but I fear
  you have already forgotten it. If my blood were wanted to ransom you
  from danger I would give it gladly, for I cannot exist without seeing
  you. I lead a lingering life. I have not really _lived_ a moment since
  you left; only your dear letters give me a gleam of gladness. I think
  of all the joys we had together, and then on my weariness and
  loneliness to-day. What a difference! When will that delightful time
  return?

  “The siege of Namur[141] makes me tremble. Take care of yourself, and
  remember that my life is linked with yours. Ah! my dear one, why am I
  not with you in the battle? I would gladly die by your side. Once
  more, good-bye. My love is inexhaustible; I belong to you a thousand
  times more than to myself.

  “I got into bed when I had finished this and was reading your dear
  letters. I thought myself safe because I had given out that I was
  asleep; but to my surprise my mother came to wish me good-night a
  second time. All La Confidente could do was to hide the letters under
  the quilt. I scarcely dared move for fear the paper might rustle; but
  at last my mother went away, to my great relief, for I was terribly
  afraid. I dislike all these surprises, but it is impossible to avoid
  them.”

-----

Footnote 139:

  Perhaps to Herrenhausen.

Footnote 140:

  _I.e._, went to her parents at Brockhausen. It is noteworthy that
  Hanover is not “home” to her.

Footnote 141:

  Namur was besieged throughout the first weeks of June. The citadel
  fell about June 21.

-----

                                             “CELLE, _July_ 18/28.

  “I cannot employ my time better than in writing to you; it gives me
  such delight that I could spend whole days at it, though nothing
  happens here except the same smooth, uneventful round. But my love is
  inexhaustible, and of itself would give me enough to entertain you;
  though to tell you the truth I am sad at having received no news of
  you. I fear you have found some more agreeable occupation than
  thinking of me. I do all I can to drive away such thoughts, but I love
  you too fervently to be easy, and you are altogether too fascinating
  for women to leave you alone. They will do their best to estrange you
  from me. Resist their allurements, I implore you, and come back to me
  as tender as when we parted. The memory of all that has taken place
  between us forms my only joy now; indeed, I wish for no other while
  you are absent.

  “They say the Electress of Brandenburg is at Luisburg.[142] If so I
  shall be unable to avoid going there. I am much vexed about it, for I
  shall have to be always with her, when my only pleasure is to be
  alone, thinking of you. I am dying to see you with your beard. I would
  give my blood to be two hours with you. But, dear God! I must not
  think of it; that is what distresses me. Never leave me again, but let
  us look forward to that happy future when we shall be parted no more.
  I would rather brave everything than live without you. Oh, my love, my
  love! all the misfortunes of the world, all the blame, all the shame,
  are not half so dreadful to contemplate as separation from you!”

-----

Footnote 142:

  “Moltke was executed on Monday, and the court has gone to Luisburg to
  be out of the way.”—Colt’s _Despatches_, Hanover, July 18, 1692. The
  Electress changed her mind.

-----

                                             “CELLE, _July_ 20/30.

  “I do not know what construction to put upon your silence; I cannot
  imagine the reason. To-day I have received another letter from the
  Prince: I am piqued to notice that he is more regular in writing than
  you. What has become of your eagerness? Does the Brussels air inspire
  you with coldness? Has a new passion entirely effaced me from your
  memory? I cannot reassure myself. You have no good excuse for your
  neglect, for while you are with the army you can write at any moment,
  but you do not. Had you not received any of my letters, and had I not
  received any of yours, I might think that knavish tricks are being
  played; but as that is not so, I cannot delude myself any longer. I
  have written to you so regularly that you must surely see my only
  pleasure lies in assuring you of my love and fidelity. You reply so
  irregularly that I fear I weary you; pray don’t force yourself to
  write to me unless you can do so with a good heart. No doubt you have
  pleasanter occupations, and I would not be so unkind as to take you
  away from them. I wish your inclination to govern all your actions,
  but I cannot suit myself to everything you do for the mere sake of
  decorum. I confess I am piqued, very much so, at your indifference. I
  try to excuse you as much as possible, but I cannot find any solution
  of the riddle. I have never been wounded so sensibly before. But,
  believe me, however much I have reason to be dissatisfied, however
  much I may become indifferent to you, I will not fail in anything I
  have promised. Pray let me know if you consent to my going to
  Wiesbaden. The journey is almost decided. My mother wishes it
  extremely, and she is writing to-morrow to the Prince to ask his
  permission for me to go. I entreat you, write as soon as you possibly
  can. What you wish shall be done. Farewell.

  “I wanted to finish thus, but I have not the strength. I take up my
  pen again to beg you to come back to me. Without you I cannot live; I
  will expose myself to everything rather than lose you. See how low you
  bring me! I am forced to believe you guilty, however much I wish to
  think you innocent. Yet I write thus.”

                                     “CELLE, _July_ 25/_August_ 4.

  “This is the third post and still no letter! Surely so tender a lover
  as you always seemed to be cannot have wholly forgotten me—or are we
  betrayed? It positively must be one thing or the other. The suspense
  is so acute that I have not a moment’s peace. But my great fear is
  that you have changed. I think of nothing else, nor of all that may
  happen to me. Is it possible that you have forgotten your vows of
  eternal fidelity? I strive to drive away my sad thoughts, but I am in
  such abject melancholy that I fear it is a foreboding of misfortune.
  If you love me no longer I shall never be comforted. But what is the
  use of telling you that? You know it, and perhaps the knowledge has
  not prevented you from becoming unfaithful. Why do you force me by
  your silence to believe the worst? I have not deserved this coldness,
  for none ever loved so tenderly before. If I receive no letter from
  you by the next post I shall no longer be able to doubt. What pleasure
  can you find in grieving me thus? What have I done to be treated in
  this way? Is it because I love you to madness and am faithful to you
  with a faithfulness that nothing will ever equal? I have not the
  strength to say more, for I am writing perchance to an ungrateful
  being, and the thought is death. Farewell. If no letters come by the
  first post I shall risk sending a note by Lenner, for if there should
  be treachery I fear that you have received none of mine. I send you
  this by the postmaster here.”

                 _Fräulein von Knesebeck to Königsmarck._

  “_Mon Dieu!_ what does it mean? Why do the letters miscarry so? I
  would give much to know the reason. Her Highness fears that you have
  become unfaithful, and though I keep telling her the contrary, she
  does not believe me. All my fear runs on treachery. It must be the
  fault of your servants; you would do well to write and ask them the
  reason. It appears they forward you all your letters. If the others
  fare as badly as these it will comfort me, but if you receive them
  more regularly what can it mean? Why should these letters be so long
  on the road? Beware, sir. Do not neglect to find out, for the more I
  think of it the more anxious I become. I think you wrote in one of
  your letters that you were uneasy about the seal which I put inside
  the letter, and I wrote afterwards that I sealed it with that. All
  this makes me fear that the letters have been opened, and that they
  have taken away something. You have also written to Her Highness
  asking what she did after His Highness left. She told you everything,
  day by day; it cannot have been taken out of the letters. In truth, I
  know not what to think. I am half inclined to go and see about it
  myself, and end this anxiety. In the last letter, I wrote to you to
  send me an answer direct here; I do hope you addressed the letter to
  me in my own name. If you have not done so let me know, so that I may
  see to it.

                                                        “L. S.”[143]

-----

Footnote 143:

  _La Sentinelle_—one of the pseudonyms of the Fräulein von Knesebeck.

-----

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                           “WAVER, _August_ 14/24.

  “At last I have reached the pinnacle of bliss. I received five of your
  letters at once, but I see by the last that two are still missing.
  That distresses me, for I do not know how to recover them, and I would
  not like to lose any of your dear letters, they comfort me too much.
  You cannot imagine what joy it gives me to find you are innocent. I
  humbly beg your pardon for having unjustly suspected you. I am greatly
  grieved about it, and I hope you will not be disgusted with me
  altogether, for it is because I love you so much that these fancies
  come to me. Do not punish me as I deserve; I have been punished enough
  already by the anguish these wicked suspicions have caused me. I
  promise you to have no more of them. What can I do to show you my
  gratitude for the quiet life you are leading? If my eternal love
  suffices, it is yours; if you desire a life _sans peur et sans
  reproche_, it is yours also. Night and day, day and night, I only
  think of how to please you. My love for you passes passion; I will be
  faithful unto death. What! I suspected you of inconstancy. Ah! base am
  I! You have shed tears for love of me. Oh! dear heart, do not pain
  those lovely eyes; I am not worthy. What distresses me most is to find
  that you are more reasonable than I, for you tell me you have not
  received my letters, and you attribute this to the neglect of my
  servants at Hanover. You are right, for this is the eighth I have
  written to you, though I had not received any from you. I was inclined
  at first to think it was your fault, without considering that a
  hundred accidents might have hindered. This is my defect—my weakness;
  but, dearest, remember it springs from loving you so much. I am very
  glad you are going to Wiesbaden. I am so satisfied with your conduct
  that you might go to Paris without causing me any anxiety. I am glad
  you are on such good terms with your parents; this time you should
  take advantage of it, for there are moments we can never recover.... I
  am delighted to hear that you find Prince Max sillier than ever; I
  hope he will never again salute you. The portrait I have with me is
  dearly cherished; you need not fear any one seeing it, for I guard it
  so carefully that I defy the cleverest man in the world to guess where
  it is. My pretty heart, you say in one of your letters that perhaps at
  this very moment I am dividing my heart with others. Yet see how I am
  all yours! We have been for six days only four leagues from Brussels
  without my having thought of setting my foot therein. Yesterday there
  was a great feast in Brussels called the ‘Feast of the Miracle,’ and
  Monseigneur l’Electeur[144] and all the great ones and generals of the
  army went in post-chaises to celebrate it; many fair ladies were
  there, too. I knew of it soon enough to have gone; but I swear, my
  dearest, I never thought of going. My soldiers went, and they could
  not praise it enough, particularly the fair sex. I would not go to
  Brussels at all if I were not obliged to have a certain bracelet made
  for me, of which you know, and a copy in miniature of a portrait I
  shall wear for ever next my heart. My Lord Portland[145] showed me
  much friendliness, and assured me that the King held me in esteem. All
  that does not make we wish to better my fortune. No, Beloved, so long
  as I can count you mine, I wish nothing more; all the favours of kings
  are useless to me. The King’s interview with our Prince was very dull,
  for both are men of few words. Yesterday the Prince went to see His
  Majesty in his camp. I did not go in his suite; but to-morrow I attend
  him to the Elector’s, and I will give you an account of that. Prince
  Frederick Augustus of Saxony is the dupe of all; he is cheated in his
  horses, and money is won from him at cards; he has already lost one
  thousand pistoles. He has no one to advise him, and is being ruined. I
  heard to day that Prince Christian is to marry the widow of the Duke
  d’Arenburg.”

-----

Footnote 144:

  Probably the Elector of Bavaria.

Footnote 145:

  Hans William Bentinck, first Earl of Portland and ancestor of the
  present Duke, accompanied William of Orange to England as confidential
  adviser, who created him Earl of Portland in 1689. He was in command
  of a regiment of Dutch Guards at the battle of the Boyne, and probably
  held the same commission in Flanders. Colt mentions in his despatches
  that Lord Portland was with King William at Brussels and during the
  campaign.

-----

                                                   “[_On the 16th._]

  “What joy, what rapture, what delight to be loved by you! I have just
  received two more of your letters. No, my divinity, I will not exact
  any oaths from you; I know you well, and will trust you and believe
  everything you tell me. Your devotion shows me that I am the happiest
  man in the world. I feel so happy; my only sorrow is that we are
  separated. The days seem weeks to me, the weeks like months, and the
  months centuries; and when I think that I have still two months of
  campaigning to go through before I see you, I despair, and pray a
  thousand times a day that I may be wounded in the fight, and so have a
  pretext for returning to Hanover—and to you. I am so despondent that I
  am wasting away; and what grieves me most is the thought that when you
  see me again you will find me as ugly as sin. The Elector told me so
  only to-day, and all my friends find me so pale and careworn they
  scarcely recognise me. Every day they ask me if I am ill; but my
  complaint only comes from loving you. Cruel little one! You think I am
  so hasty that I would commit some folly on the strength of a mere
  suspicion; but, dearest, when a man loves as I love, he can never
  abandon the woman he adores. I loved you through it all, so think no
  more about it.”

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                     “CELLE, _July_ 28/_August_ 7.

  “I, too, ask your pardon for all my unjust suspicions; I would not for
  worlds have been in the right. I am at a loss for words to express my
  joy at finding you still so tender; but, indeed, there is a little
  laziness in you, and it is very good of me to forgive you so easily
  for the three posts you let pass without writing. Tell me what
  hindered you; I should like to know. Find me a good excuse, for,
  really, your neglect rankles in my heart. I am greatly vexed that two
  of my letters are lost, for if they reflect at all what I am thinking,
  it will not be difficult to guess that they are written by me. You do
  not understand what I meant to say about the portrait. I did not mean
  to speak of mine, for I am sure you will have greater care for all
  that concerns me than I have myself. It was about yours I was uneasy.
  You say you are going to have a copy made of it; for whom do you
  intend that copy? I thank you for giving me leave to go to Wiesbaden;
  you can do so without any risk, for I so belong to you that you have
  nothing to fear. All the same, without your consent I would have died
  rather than have gone, for my only desire is to please you. The Duke
  and Duchess [of Hanover] have written to me the kindest, most
  affectionate, and politest of letters concerning the journey. I do not
  know if I shall be able to receive your letters as quickly as if I
  were remaining here; I hope so, for they are my only joy and
  comfort—the least delay grieves me greatly.

  “It was so thoughtful of you not to go to Brussels. However, do not
  restrain yourself; I have no wish to be _exigeante_ so long as you
  cherish me in your memory. I am too happy, too pleased; but keep your
  heart whole for me, and do not allow any one to divide it. I am
  delighted that you are, for once in your life, satisfied with me; were
  you reasonable you would always be so, for all I do goes to prove my
  love and devotion. I do not know what you are doing, perhaps very
  often thinking of me. I dream of you often, and with infinite
  pleasure, thinking I am with you; then I awake and am inconsolable to
  find it was only a dream. I cannot delude myself into thinking the
  vision may soon become a reality, for the Prince writes to me that
  they are going to raise the siege of Namur. What terrors that news has
  for me! _Grand Dieu!_ I think of you exposed to danger. How can I keep
  calm when all that I love, all the delight of my life, is in deadly
  peril? I offer endless prayers for you, keeping a good heart while
  saying them, trying to believe they will be granted. Farewell.”




                              CHAPTER XVI.

                        THE BATTLE OF STEINKIRK.

         I have loved you; yea, when I rode in war
         Your face went floated in among men’s helms,
         Your voice went through the shriek of slipping swords.
                                  SWINBURNE, _Chastelard_.


“I offer endless prayers for you,” writes the Princess to her lover. He
had need of them, for even while the ink was wet Königsmarck was
fighting in one of the fiercest battles of the century. The battle of
Steinkirk took place on August 3, 1692. William surprised Luxemburg, and
began the attack early in the morning while it was yet dark, and at
first it seemed that he would succeed. The French general was off his
guard, but with consummate skill he checked the advance of the Allies
and called up reinforcements. All day long the battle raged without
either side gaining advantage; the fight was so close and desperate that
the muzzles of the muskets crossed. In the forefront of the battle were
the British troops, commanded by Count Solmes, an incapable Dutch
general. Though faced by overwhelming numbers, they would not yield an
inch, and five fine British regiments were cut to pieces. Mackay’s
division of Highlanders was simply mown down with sword and bayonet. No
wonder that afterwards there arose a great cry in England that English
soldiers should henceforth be commanded by English generals. Had it not
been for La Hogue, Steinkirk would have cost William of Orange his
English crown.

At last, night drawing on, the army of the Allies retired towards
Lambeque, leaving the French in possession of the field. The French lost
seven thousand men killed and wounded, the Allies not many more; but the
victory was with France. The French rejoicing at this barren victory was
only equalled by the disgust of the Allies at their defeat. In the camp
at Lambeque all was disunion and discontent; the sudden withdrawal of
Prince Frederick Augustus of Saxony (though Königsmarck puts it down to
gambling debts) was due as much to political as personal reasons. The
Hanoverian contingent was held in reserve as a possible reinforcement,
and took no part in the battle, a forced inaction which must have been
very galling to their general, Prince George Louis. Königsmarck obtained
leave to go to the fight as a volunteer, and attached himself to the
Prince of Würtemburg, “following him everywhere in the battle”. The
troops sent by the Duke of Celle were in the thick of the fray and
suffered great loss.

The disastrous news reached Celle within two days. The little court was
plunged into mourning, and the Princess was in agonies of grief and
anxiety lest Königsmarck should be numbered among the slain. In the
general lamentation her emotion passed unnoticed, or was put down to
natural uneasiness about her husband. Colt, who was then at Celle,
writes: “The disappointment is great here, when by the news they had
received last post they were almost confident of a victory, or at least
some considerable advantage; but now, by the relation they have had by a
courier, they are told that their troops have suffered very much, and
many of their officers killed and wounded. Many persons are in great
trouble at the loss of their friends.”[146]

-----

Footnote 146:

  Colt’s _Despatches_, Celle, August, 1692.

-----

The Princess soon received tidings of her lover’s safety, and with a
good heart proceeded to complete her arrangements for the trip to
Wiesbaden with her mother. They were interrupted by the unwelcome news
that the Electress of Brandenburg was coming to pay the Duke and Duchess
of Hanover a visit at Luisburg, and Sophie Dorothea feared that she
would have to go there to assist in the festivities. “I dread that more
than death,” she writes, thus showing how great was her unhappiness at
the Hanoverian court. But her fears were groundless.

Königsmarck’s letters continue to be written from the camp at different
places, and are alternately full of passionate love and violent
reproaches. They are more varied than those of the Princess (which are,
indeed, so full of her love as to leave room for little beside), and
give us curious glimpses of contemporary manners. Königsmarck was in
high favour with King William, the Elector of Bavaria, and many of the
princes and generals of the campaign. Undoubtedly his prospects were
brilliant if he had cared to profit by them; but, like the Princess, he
was ready to sacrifice everything to his passion. The period covered by
this brief introduction is August and September, and the correspondence
opens with the reception of the news of the battle of Steinkirk at
Celle.

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                   “[CELLE,] _July_ 29/_August_ 8.

  “I learned on my awakening that a fearful battle had taken place and
  you were in it. Imagine my agitation. It was noticed by every one, for
  I could not hide my feelings. I am in inconceivable anxiety. I cannot
  sleep, and shall not until I know you are out of danger. My plight is
  pitiful: it seems to me that every gun is pointed at you; you must be
  running terrible risks. _Grand Dieu!_ if any hurt were to happen to
  you, what would become of me? I could not conceal my grief nor be
  mistress of my emotion; I should start at once for the camp, hasten to
  give you all necessary care and attention, and never leave you more.
  My sufferings are intense. I know you have been going through great
  danger, but know not how you fare. I shudder, tremble, and am
  overwhelmed with woe. Do not expose me to such fears in the
  future—leave me no more. If it be true that you love me, spend the
  rest of your life with me; let us build up a happiness in each other
  which none can shatter. I have not the heart to write more; I am so
  beside myself that I hardly know what I am writing. You have caused me
  many tears since you went away; I fear me they will only cease to flow
  when you come back, for you will be exposed to danger all through the
  campaign. I hate King William, who is the cause of it all; he breaks
  my heart by thus risking all I have in the world. Good-bye. Take care
  of yourself. Remember my life is fused with yours; I would not live a
  moment were you to die.”

[Illustration:

  FACSIMILE OF ONE OF THE PRINCESS’S LETTERS TO KÖNIGSMARCK.
  _Photographed from the original manuscript in the University Library
    at Lund._
  This letter is probably written at the Princess’s dictation by
    Knesebeck.
]

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                         “FROM THE CAMP NEAR WAVERN.

  “Here I am again. I have escaped once more. Our troops did not come in
  for any fighting, but I did for I volunteered, and was in the most
  terrible fire. The Prince of Würtemburg will bear me witness that I
  followed him everywhere in the battle; but as I was only a volunteer I
  could not distinguish myself, and that grieves me, for I ran just the
  same risk as if I had been ordered to the front. The Duke of Celle has
  lost a great many men.[147] I will not tell you any more about the
  battle, for you will know enough from other sources. But, dearest, I
  will tell you that I received, while marching, your letter of the
  18th, and after reading it, I put it next my heart and kept it there
  until I was out of the fight, and I believe it was your dear letter
  that saved my life. I am grateful indeed for the talisman, and adore
  you more than ever, since you have rendered me such a service. Until
  now, dear one, they have not sought to tempt me from you, nor have I
  even seen a woman; if I had she would have made no impression upon me.

  “I must tell you of the precautions I took about your letters on the
  eve of the battle. I sealed them all, with the portrait, in a packet,
  and gave them to Daniell, an officer of my regiment, with strict
  orders to burn them at once if I were killed. But joy! I can still
  read them, and my eyes will have the pleasure of looking into yours.

  “I have heard from Prince Ernest that the Electress [of Brandenburg]
  is going to Luisburg, and therefore I imagine you will go also; but
  pray keep to your strict rule of conduct, for you will be sure to find
  there some of your old admirers, who will try to win your good graces.
  The Electress will notice it, and to annoy us both she will try to
  entangle you in a flirtation with Le Barbouilleur;[148] but you have
  been so good that I am sure you will continue in the same path.”

-----

Footnote 147:

  “This Duke here is really very much troubled for the loss of his
  troops in the late action.”—Colt’s _Despatch_, Celle, August 5, 1692.

Footnote 148:

  _Le Barbouilleur_, the scribbler, the spoiler of paper. He must have
  been some one holding high office at the court of Hanover.

-----

                                    “AT THE CAMP OF HALLE [undated].

  “I have only now received your twelfth letter; it was given me with
  three others. You cannot fairly accuse me of being negligent, and it
  grieves me that you should imagine the ladies of Brussels might hinder
  me from paying you due attention. Here are more grievances; but I
  forgive you, for of course you were unaware that I had not set foot
  there, and were it not for the bracelet, I assure you I should not
  think of going at all. Play prevented me from writing the day before
  yesterday; and there I am in fault rather, the more so as yesterday I
  could not write because of the enemy giving an alarm; otherwise, my
  dear one, I should never have missed writing. Your letters were a
  great comfort to me; they came very _à propos_, for I got them when I
  came back from the King’s tent, where I had lost a thousand pistoles,
  and, as that is a considerable sum, it was vexing me not a little, but
  your dear letters made me forget my trouble. Still I found in one of
  them something which tells me that if I were the man to break my vows
  you would easily be consoled. You are certainly very complaisant when
  you say: ‘I fear that I weary you. Pray don’t force yourself to write
  to me unless you can do so with a good heart. No doubt you have
  pleasanter occupations, and I would not be so unkind as to take you
  away from them.’ If I were such a traitor as to change you ought to be
  grieved, and not beg me to divert myself, and not to restrain myself.
  But surely you did not mean it. It was anger that made you write thus.
  It is strange that you should not have received any of my letters.
  This is the fifth I have written to you from this camp, and I have not
  missed a post except the two before mentioned. I would scold you much
  were I not in the same plight as yourself; yet _I_ have never prayed
  you to write to me no more. That shocks me much in your letter, and
  twenty times at least I have thrown down my pen as I thought of the
  wrong you do me. But I cannot better pass my time than in writing to
  you, though it be always in a strain of complaint. I have received a
  letter to-day from my agent at Antwerp, but without enclosing any from
  you; that adds to my sadness, for my only comfort is in reading your
  letters. I have little enough of it, for the whole of your letters I
  have received since I left Hanover could be read in half an hour. I
  often find comfort in sitting before your portrait, and if it could
  speak to you on my return it would tell of the passion with which I
  gaze on it for hours together, how often it brings tears to my eyes,
  how often I sigh, ‘Ah! _mon Dieu!_’ and, ‘Oh! what joy for me to die!’
  I swear, my charming pet, that all the day long I speak to no one; I
  only think of you, and often in the night your vision rises before my
  eyes.... If you remain true to me you will no doubt make me turn into
  a sober citizen of Hanover, for, after all, one only seeks to be
  happy, and how could I be happier than in possessing you wholly and
  solely. There is a rumour here that we shall attack Mons; if that be
  so, keep the ‘Festa’. If you are true to me, pray for me, besiege
  Heaven with prayers and vows; but if you are not true, then do not
  pray for me, for I would rather find my grave there—though, however
  untrue you might be, I would give much to see you again.

  “In a previous letter I told you that there were very few
  distinguished-looking men in the train of the King or the Elector; but
  if I had seen the Duke of Richmond,[149] son of the Duchess of
  Portsmouth, sooner, I should not have said so, for he is the most
  charming youth. He unites to perfect manners an air of great
  distinction; he is well made, and has a handsome face and fine eyes. I
  only hope he may not become my rival; he is such a good-looking boy
  that if I were not sure of your constancy my chances would be very
  poor.

  “You ask if any woman has tempted me to forget you. I vow that since I
  left Hanover I have not gone astray. My health is poor, but before I
  see you again I hope to be in such perfect condition that you may
  command me as you will. I go on my knees before your portrait and
  exclaim, ‘I pray your pardon for my wicked suspicions. I see that I
  greatly wronged you, and am waiting for my sentence; it could not be
  hard enough for me to deserve.’

  “The Prince allowed me to leave my regiment and go to the battle, with
  an order to come back soon; but as I was in the thick of it I did not
  return in a hurry. When all was over he said to me, ‘You were away a
  very long time,’ but he said it very nicely. I went to dine with him
  yesterday, and found him as usual.”

-----

Footnote 149:

  Charles Lennox, illegitimate son of King Charles II. by Louise de
  Querouaille, Duchess of Portsmouth, was created Duke of Richmond in
  1675, and is ancestor of the present Duke. He was born in 1672, and
  would therefore be in his twenty-first year at this time.

-----

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                          “[CELLE,] _August_ 4/14.

  “What joy to know that you are out of danger! One must love as I love
  to feel as I feel. I passed two days and nights in mortal anguish; no
  one ever suffered so much. And now two of your letters come at the
  same time. I am overjoyed with them, for you assure me that you are
  pleased with me and I need fear nothing on the score of your
  constancy. But I love you so dearly that I needs must scold you for
  having exposed yourself to unnecessary danger. What have I done that
  you should treat me so lightly? Ought you not guard yourself for me? I
  should be grieved were you to risk your honour, but I cannot forgive
  you for doing rash things like a foolish boy; I entreat and implore
  you do not commit any more of such follies. What would become of me
  were I to lose you? Do you never think that my life is bound up with
  yours, and I would not live a moment if you were to be killed? I hope
  the campaign will soon end, for if they are going to attempt anything
  fresh I shall die of terror lest some hurt befall you. I don’t know
  what the Elector [of Bavaria] could have been about with his eyes to
  have thought you ‘as ugly as sin’. Had he seen you with mine he would
  have found you the most charming and the handsomest of men. No one can
  dispute the palm with you, and however many wonderful things you may
  tell me about the Duke of Richmond, I am sure he must pale in
  comparison with you. You would have no reason to fear him were he to
  ‘become your rival,’ for he would only pave the way for your triumph.
  Neither he nor any man in the world could please me after you. I could
  pay you any number of compliments of this sort, but I fear to offend
  your modesty, so I will stop.

  “The Electress of Brandenburg will not come for some time, and I shall
  be gone before she arrives. Our escort on the journey are not
  dangerous. You may rest easy: they are only my mother’s two pages and
  Verfuy. When we meet you will find me more faithful and loving than
  ever; be the same, I implore you. Let me thank you for taking such
  precautions concerning my letters and portrait; but they were
  unnecessary, for had you fallen, my grief would have discovered
  everything. I should not have had the strength to restrain myself;
  and, indeed, it would have been immaterial to me whether I was lost or
  not, for without you life would be intolerable, and imprisonment
  within four walls pleasanter than to go on living in the world.[150]
  Thank God, I am now free from such sad thoughts, and I make many
  prayers not to come again to such straits.

  “All the court to-night complimented me on my cheerfulness. The fools
  thought the Prince was the cause of it; but, to tell the truth, I have
  not once thought about him. I cannot tell you the delight I feel
  because, at last, you are pleased with me. Let it be so always; and
  the more you know me the more you will love me. The love I bear you
  will last till death, and all the powers of the universe will never
  part us. If you could peep into my heart at this moment and behold the
  confusion you cause there, you would be satisfied. You are
  fascinating, loving, faithful—what can woman wish for more? My
  happiness is beyond compare, and I have only one wish left in the
  world—to see you soon. Would you were with me at this very moment!
  When once I hold you again I will never let you go. Good-night. It is
  late. I am fain to end, though I have so many more things to say that
  my words will never tarry. Be all mine, I implore you. As for me, I
  live only for you. I am grieved that you are not in good health. I
  thank you for the care you take of yourself, and, though I am
  surprised at it, I am grateful, as I ought to be. Good-bye.

  “I _cannot_ end. I take so much delight in writing to you that I could
  spend the whole night at it. La Confidente is going to sleep; I must
  send her to bed. Love me as I love you. I am too happy for words.”

-----

Footnote 150:

  In view of subsequent events this is almost prophetic.

-----

                                          “[CELLE,] _August_ 5/15.

  “My mother, who has just left me, tells me it is quite true there will
  be another battle. If I had not been in bed she would have noticed the
  shock her news gave me; I have not got over it yet. Again I am in
  mortal terror, and can only write of my sorrow to-day. It is agonising
  to think of your being perpetually exposed to danger. Am I destined to
  sorrow all my life? Shall I never be able to taste quietly the joys of
  loving and being loved? I long for news of you on the morrow. I shall
  spend a sleepless night.

  “My father and mother have just interrupted me. I was writing this
  letter, and it was all I could do to hide it; it would have astonished
  them if they had seen it. They are very considerate and kind, but are
  always preaching to me to behave properly to the Prince. My father
  will not hear any jokes or ridicule at his expense, and therefore I do
  not speak to him as much as I should otherwise do. If you only knew
  how weary I am, you would never have the cruelty to leave me again.
  But I must not think of this; I must make up my mind to divide your
  heart with your love of glory. You have all mine. There is no room in
  it for any one or anything—the desire to please you fills it entirely.
  I love you far more than you love me. Farewell. It is my desire to
  become an example of the tenderest love, the most perfect constancy,
  that ever existed since the world began.

  “_L’Envoi._—I have just received your letter. I deserve to be scolded,
  it is true; but how can I guard my words when I fear losing you, when
  I love you to madness? I would rather die over and over again than
  cease to be loved by you. You are right in thinking it was anger made
  me write the words that wounded you: I cannot be reasonable when I
  love so passionately. I will write to you fully to-morrow. I have no
  time to say more now, as my father is coming to take me to a
  ‘bull-bait,’[151] the same as they have in England. It is not
  necessary for me to assure you again that I shall never change. If
  there be any vows left I would sign them with my heart’s blood.”

-----

Footnote 151:

  Bull-baiting was a popular pastime in England during the sixteenth and
  seventeenth centuries, patronised by royalty and persons of rank.
  Queen Elizabeth gave one in honour of the French ambassadors in 1559,
  and the Queen and the ambassadors greatly enjoyed “the sport”. This
  barbarous pastime was also practised as late as the reign of Queen
  Anne, and was very popular, too, in market towns and rural villages.
  But these bull-baitings drew such a mob of low and dissipated persons
  together that they were at last abolished in the interests of the
  public peace.

-----

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                                   “HALLE, _August_.

  “I again asked your pardon for all I wrote in haste. I missed the post
  _twice_ (not _three_ times, as you say) for good and sufficient
  reasons. Still, I ought to have left all to acquit myself of my duty
  to you. My dear, I own my fault, so I hope you will forgive me; I will
  not neglect writing another time.... You make fun of me when you say
  that I took away a copy of my likeness. I swear that I never did such
  a thing. I went yesterday to Brussels to have the bracelet and the
  portrait made, but for nothing else. Prince Christian and several
  other of my friends wanted me to go to the Assembly. I refused, and
  went for a walk. I saw La Reingrave, La Delvassine,[152] and other
  ladies, but they were so dull and unattractive that I mounted my horse
  and rode back to the camp. Indeed, my dearest, I find those ladies
  hideous now, though they pass for the handsomest in Brussels. What are
  they compared to you? Two years ago I thought them passable, but now I
  am astonished at my bad taste. They are as pale-faced and sickly as if
  they had had the fever; pallor is very fashionable in Brussels.

  “How sweet is that part of your letter in which you say that if an
  accident had befallen me you would have hastened to my side and have
  never left me more! Why wasn’t I riddled with bullets? Why couldn’t
  those cowardly Frenchmen catch me? We are going to undertake something
  again soon, and then I will face the fire, and with intrepid courage
  brave the enemy. I will seek the most perilous places, and if I get
  wounded I shall hope to see you, hold you in my arms, and tell you how
  dearly I love you.

  “I hear that your father is going to Luisburg; if so, you will
  probably be one of the party. Pray tell me your plans, for I know not
  where to write, nor when to see you. They say our troops will be
  quartered at Louvain or Dist; in that case I shall be nearer you. If
  your mother were still away at Wiesbaden, I might hope to see you
  without its being known; but what I fear most is that the court of
  Celle will be at Epsdorff. In that event I shall lose patience, for
  you will be there a long time, and what shall I do at Hanover without
  you? I must tell you an ugly story about the Duke of Richmond; he was
  giving a party to Duke Frederick of Saxony and some women.[153]... I
  have altered my good opinion of him. Duke Frederick has promised me to
  come to the next carnival at Hanover, and you can easily guess why I
  press him. Is it to make me happy or unhappy? I say no more. Monsieur
  Kielmansegge is very anxious to go back to Hanover, and if His
  Highness asks it of the Duke they will allow him. I give you this
  piece of news as I am sure it will please you.... The Electress of
  Brandenburg is sending me compliments through Prince Ernest. I don’t
  know what she means; perhaps she wishes to become your rival. How we
  should laugh at her! Farewell, dear heart.”

-----

Footnote 152:

  Two beauties of Brussels.

Footnote 153:

  This anecdote is unfit for publication.

-----

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                          “[CELLE,] _August_ 6/16.

  “_I_ could not have carelessly allowed _three_ posts to go by without
  sending any news to you, and when one loves to madness it is hard to
  be calm. I crave your pardon for all I wrote that has displeased you;
  you are right to attribute it to anger. Had you forgotten me, whatever
  I may have said, I could not have borne it quietly, for I claim you as
  _all_ mine. I would stand up for you against the world. Pardon me,
  then; for what I wrote only came from excess of love.

  “I am not astonished at Duke Frederick’s indiscretion; it is so common
  to all men that I think you are the only one exempt from it. I should
  like to know whether you are not a little angry about La Marionette’s
  complacency; it takes a good deal off the price of the favours she
  granted you. I felt a malicious joy with regard to that adventure. Put
  it against my account. I should much like to know what she says about
  Ferdi.[154] The Prince has answered my mother about my going with her
  to Wiesbaden; he leaves everything to the Duke, and says neither yea
  nor nay. He tells me the same thing, so we shall start in two days
  from now. I have already told you the Duke is quite agreeable. My
  father stays here,[155] and Max is going to visit the Electress of
  Brandenburg; she will not come just yet. Since you don’t wish me to go
  anywhere except to Wiesbaden, I will avoid Frankfort, and will try all
  I can to prevent my mother from going. She has determined to take me
  herself, or send me there to see the fair; but I will give it up, for
  I wish all my actions to mark my love and show my desire to please
  you. I will write to your sister[156] and tell her of our journey. I
  have not done so before because it was not settled, but I fear it will
  be too late for her to join us. You were not wise to wish her to keep
  watch over me. If I wished to deceive you, neither she nor anybody
  could prevent me. But let your mind be at rest; I would rather die a
  hundred deaths than suffer the thought to cross my mind.

  “I could not finish my letter this afternoon. I had to make some
  visits with my mother, and on coming home I learned that the Electress
  of Brandenburg will be at Luisburg next week; she has already sent a
  list of her suite, so no doubt she is coming. I am vexed about it, for
  I was looking forward to going to Wiesbaden—more for the purpose, I
  assure you, of shunning the world than of seeking it. I am uncertain
  what will happen now. I may be compelled to go to Luisburg, and I
  dread that more than death. The Electress will be sure to spy on me,
  cross-question me, and watch all my actions, and she will find me so
  different from what I used to be that she will guess the reason. Never
  mind, this is the least of my cares. Prince Max is going the day after
  to-morrow to meet her and will accompany her to Luisburg.[157] If I do
  not receive any letters commanding me to stay, I shall start on
  Tuesday.”

-----

Footnote 154:

  Ferdi, _i.e._, Ferdinand, the favourite musician of the Electress of
  Brandenburg, a violinist.

Footnote 155:

  “This court will the next week remove from hence: the Duke to follow
  his hunting, and the Duchess goes to Wiesbaden, near Mayence, for her
  health.”—Colt’s _Despatch_, Celle, August 5, 1692.

Footnote 156:

  The Countess Aurora, who was then at Hanover. Many of the letters
  passed through her hands, though they were sometimes sent direct.

Footnote 157:

  “The Electress of Brandenburg is passing by here on her way to
  Luisburg, where the Hanoverian court is at a country house.”—Colt’s
  _Despatch_, Celle, August 12, 1692.

-----

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                                   “HALLE [undated].

  “So far from forgetting you, I only think of you, and I study all
  possible means of seeing you again. To that end I arranged with
  Monsieur de Goritz, if the battle had been victorious to us, to have
  borne the good news to our court, and so perhaps to have had the joy
  of seeing and embracing you; but, my dear angel, Fortune did not
  favour my plan. All these accidents about the letters make me
  wretched. I am grieved at your anxiety on that account, but you accuse
  me unjustly, and, in turn, I claim you will ask my pardon as I did
  yours.”

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                          “[CELLE,] _August_ 8/18.

  “I should have died with joy if you had come as you thought of doing;
  and, though you did not come, I am grateful to you for having had the
  thought. I am so absorbed in my love that I am becoming insensible to
  everything else; nothing can please me but to see you again and spend
  my life with you: as long as that cannot be, I shall always be
  wretched. I have already asked your pardon for the wrong I did you; I
  do it again, since you wish me. I am delighted to be wrong, and I only
  wish I had always been so mistaken. I, too, know a prison waiting for
  my prisoner with great impatience. If I told you all my troubles, all
  my sorrows, I should make you weep. My trip will last six or seven
  weeks. I hope we shall both return [to Hanover] about the same time. I
  must not see you the first time in public: my emotion would betray me.
  They still say there will be a second battle; it makes me tremble. I
  have not slept for many nights, and am rather unwell. I think it comes
  from loving you overmuch, but that is such a sweet sickness I do not
  wish to be cured. I will write to you as often as I possibly can, but
  do not blame me if you do not get my letters.

  “I leave to-morrow. The Duchess Sophia has just written to my mother
  to say the Electress is coming, but as she wishes me a pleasant
  journey I no longer fear having to remain.”




                             CHAPTER XVII.

                        THE VISIT TO WIESBADEN.

            Why now do pangs of torment clutch thy heart,
            Which with thy love should make thee overjoyed?
                                     DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI.


The Electress of Brandenburg did not go to Luisburg after all. Elaborate
preparations had been made for her reception, for Duke Ernest Augustus
was anxious to gain his powerful son-in-law’s support for the coveted
Electorate, and so wished to treat his daughter with special honour. But
the Elector of Brandenburg hung back, and at the eleventh hour the
Electress changed her plans, to the great chagrin of her parents. By
this time Princess Sophie Dorothea was well on her way to Wiesbaden,
where she stayed with her mother for some weeks. Before returning to
Hanover she visited the Frankfort fair. Frankfort was even then a place
of considerable importance, and the annual fair was a carnival to which
all the great world flocked from far and wide. It was very natural for
the Princess to wish to see it when she was so near, and she hardly
merited Königsmarck’s reproaches for going. She writes to her lover _en
route_ to Wiesbaden:—

                                    “EIMBECK,[158] _August_ 12/22.

  “I am writing haphazard; but I cannot exist any longer without
  assuring you that I love you, and absence only increases my passion. I
  am not telling you everything that has happened every day, for I fear
  my letter might be lost, and then all the different places I should
  have to name would disclose everything. I will send you a list when I
  arrive, if anything worth mentioning takes place. I think of you from
  morning to night; it is my only occupation and pleasure. I am so
  delighted to think I am getting nearer the time when we shall meet
  again. I have no end of dreams concerning that meeting; they are
  pleasant, though impossible. I am told you are losing money at play. I
  am grieved, but one cannot be lucky in everything; your gains in love
  must console you for your losses at cards. I hope you will return [to
  Hanover] about the same time as I do.”

-----

Footnote 158:

  Eimbeck, a little town on the road, in Grubenhagen.

-----

                                      “[WIESBADEN,] _August_ 21/31

  “I reached here last night after twelve days’ journey, which seemed as
  many centuries, because I could not hope to have news of you while we
  were travelling. I am hungering for your letters, and hoping that I
  shall have some to-morrow. Nothing took place on the journey worth
  mentioning, nor did I see a face worth remembering. I did nothing but
  eat, drink, and sleep, and I played cards sometimes with my mother. It
  is hardly worth while to send you an account of what I did every day,
  and, besides, as I said before, I should have to name the different
  places I passed through, and that might reveal everything. The prudent
  Confidente advises me to do nothing of the kind; but if you do not
  trust me, I will send a list, in spite of all. We are alone; the house
  is like a convent, and there is no one here but ourselves, so you can
  be at rest. But if _tout le monde_ were here you would have nothing to
  fear: I am yours only. I wrote you once on the journey; I am sorry I
  could not do so oftener. About a league from Wiesbaden a courier came
  to me with a letter from La Marionette.[159] I am sending you a copy
  of it, and of another which she enclosed from her brother, who is with
  the army. I am much surprised at their contents. I don’t know what
  object the little woman has in worrying me, for I have never thought
  of her or her brother. Perhaps she wishes me to come to harm, so that
  she may have you all to herself; but she mustn’t think she has to deal
  with a fool who gives herself away to the first man who comes along,
  as she does. My love for you is the joy and happiness of my life, the
  only love I have ever felt for any one; it will die with me.

  “The Prince writes to me that another battle will shortly take place.
  Think of the sorrow his news causes me, for my life is bound up with
  yours. I hope God will answer the prayers I make for you; I say them
  with a pure heart: you make me quite devout. You are right in saying
  that it is misery to live absent from the loved one. I experience that
  truth every day, but I hope to be rewarded for all my trouble and
  sorrow when once I hold you in my arms. You will be very clever if you
  escape me again. I am thinking of the moment when I shall see you, and
  the thought fills me with transports of joy. I believe I shall die of
  rapture—pray God it may be so. My love is above everything: _I worship
  you_.

  “They tell me the Electress of Brandenburg has postponed her
  visit.[160] She was to have arrived two days after I left. All the
  horses were ordered for her equipage; the Duke had given up to her his
  apartments at Luisburg, and they also brought music,—all that for
  nothing! They say her husband wished her to put off her visit until
  another time, but I feel sure she will not come; the postponement is
  only a pretext. It will make the Duke and Duchess very angry; in fact,
  it is mocking them, but it matters very little to me.”

-----

Footnote 159:

  _La Marionette_ was a German princess, probably a princess of Hesse.
  The mention of her brother being “with the army” refers not to the
  campaign in Flanders, but to the fact that on the Upper Rhine, and
  along the frontier which separates France from Piedmont, there was a
  desultory war being carried on in connection with the Palatinate. The
  letters mentioned are two, one from _La Marionette_, commending her
  brother to the Princess and expressing a hope of meeting at the
  Frankfort fair, and the letter enclosed from her brother, containing
  extravagant expressions of his admiration of Sophie Dorothea.

Footnote 160:

  “Just now we have the news that the Electress of Brandenburg doth not
  come so soon as she intended, all things having been provided for
  her.”—Colt’s _Despatch_, Celle, August 12, 1692.

-----

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                         “FROM THE CAMP OF NINOVE, _August_ 13/23.

  “For five days I have not received any letter from you; but I know you
  are travelling, and that explains it. I hope to have news from
  Wiesbaden, for you can make no excuse about the post there. I am
  grateful for your anxiety about me when in the battle; it shows you
  have some fragment of love left for me still. But perhaps it would
  have been better for me to have been shot while fighting, for, though
  I am sure of myself, I cannot be sure of you. I know not if all they
  tell me about you is true. Your journey is much against my wishes, and
  I have taken a resolution which will astonish you greatly. On your
  love depends all my happiness; but, alas! it is like building on sand.
  But I cannot change my nature, and, however much I may try, I cannot
  root out my love for you. If ever there was a woman worthy to be
  loved, that one is surely you. I have one thing in common with many
  men—‘I love a charming being, who is loved by many’. That is from a
  song, and I give it you for what it is worth; it does not come out of
  my brain,—that, alas! is too much worried with cares, jealousies,
  sorrows, and anxiety to be able to invent anything witty or clever.
  Farewell. I crave your forgiveness if I suspect you without cause.”

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                            “WIESBADEN, _August_ 23/_September_ 3.

  “I should like to know why you are angry and who has been telling you
  tales about me. I am greatly wounded by your want of confidence. If
  you trusted my love, and believed me incapable of treachery, you could
  not so easily credit all these silly tales.

  “It puzzles me to tell you any news; we continue to be quite alone.
  You will see from my note yesterday that I have seen a few silly
  faces—happily only for a little while, for they left again the same
  day. I really enjoy being alone; it is as pleasant to me now as it
  might have been unpleasant formerly. It is you who have worked this
  change, and I can assure you it is not your least glorious
  achievement: in truth, people bore me and are in my way; solitude is
  far more to my taste. I am no longer equal to conversation; you fill
  my thoughts too much to leave my mind free.

  “I have had a letter from the Duchess, who tells me the Prince is
  aware of everything said of him; she also tells me about the Cabinet,
  and that the Prince has written begging that all who invented the
  slander should be punished.[161] I don’t think he is over-pleased, but
  it is immaterial to me.

  “I hope to-morrow to have another of your letters. I shall not be able
  to sleep all night, for I am not satisfied with your last. I have just
  read it over again. You attribute my anxiety for you to come safely
  out of the battle to some ‘fragment’ of my love. So far from being a
  _fragment_, it is the result of the most ardent devotion ever felt by
  woman. In all you say there is a coldness that freezes me to the
  heart. I am pierced to the soul. But I take some comfort in the
  thought that if you were wholly indifferent to me you would not be so
  sensitive. I would rather you were so hard, mortifying though it be,
  than that you should be indifferent. I am going to bed now, but I
  cannot get you out of my head; waking or sleeping, you are always in
  my thoughts. Good-night. You are the most perfect man in the world,
  but you are never satisfied,—that is your only defect. Cure yourself
  of it, and be all mine.”

-----

Footnote 161:

  This may have some reference to Moltke’s plot, in connection with
  which Duchess Sophia was examined by the Cabinet. _Vide_ Colt’s
  _Despatch_, August 29, 1692: “The Duchess of Hanover hath been
  examined in several articles before the Duke and his Council”.

-----

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                         “FROM THE CAMP AT DEINZE, _August_ 21/31.

  “I am glad you say that if any hurt befall me you will not abandon me.
  I almost wish I could see you again without my legs if it would give
  me the joy of holding you always in my arms. But you need not fret
  yourself; they are losing all hope of doing anything in this campaign,
  and it must soon end. Therefore, resume again your merry looks and
  lively airs; tears and sadness do not agree with fairs and baths. It
  is true I am not so exact in writing as you. I will not dispute the
  point; I know you cannot always write, for sometimes you are prevented
  by other distractions. Alas! if you were to find real pleasure in
  loving and being loved you would be the most satisfied of women. I
  should have believed you had you said your heart was without passion,
  save the passion for journeys; but I must be pleased, provided the
  journeys do not let other passions enter in. This is what I have to
  fear. Ah! if you only mean what you say when you write, ‘It is my
  desire to become an example of the tenderest love, the most perfect
  constancy that ever existed since the world began!’

  “I assure you what Duke Frederick Augustus told me about La Marionette
  made little impression, for before that I was disgusted with her; her
  ways show the sort of woman she is. I have not yet even mentioned you
  to him. He cut himself with a sword and made a large wound in his
  head, trying to cut the head of one Montrany. I call upon him every
  day. He is most uncomfortable and dirty in his bed; all the bandages
  are swathed round his head, and, with that terrible mouth of his, he
  looks a very disagreeable object. But he is a good sort of prince. I
  wish he would become Elector, I should have a very good friend. My
  sister Aurora is already at Hanover; I think both my sisters will soon
  join you.... The Electress of Brandenburg will not go, after all, to
  Luisburg, and the court will soon be at Hanover. You heard about
  Ferdinand’s affair[162] some little time ago. Not only did he lose all
  his money, but he owed two thousand pistoles. The Huguenots who had
  won it from him could not get it, so they went to the Prince of Anhalt
  and demanded that they might be paid. The Prince sent orders to the
  illustrious lover to pay his debts before leaving Berlin. But
  Ferdinand, in a rage, went and told the Electress, and she was so
  annoyed at the affront offered to her fancy man that she sent word to
  the Prince of Anhalt that she was astounded at the liberty he had
  taken, and she would complain to the Elector, and so on. The Prince
  begged her pardon. I believe Ferdinand’s mistresses will find some
  means of satisfying his creditors and of getting him out of the
  scrape. But the funniest part of the story is to come. The Electress
  determined to take Ferdinand with her to Luisburg, but his
  acknowledged mistress begged her to leave him behind and she would pay
  the debts. The Electress replied with determination that she kept
  Ferdinand for _her_ pleasure, and when she tired of him the other
  could do as she pleased, but until then she would keep him well. There
  is a happy man! As for his mistress, she may comfort herself, for the
  lover remains [at Berlin] and the Electress remains.

  “I am waiting with extreme impatience for your news. If, haply, you
  have arrived, I hope my prayers will protect you from misfortune, and
  that you will compass your journey in perfect health. Since there
  seems so little chance of getting anything substantial from your
  parents, I do not see why you should be afraid of them, or why you
  flatter them, for everything that is to come to you after their death
  will come to you without that, so you can easily spare yourself the
  trouble. But you are very timid—so much the worse for you! They would
  be silly if they gave you anything when they see you are contented
  with fine words. I have won a thousand pistoles, but I may lose them
  again. The King has asked me to play with him in the Elector’s tent,
  where he is breakfasting; but I don’t know if my rage will let me go,
  for I am in the very devil of a rage. I am yours until the tomb.”

-----

Footnote 162:

  Ferdinand was the Electress of Brandenburg’s violinist. She took him
  with her wherever she went and treated him with marked favour. But she
  was passionately fond of music, and we need not therefore accept
  Königsmarck’s construction of the intimacy, which, however, agrees
  with the common scandal of the court of Berlin at that time.

-----

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                            “WIESBADEN, _August_ 24/_September_ 3.

  “Yesterday I received two of your letters, one very different from the
  other. One filled me with ecstasy. If I had held you in my arms I
  could have devoured you with kisses then and there. I will begin by
  answering all the nice and charming things you say, and then I will
  scold you for so easily believing all the lies they wrote to you about
  me. I deserve more than a little of the love you show me, for nothing
  equals my devotion.

  “I have long ago forgiven your carelessness, though I did not get your
  letter until I had sent _three times_ the post without finding any,
  not _twice_, as you say; but when your letter came it gave me such joy
  that I forgot all my sorrow and anxiety of a fortnight. One kind word
  from you is enough to bring me back from that other world of grief and
  pain.

  “Since you went away I have found existence so wearisome that I have
  longed for death to put an end to the sorrows and troubles which, as
  you know, are many and threaten to overwhelm me. I hope you will not
  be foolish enough, or brave enough, to get wounded for the sake of
  seeing me the sooner. I would rather wait a long time than any hurt
  should befall you, though, believe me, I am so eager to embrace you
  that I am ill with longing. What you ask kept me awake all night. What
  would I not give for the thing to be possible on your part! On my part
  it is easy, but I will say no more about it. We can never tell what
  the future has in store for us; but this I know—if anything should
  happen to you I should not survive it. If you had chosen a place to
  hide me from all the world you could hardly have found a likelier spot
  than this. It is away from all society, in utter solitude. At any
  other time I should have found it tiresome, for there is not a soul to
  speak to, and the people with us are anything but lively; but as I
  know your wishes it is a positive pleasure to me to be cloistered like
  this. It would have vexed me to find any man here: you would certainly
  have jumped to the conclusion that I came to seek him. I have so
  utterly renounced coquetry that I hate it now as much as I used to
  love it. I hardly know myself, and cannot understand how any woman can
  have changed as I have done. As I have told you a thousand times, I
  think of you only, and count everything else as nothing.

  “I hope I may not go to Epsdorff; the Prince’s return may prevent me.
  I shall do all I can to get out of it, for I would not delay a moment
  the joy I would buy with my blood—to see you once more and to seal
  with my lips my vows of love. You are admirable about your Duke
  Frederick Augustus. A fine test you would put me to! I shall be sorry
  if you place me under an obligation not to look at him, though it is
  scarcely worth while, for surely you need not fear. You know full well
  that you are far above them all. You see, I am giving you back all the
  sweet things you tell me about La Reingrave and Madame Delvassine.

  “But I am too long in justifying myself concerning your accusations in
  your other letter. Please explain, for I do not understand. You speak
  as if I had done something foolish, or, if I were too far away, I
  nevertheless wished to do it. If you did not receive my letters for a
  week it was not my fault. I wrote to you secretly from Celle by the
  post which was to leave after me, and I wrote to you on the journey.
  It is true I only wrote once, but it was impossible for me to do so
  oftener. You must have had the spleen very badly to wish you were shot
  in the battle. I am anxious to hear what new fabrications they have
  told you about me; I cannot imagine what they can be. I am wholly
  innocent. I went over everything in my mind last night to see if any
  one could have given a crooked turn to any of my actions; but they
  have been all so straight that they could not have been maligned. The
  talebearers must have simply invented lies on purpose to make you
  quarrel with me. Alas! I see too well that they wish to estrange us,
  and you are simple enough to fall into the trap. It is very hard that,
  however much I may strive to prove my love and devotion, you blindly
  believe all these foolish tales. I should be mad if I were to give you
  the least cause to complain about me, for I would rather die than do
  it. There is madness indeed in the passion I have for you. I cannot
  understand how any one can love as I love; you will never feel or
  experience it unless you ‘build on sand,’ as you say you do when you
  trust me. Only be to me as I am to you; I ask no other happiness.”

[Illustration:

  [PHILIP CHRISTOPHER COUNT KÖNIGSMARCK.
  _From a painting in the possession of Count Gustav Lewenhaupt._
]

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                             “DEINZE, _September_ 3.

  “I have received the letter you wrote from Eimbeck. I see in it, with
  much joy, that you have not forgotten me yet. I greatly wish, on your
  return, you may be able to say the same things to me; but alas! what
  have I not to fear? You always speak of my not exposing myself to
  danger, but you are exposed to the eyes of many handsome cavaliers.
  Who knows but that among the crowd at the fair you will see some one
  who may wound you. The sharper the attack the greater the danger. _Mon
  Dieu!_ if you are wounded what shall I do? Where shall I turn? Why are
  you so lovely?

  “I have just returned from a walk with the King. The Duke of Richmond
  was there, like a thrush, committing all kinds of extravagances. Duke
  Frederick Augustus has decamped without saying anything to any one. He
  owes more than fifteen thousand pistoles; I hold eight thousand
  against him. He leaves behind him many people who speak badly of him,
  but I have a great regard for him personally, though his conduct is
  devilish bad. As to having too much wit, he has none at all; he has
  not even won the approval of the ladies in Brussels. You were right
  when you withheld him yours. The Elector [of Bavaria] went the day
  before yesterday to Ghent, which he likes better than Brussels. He
  finds the ladies prettier there, but as I have not seen them at either
  place I do not know whether he is right.”

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                  “[WIESBADEN, _Tuesday_, 30.][163]

  “... Perhaps I am mistaken, but I detect a vein of irony in your
  letter which is far from pleasant. I have no wish to see any cavalier,
  for you would surely think I came here because of him; but I need not
  have any uneasiness on that score at Wiesbaden, for there is not a
  decently dressed man about the place. You will have nothing to
  reproach me with about this journey, thank God; for I dread your
  criticisms. You are the most troublesome creature when you set about
  them. What matter even if there be a man within a hundred leagues of
  me? Why should you, the handsomest and most fascinating of all men,
  fear him? I cannot forgive your mistrust. You do not believe my
  promises, or you would not perpetually worry me about my demeanour. If
  you could see the hole I am in even _you_ would be satisfied.

  “Here is my day: I played cards with my mother all the afternoon. I
  rested a long time on my bed. I went for a walk with my women. I
  supped and I am going to bed. I hope you will be satisfied.”

-----

Footnote 163:

  The beginning of this letter is missing.

-----

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                                         “[Undated.]

  “You depict the place where you are so dreadfully dull that I have not
  the heart to forbid my pet from being cheered a little. The Frankfort
  fair will give you some amusement. I am sorry not to be one of your
  party. What about your mother? When will she take the road? and will
  she return with you to Hanover, or is she going to stay on at
  Wiesbaden? Those who wrote to me from Hanover only sent me the news of
  the place; they didn’t mention you, therefore don’t be angry, there
  are no tale-bearers, and if there were I should not believe them.”

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                   “[WIESBADEN,] _September_ 5/15.

  “I am delighted to hear from you that the campaign will soon end; but
  it will not end as soon as I wish, for I am awaiting your return with
  an impatience which only equals my love.

  “We are still alone here, and if any tell you the contrary they are
  very badly informed. I am going to the fair, and La Marionette has
  arranged for me to meet her there. My mother made me write and ask her
  to be at Frankfort the same time as ourselves. I implore you, do not
  _get ill_; nothing will take place there to make you so. I am grateful
  to you for giving me leave to do as I please; you know well that you
  risk nothing in granting me freedom, for I am incapable of abusing it.
  I know to the tip of my little finger everything I ought to do to
  please you, and I never fail in doing it. But can I be so sure of you?
  Shall I see you again as tender as before? I flatter myself, yes; but
  if it be otherwise I will not live a moment. I know no happiness in
  the world save the one of being loved by you; I ask for no other, for
  you are the source of all my joy.”

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                       “DEINZE, _September_ 10/20.

  “When you have read my previous letter you will see I have had very
  little correspondence at Hanover with any one concerning you. The fear
  our affair may be discovered makes me go with a bridle in my mouth,
  and I have few acquaintances to whom I would confide such a secret. I
  think the Duchess of Hanover answered the Prince very well; she is
  careful to support the Cabinet. She is just like the Countess Platen;
  I fear some day she will have the same power.... I have been looking
  forward to seeing you again soon, but the news from Hanover tells me
  that the Duke is going to hunt at Epsdorff, where your father is
  now.[164] The Prince is going there too, and, as the Duchess of
  Hanover is going to visit the Electress of Brandenburg, you are sure
  to be one of the hunting party.

  “The Electress of Brandenburg has been in a great rage with
  Montalbany. She joked him at supper because people said he had such
  thin, lean legs. Next morning he waited on the Electress in her
  chamber, and she laughed at him again about the same thing. He lost
  his temper, and, kicking his leg up on the toilet table, said to her,
  ‘_Voilà, Madame_, all those who have told you such things have lied.’
  The page-in-waiting, seeing his impertinence had carried him too far,
  tried to make him retire; but Montalbany was in such a rage that he
  gave him a fillip which made the blood flow out of his mouth and eyes.
  The Electress flew into a furious passion, forbade Montalbany ever to
  see her again, and ordered him from her presence. But she did not long
  keep to that resolution, for one of his friends begged and prayed for
  him so hard that she made it up again. They say here it was Ferdinand,
  and the scandal does much harm to that lady. Prince Ernest writes
  nothing of it to me.

  “In one of my letters the news from Hanover tells me that my two
  sisters have gone to Wiesbaden. I fear they will find you no longer
  there, which will be a disappointment to them, as they looked forward
  to paying their court to you at Wiesbaden, since there is so little
  chance of their doing it elsewhere, except at Celle. It is annoying,
  for they would like to show their devotion, but have not the
  opportunity of doing so.... What shall I do if you go to Epsdorff? I
  shall not see you until the carnival; and I _must_ see you, whatever
  it may cost me. Try to think how I can do so, and let me know of a
  plan. I should like to know, too, if you wish me to wear my own hair
  this winter, or whether you would rather see me in a wig. Your wishes
  will be my law in this as in other things; in the merest trifle I
  shall always study your sweet will.”

-----

Footnote 164:

  Colt mentions that the Duke of Celle was at Epsdorff (_vide_
  _Despatch_, September 15, 1692); and he was also there on October 7.
  On the 10th he went to Göhre.

-----

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                  “[WIESBADEN,] _September_ 11/21.

  “How happy I am to have a lover like you! The more I read your letters
  the more I am delighted with them. No one ever had noble qualities so
  noble; no one could imagine a more gracious lover. I am _so_ grateful
  to you for giving me leave to go to the fair.

  “Last night I received La Marionette’s answer. She will be at
  Frankfort the same day as ourselves. What would I not give for you to
  be with us! I should die of joy. Nothing can equal the impatience I
  feel to see you again; but I must be patient, though it is very hard
  when one loves to distraction. I do not know yet whether there will be
  any one else at Frankfort. I shall write to you as soon as I get there
  and give you an account of everything I do; but be sure that if all
  the delights and charms of the earth were at the fair you would fill
  my mind wholly, and I shall do nothing that does not show my love for
  you—a love beyond all that I can express. I defy the whole world to
  equal me in tenderness and faithfulness; and you deserve it wholly,
  for you are a king among men.

  “La Confidente has been far from well the last few days, and I am
  anxious about her; but I hope the change will soon set her right, for
  this air is bad, and I am dying with impatience to leave it. Here are
  so many sick people that I fear I may become one of them myself. I
  should be so distressed if you were to find me ugly on your return
  that I would make up on purpose to please you. They say I am getting
  stouter. I am going to bed now, but I feel very lonely in it, for,
  since you left, how many prayers, what eagerness, what desire, to see
  you again! Good-night, my dear one. If I hold thee once again thou
  wilt never escape me more.”

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                       “DEINZE, _September_ 16/26.

  “Since you have asked me to explain all I have against you I will make
  a clean breast of it;[165] four things, of which the last is the
  worst. The first is that you did not mention that you saw Spar at
  Celle. The second, it gave you great pleasure to meet Guldenlon at
  Wiesbaden. The third, although you assured me you did not care about
  going to the fair, you seize any pretext for going. You pretend it is
  because your mother wishes it! The fourth is the new rival [the Prince
  of Hesse]. He is near you, in his own country. His sister (La
  Marionette) pleads for him. You are going to the fair, and he will be
  there with his _maquerelle_; and if he goes to Hanover, his old
  sister, who is the most cunning of women and well versed in intrigue,
  will be there too, on the pretext of a visit, to take him to your
  chamber, even though you were abed. I will not suffer such things; I
  would rather go to the Indies. It would not be pleasant for me to find
  a lover in your chamber, while I, who worship you, must not enter. But
  I forget, he is a prince, and for that reason privileged by his rank.
  All the same, I yield him nothing.... I fear this letter would be
  offensive if I believed all I wrote; but no, dear angel, I know your
  virtue and your constancy, and so I warn you to be careful. Two women
  are with you, one of whom has already done her best to make you hate
  me—your mother. My dear Léonnisse (I give you that name, for it is
  that of an incomparable woman, if you are anxious to know whom, read
  the Duc de Bourbon’s romance, _Prince de Tarente_), what should I do
  without you? I have met with a lot of bad luck in life, but at least I
  have had the joy of worshipping you, and from the first day I saw you
  my heart was touched, though I was only a boy and unable to declare my
  passion.[166] But even then I loved you, and I love you now. As my
  love for you was born with me, so to speak, so it will also die with
  me. Oh, Léonnisse! if you only knew how I worship you, you would
  freely excuse all the follies passion makes me commit and all the
  suspicions that take shape in my brain. The Elector [of Bavaria]
  swears at me about my gloomy temper, which he says I brought from
  Hanover. That is true; but I am the only one who knows the cause of my
  complaint, and the remedy. I am in a most piteous state night and day.
  I open my eyes only to weep, and my mouth opens only to sigh. You ask
  me to tell you the vow that I have taken. It is to love you as long as
  a drop of blood remains in my veins, and though you may change to me,
  I shall never change to you.

  “I have seen your first lover, the one you were on the point of
  marrying.[167] What a face! They tell me his wife is at Ghent, and the
  ladies of the place will not pay their respects to her, she gives
  herself such airs. She sees nobody; but you would have enjoyed
  yourself like a queen. Think how pleased I should have been, for you
  would only be two hours from me, and your husband in the army!

  “Duke Frederick Augustus has left the army with very few honours; he
  owes money right and left. He left Brussels under a cloud, for he gave
  a powder to the first jeweller who dunned him which sent the poor man
  nearly mad. The rogue knew he was going to bolt, but he concealed his
  intentions and still made promises. The other day I dined with him at
  the Comte d’Egmont’s, when he made me many hypocritical promises. That
  is the way young men go on nowadays; I give them a good rating. The
  season is getting so cold that every one is beginning to speak about
  winter quarters.”

-----

Footnote 165:

  Evidently in answer to the Princess’s letter of August 24/September 3.

Footnote 166:

  Another reference to their early friendship at Celle.

Footnote 167:

  Most probably Prince Henry Casimir of Nassau-Dietz, Hereditary
  Governor of Friesland, and nephew of William of Orange.

-----

                 _Königsmarck to Fräulein von Knesebeck._

  “You are right to think the visit to Frankfort would displease me,
  especially as I begged and prayed her not to go. However, all can be
  repaired if she only stops one day there. It is not fair. Did she not
  say she hoped I would not go often to Brussels? That was sufficient. I
  only set foot there for four hours for a game of tennis; I did not
  even go to Ghent. The wealthy marriage they proposed for me I rejected
  from the first.[168] I also refused to undertake the journey of which
  you know,[169] though it was the only thing to save my property. Count
  Oxanstern[170] assured me that if I had gone the King [of Sweden]
  would have made me an offer of a regiment with the title of general,
  and Marshal Hasbert also said that if I had attached myself to the
  service of the King I should at present be a general. Consider, dear
  friend, what I have sacrificed and what she is doing, and then say who
  is in the wrong. This is between ourselves, for I do not wish her to
  know about this at all, so pray don’t mention it.”

-----

Footnote 168:

  This marriage has been alluded to before—in 1691.

Footnote 169:

  The mission to Sweden; he went no farther than Hamburg.

Footnote 170:

  A Swedish noble of high rank, sometime envoy at Hanover. This letter
  is very characteristic, and undoubtedly shows that Königsmarck had
  made sacrifices of his worldly prospects to be near the object of his
  devotion. But it was hardly generous of him to remind the Princess of
  it, even indirectly, for she had made a much greater sacrifice for
  him.

-----

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                          “GAVERN, _October_ 4/14.

  “I am extremely sorry to hear that La Confidente is unwell. I trust,
  however, that the gaiety of the fair will soon put her to rights. I am
  glad to see you are going to leave that unhealthy place (Wiesbaden)
  without being attacked by any complaint or illness. You need not be so
  very anxious on my behalf about your looks, for I could not find you
  more beautiful than I do already, and if you wish to “make up” for me,
  I shall not see you for some time, and your visit [to the fair] will
  have fatigued you. Had you done so _after_ your trip I might have
  flattered myself it was for me; but in any case your care will not be
  thrown away. The fine world of Frankfort will have the benefit, and
  you will have the satisfaction of finding yourself hated by the ladies
  of the city, for you will surpass them all in beauty and take away
  their lovers. You have made so many conquests in so many different
  countries that I do not doubt for a moment that you will enjoy the
  same triumphs in Frankfort, and include that town in the list of your
  trophies. You seek the banks of the Rhine and the Maine for people to
  admire you and rave about you; but why do you not cast a glance
  towards this unfortunate country? Here are kings, dukes, electors, and
  princes ready to woo, and who of them could resist your charms?

  “We arrived here after a march of thirty-six hours without a rest;
  some of our men fell from their horses, and others have the fever.
  Several wanted to entertain the Prince at Ghent: Goritz wanted to give
  him a dinner at his wife’s, Ovenair wanted to give him a livelier one
  with loose women. They tossed dice for it, and Ovenair won. The Prince
  told me I could make one of the party. Monsieur Goritz goes to the
  Hague, the Prince starts on the 15th, and Monsieur de Königsmarck goes
  to Brussels to cure himself if he can. Here in a few words is news you
  will not much relish; but, to finish with a _bonne bouche_, I vow to
  you with much submission that no one on earth could be your more
  humble servant than I.”




                             CHAPTER XVIII.

                   KÖNIGSMARCK RETURNS FROM THE WAR.

           Come back! from love of thee my soul is glowing,
           Come back! without thee my sad heart is grieving,
           Come back! for by thy absence, my beloved one,
           Bewildered, bitter tears in floods are flowing.
                                                     HAFÌZ.


The Princess and her mother went to the Frankfort fair; but their visit
was a brief one, and the Prince of Hesse was prevented from meeting
them, so Königsmarck’s jealous fears were groundless. From Frankfort the
Duchess of Celle took her daughter back with her to Epsdorff, where the
Duke was a-hunting. We find Königsmarck writing, “At present my greatest
happiness is to know that you are at Epsdorff, and you are going to
stay”.[171] But the Princess remained there only a few days, as her
presence was imperatively required at Hanover, where the Elector and
Electress of Brandenburg had at last arrived on their long-expected
visit, and were being entertained with every mark of honour. The Duke of
Hanover was anxious to be invested with the Electoral dignity forthwith,
and urged the Elector of Brandenburg to put pressure upon the Emperor.

-----

Footnote 171:

  Königsmarck to the Princess, Ghent, September 11/21;

-----

The defeat at Steinkirk had sown discontent among the Allies, and many
of them, including the Duke of Hanover, if he did not receive his dues,
were ready to lend ear again to Louis. Colt writes: “Balati [the French
envoy] is at last returned, bringing many fine things with him,
especially for the ladies, and he says so many fine things of the French
court in public, besides what he doth in private, that I have met with
much coldness from the Minister, Count Platen, and his lady, who govern
all things here; and if I could speak with the tongue of an angell, and
this Duke’s interest were never so much on my side, it would avail but
little, unless I did make some presents as they had from France”.[172]
The Duke, a born diplomatist temporised with France, and got what he
wanted from the Elector of Brandenburg, who brought his visit to a
close, well pleased, and departed with many expressions of goodwill. Two
days later the Duke of Hanover went to carry the good tidings to the
Duke of Celle at Göhre.

-----

Footnote 172:

  Colt’s _Despatch_, Hanover, September 27, 1692.

-----

With all this important public business on hand it would not have been
surprising if private and court intrigues had been for the time
overlooked; but it was not so. While the princes were busy with affairs
of state, the princesses were no less concerned with family matters. In
some way the intimacy between Sophie Dorothea and Königsmarck had again
attracted attention. Perhaps some of the letters miscarried (it is
noteworthy that none of the Princess’s letters from Frankfort are
preserved), or the servants babbled to Countess Platen and aroused her
jealousy afresh, or the Duchess of Celle, who narrowly watched her
daughter while she was with her, discovered something and communicated
her fears to the Duke. However that may have been, suspicion was
aroused, and it was determined to prevent Königsmarck and the Princess
from coming together again. Suspicion fell on Countess Aurora as an
accomplice in the intrigue, and Duke Ernest Augustus sent her a message
to the effect that she would do well to avoid Hanover in the future.
Königsmarck also seems to have received a hint that other princes might
find his services more useful.

All this threw both the Princess and her lover into great alarm and
agitation, though their fears, in either case, were not on account of
personal danger (which was considerable), but lest they should be parted
from one another. Much of this is told in the five letters that follow.

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                           “[HANOVER,] _September_ 28/_October_ 8.

  “It is not enough for me to be bowed down to the earth by the fear of
  losing you, but you must add to the _peine_ by being dissatisfied with
  me. All the rest is nothing in comparison with this last affliction;
  it makes me oblivious to everything else. I can find no comfort
  anywhere. You reproach me with having met La Marionette [the Princess
  of Hesse] as arranged at Frankfort. I could not help going there; my
  mother insisted on it. Besides, I knew that the Prince was not coming
  with his sister; I thought him much farther away than he actually was.
  In any case, everything passed off so well that you are the most
  unjust of men if you are not satisfied. I did not see a single person
  there worth mentioning, as I have already told you. The person you
  sent to spy has doubtless informed you to the same effect, and I am
  hoping that the first letter I receive from you will give me as much
  joy as the last four have given me sorrow. They are all in the same
  strain, and I am desperate because you are so unjust. My life ought to
  show that my love for you is unequalled. I have ceased to take
  interest in anything, and for this long while have sacrificed
  everything for you—to prove better that I am worthy of your love.

  “If I must give up seeing you, I will give up the world altogether. I
  cannot contemplate such a thing. Yet I fear I must be prepared for it,
  for the Electress of Brandenburg has told me that you will be sent
  away, but on some pretext which will not apparently concern me; she
  had it from Countess Platen. I cannot describe to you the state I have
  been in for the last four or five days; if grief could kill, I should
  surely be dead. I no longer sleep, I do not eat at all, and I am a
  prey to gloomy foreboding. It may be that time and absence will cure
  you of your passion, but mine will end only with my life. That is a
  truth time will show. I have your portrait. I cannot look on it
  without tears; I wish it might testify to the intensity of my sorrow
  and love. I fear many afflictions and misfortunes are in store. Le
  Barbouilleur is in league with Countess Platen and her cabal. He tries
  to harm Aurora in everything he possibly can, and went so far as to
  say to the Duchess Sophia that she was a ‘she-devil’. I should hardly
  have believed he could have been so base a coward as that. I told you
  that he once began to show airs to me, but he did not go far; the
  anger I evinced soon stopped him.

  “You say you are ‘going to Brussels to cure yourself’. How can you
  have the cruelty to write such a thing to me—who am so sensitive and
  tender? Anger alone spoke when you wrote those words. You don’t mean
  to go. I know not yet by what mischance one of your letters was
  opened: La Confidente is trying to find out; fortunately you say
  little in it. But you tell me that they will force you to leave me.
  Let me know what makes you think so; reassure me in my trouble and
  anxiety. My love is proof against all; I vow you an everlasting
  constancy.

  “The Duke [of Hanover] went away this morning on a visit to my
  father.[173] He took only Le Barbouilleur with him. I believe the
  Duchess will follow, and I shall go with her, unless the Prince should
  arrive soon.... I have been interrupted at this point in an alarming
  manner. I thought I was perfectly safe, for I gave orders to say that
  I was asleep. I had your portrait quite near me, attached to a screen,
  and....”[174]

-----

Footnote 173:

  At the Duke of Celle’s hunting-seats of Epsdorff and Göhre. In his
  _Despatch_, September 30, 1692, Colt mentions that the “Elector of
  Brandenburg has gone home and that the Duke of Hanover is with his
  brother, hunting”.

Footnote 174:

  The end of this letter is not to be found.

-----

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                      “[HANOVER,] _October_ 10/20.

  “I have heard nothing from you for a week. I am in despair, for I have
  never been in such need of consolation as now. I still hope to receive
  a letter from you this evening, but if that hope should fail I know
  not what will become of me. I have endless things to tell you. I would
  give my blood to be able to tell them to you by word of mouth, but I
  see little or no chance of it. If you could come secretly I think the
  plan might succeed. I shall go to meet the Prince,[175] but I shall be
  there only a few days; we shall return here together. The matter they
  are trying to arrange, and on which depends my visit to the Electress
  of Brandenburg, is almost settled. There seems to be no doubt that the
  investiture will take place in four or five weeks. Knowing your
  temper, I am not sure if you will approve of my visit. I can assure
  you I think only of how to escape from going; but it is very
  difficult, for I have not to deal with children, and in the present
  state of things it would be harder to make excuses than at any other
  time. Let me know your wishes, and think, too, of some sensible
  expedient, in case you should not wish me to go. The Prince has
  written a ridiculous letter, with an order to give it, from him, to Le
  Barbouilleur, with his compliments. I did nothing of the kind. La
  Confidente returned it to him without a word from me. He avoids me as
  much as I shun him. No one could spend a more miserable life than I
  do. I am in a perpetual state of terror, and, to crown all, your
  letters are so cold that they make me lose patience. I declare, every
  one conspires against me. Instead of loving me more firmly than ever,
  you overwhelm me with unreasonable complaints. Maybe you rejoice at
  the obstacles in the way of my happiness. While I am fretting my heart
  out here, and have not a moment’s peace for fear they may part us for
  ever, you may be secretly tasting the joys of new conquests, without
  giving me so much as a thought. I am surprised that I still keep my
  reason, or know what I am saying. Persecuted as I am on all sides,
  tormented by anxiety on your account, I should not wonder if my brain
  were to give way. I have never deserved your love more than now.
  However bitterly you may reproach me, however much I may fear, nothing
  shakes my resolve to love you for ever, and to prove it to you all I
  can. They can hinder me from seeing you, but they can never keep me
  from being yours all my life long: you take the place of all to me.
  They told the Duke [of Hanover] that you moved to another house with
  your sister Aurora, and so sought to lure me to your place. Think of
  that! How they seek to ruin you! I did not sleep all night thinking of
  our being parted for ever. I know now the agony of separation so well
  that I dread it more than death. Yet I believe with a little prudence
  and good behaviour one could remedy all these evils, but I would
  rather _speak_ to you about the measures to be taken than write. When
  shall I have that bliss? It seems very far away. I am so uncertain
  about your feelings towards me that I hardly know what to think. It is
  my great anxiety, for were I sure of your love my sufferings would be
  much less. I am trembling as I write—I fear every sound; but I worship
  you, and as long as you love me I can console myself easily about all
  the rest.”

-----

Footnote 175:

  The Prince of Hanover had returned from the campaign to Luisburg.

-----

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                       “DEINZE, _September_ 20/30.

  “We have sent our baggage on to Ghent, and as I am in need of paper, I
  beg your pardon for using loose pieces which I pick up from anywhere.
  I cannot hide from you any longer my fear that they will separate us
  soon. To tell you all. My sisters wished to go through Hanover on
  their way to ——. Marshal Podevils, knowing they had arrived at
  Hamburg, asked leave to go and see them. The Duke told him he knew my
  sisters were there, and he had been informed that Aurora wished to
  visit Hanover. He therefore begged the Marshal to tell her with his
  compliments that he had the highest regard for her, but she would do
  him a great favour in changing her plans, as she and all her house had
  witnessed their last carnival at Hanover.[176] My sister, astonished
  at such a message, which perhaps was never before sent to a lady of
  quality, begged Marshal Podevils in reply to tell His Highness that
  she had not expected such civility from a prince, or one who passed as
  such, and it was easy to obey his commands, as she had no intention of
  spending another winter in Hanover, for the last visit gave her no
  longing to return. Her answer was smart enough, but I wish she had
  written it to Monseigneur le Duc, for Podevils will not tell it to him
  like that. You can see how far the power of that woman[177] goes; we
  all have to fear her. She was waiting for the Marshal after his
  interview with His Highness at Luisburg, and said to him: ‘I know you
  are going to see Königsmarck’s sisters at Hamburg, and they tell me
  Countess Aurora is coming to Hanover. I can allow her to return to
  court if His Highness is willing to permit it, though we have no great
  confidence in her.’[178] These are the exact words she used, and I do
  not know whether they mean that the Duke or the Countess has no
  confidence in her. I don’t think Aurora cares much about the
  confidence of either; her greatest trouble is that she cannot pay her
  respects to Madame la Princesse. You will understand how these things
  worry and distress me. I have thought of writing to Marshal Podevils
  and begging him to tell me if this affair was doing me harm with the
  Duke, as I should have to take precautions, and adding that I expect
  him to do me this kindness as a good friend of our house; but as his
  answer would probably be to advise me to leave [the Duke’s service], I
  have not carried out my intention without knowing your wishes, which
  are my law. If, however, you give me leave, you will see a fine row,
  for I will avenge myself on this insult in such a manner that the
  whole world will talk about it, though that pleasure would cost me
  dear, for I should have to leave you.”

-----

Footnote 176:

  The Duke evidently thought the Countess Aurora was coming to Hanover
  for the carnival in the winter.

Footnote 177:

  Countess Platen.

Footnote 178:

  Contemporary evidence of the quarrel between Countess Platen and
  Aurora is given in a letter of the Electress Sophia, published in
  Cramer’s _Memorials of the Countess Königsmarck_.

-----

                                        “AFFLEGEN, _October_ 6/16.

  “I was hindered the day before yesterday from finishing my letter by
  the alarm that the French were going to attack Charleroy,[179] but it
  came to nothing, and therefore I am able to write now. As my previous
  letters seem to have upset you so much, I am dying to know what there
  was in them to offend you so greatly. You command me to make the
  _amende honorable_; I willingly do so. I am only too happy to find
  myself mistaken, and hope you will forgive me. The Prince of
  Würtemburg’s affair must have prevented the Prince of Hesse from
  carrying out his intention of going to the fair. I have not heard who
  went to Frankfort, but I think that _ma chérie_ has been badly
  rewarded for her trouble in going to the fair, for I hear very few men
  of quality were there. You are good enough to say if I find anything
  in your letters to vex me I must put it down to anger: of course, one
  must pardon anything from an angry lady, so tell me, I pray you, what
  shall I do to be reconciled to you? Command me and I will obey. My
  crime is suspicion. Surely it is only right and fair that I should
  tell you my fears, even though I may be in the wrong. I own I am
  wrong, and am ready to offer you any reparation. I have never sighed
  ‘for fresh conquests’ since I paid my court to you. To be sure of your
  heart is my only happiness and desire; but, Beloved, I cannot suffer
  any rivals.... All the treasures, all the pleasures, all the charms of
  the world will not lure me from the woman who has my heart. You may be
  sure that neither kings nor riches, neither castles nor all the
  tortures of hell, would make me change.”

-----

Footnote 179:

  Colt’s _Despatch_, Göhre, October 17: “We have just heard the welcome
  news that the French have failed in their design on Charleroy; they
  were for the most part sure here that Charleroy must be taken”.

-----

                  “_Six o’clock, from_ CHARLEROY, _October_ 10/20.

  “I sighed a long time for your letters. Two came yesterday. I opened
  them with joy, but gladness was soon changed to direst grief. My
  misery is so great that it will surely drive me to some desperate
  deed. I was so troubled and distraught that I did not notice yesterday
  that the King was looking for me in the crowd, and bowed to me.
  Monsieur Bülow warned me, otherwise I should not have seen him. The
  order that our troops are to go to the relief of Charleroy could not
  have come more _à propos_, for I shall seek death there, and so find
  relief from my troubles. Think only of yourself, and take every care
  that their suspicions may not get you into trouble. I implore you do
  this. I will bear all the disgrace with joy if only I see you out of
  danger. I will gladly be of all men the most miserable, I will give up
  the only woman I have ever loved in my life, I will leave the
  Hanoverian service, and so be deprived at one blow of my divinity, my
  calling, and my consolation. The North takes away from me the means of
  livelihood,[180] and even in play bad luck persecutes me. See to what
  plight I have come! I have borne ruin and disgrace with impunity,
  happy in the joy of being able to love you with a lasting love, but
  now I must live without you! I cannot do so. If I have to leave you I
  must leave life too. Charleroy will help me; there I will seek death
  to end my sorrow.... If death does not decide my fate, I will never
  abandon you—not even though I were poisoned, massacred, beaten black
  and blue, or burned alive. But I talk like a man who has lost his
  reason. I do not see how in suffering all these insults I am gaining
  you. I am only drawing on you no end of trouble. I must give you up;
  but, if I must die, I will die avenging myself on those who are
  forcing me to abandon you.

  “My greatest grudge is against La Platen, and on her I will avenge
  myself, for to her I attribute all my misfortunes. I will seek out her
  son, pick a quarrel with him, and send him to the other world. After
  that I will tell everybody how she persecuted me, tell them also all
  the foolish things I did with her, and then, if the Duke still shuts
  his eyes, the first time I meet her off her dung-hill I will insult
  her so publicly that all her life long she will never dare to show her
  face again. But how small is such revenge in comparison with the harm
  she does me! for she robs me of the only joy I have in the world. I
  lived only for _ma chérie_, I wore her chains with gladness; she was
  my joy, my divinity, my all. Imagine, therefore, the misery this jade
  of a Platen brings upon me! If I were lord of creation I would offer a
  sacrifice of her, and give her to the bears to eat; the lions should
  suck her devil’s blood, the tigers tear her cowardly heart out. I
  would spend day and night seeking new torments to punish her for her
  black infamy in separating a man, who loves to distraction, from the
  object of his love.... I thought it very likely they would try to
  remove me, because they egged on my sister Aurora to send so rude an
  answer to the Duke. But as to what you tell me from the Electress of
  Brandenburg, don’t you think she said it to see whether you would
  betray yourself; for I cannot believe that La Platen would have said
  that to her! Should the Duke come to hear of it she would be ruined.

  “Your last letter of the 28th comforts me a little, for you say that
  you will always be faithful to me, and all these persecutions only
  serve to encourage you in that determination. You give me back life.
  Should their plan of sending me away from you come to anything, we
  shall see what will happen. I do not see any way for you to make me
  happy unless you, some time or another, confide in your mother that
  your love and my removal would make you do something foolish. That
  fear will either make them keep me near at hand or send me to the
  other world. They are desperate remedies; but if one cannot hope, one
  fears nothing. I know not if my dear one takes my meaning.

  “_L’envoi._—The mischance with the portrait makes me tremble. If I see
  you again I will take care to be hidden. Is it possible that you think
  your assurances of love weary me? Your letters are the only joy I
  have. Continue to send them, I pray you, and be wise. I read the last
  word with as much joy as the beginning—if only you do not speak of my
  removal or of your going away for some time. The sweetest part of your
  letter is where you ask me to tell you what to do so as to obey. I
  entreat you, do not suffer them to part us; use every effort to
  prevent it, and if in the end it must be, _come with me_, following
  the fate of Léonnisse and her chevalier; it is the only real way for
  us to be happy.”

-----

Footnote 180:

  The King of Sweden was threatening to confiscate his estates.

-----

The Princess’s letters are now missing, and we are left to gather the
substance of them from Königsmarck’s epistles. Apparently the Princess
did not approve of the desperate remedies suggested in his last letter.
As Königsmarck often complains, she was of a timid disposition and not
given to heroic measures. She was unwilling to take her mother into her
confidence; she was not prepared to leave all and flee with her lover,
except as a last resort, nor did she approve of his writing to the
Field-Marshal. She took counsel, it seems, with the Electress of
Brandenburg, who, she must surely have realised, had she reflected, was
one of her enemies. The Electress, a clever and brilliant woman, does
not appear in an amiable light in this affair. Like her mother and all
her house, she despised Sophie Dorothea, but she seems to have suspended
her animosity towards her sister-in-law for a time from the pleasure it
gave her to find that she had an intrigue. The Electress advised her to
temporise; to make her peace with Countess Platen, whose jealousy was at
the bottom of the whole business; to advise Königsmarck to do the same,
and all would be well. The advice was unworthy, but the unhappy Princess
resolved to follow it. It seemed to her the only thing to be done, and
anything was preferable to separation from her lover. In her new-found
confidence with the Electress of Brandenburg she paid her a brief visit
at Lützenburg, her beautiful palace just outside Berlin, now known as
Charlottenburg.

Meanwhile Königsmarck was trying in vain to obtain his leave and return
to Hanover and his divinity; but on some pretext or another it was
always refused. The campaign was now at an end. King William had gone
back to England, the Prince of Hanover had left the camp, and all the
electors and princes had departed their several ways. The Hanoverian
troops were sent to the garrison at Dist, into winter quarters, and
Königsmarck with them. Impatient at the delay in getting his leave, he
threatened to return to Hanover without it, though this would be
tantamount to resignation, and so play into the hands of his enemies. He
writes:—

                                             “JENAPPE, _October_ 25.

  “You know well that rather than do anything which might displease you
  I would be torn into a thousand pieces. I will therefore _not_ write
  to the Field-Marshal, but obey your commands in this as in other
  things; it will always be a joy for me to do so.

  “I cannot understand what it means about my sister Aurora wishing to
  estrange the ducal family. I am curious to know what she has done.
  Since you wrote so freely to Aurora, I hope you will tell her to burn
  your letters. The phrase ‘kind friend’ in the mouth of La Platen has a
  hidden meaning; it is evident she suspects something without quite
  knowing what, for I am certain if she really knew the least thing she
  would not fail to inform those who ought not to know it. I do not at
  all agree with the Electress of Brandenburg’s advice. My soul would be
  very base to pretend submission to a person who is persecuting you.
  Were it not for your sake I would make her pay for all the harm she
  does to honest people. I cannot understand the Electress speaking so
  freely to you about me and La Platen. There is something hidden which
  I hope to discover.”

                                        “LOUVAIN, _October_ 17/27.

  “I have arrived here at last, but have not yet got my leave. I don’t
  know what it means, for all the other officers who have asked have
  received it. I am determined, in case I do not get it, to demand my
  discharge. I may as well do so, since they seek a pretext of getting
  rid of me, and I can find again in the King of England’s service all I
  shall lose from giving up this. But what breaks my heart is that all
  the kings in the world will not console me for the loss of a goddess
  like you. Alas! what shall I do? If I enter that service I shall see
  you rarely, and how shall I exist? No, that cannot be! I would rather
  attach myself to the King of Sweden, for at any rate I should be
  nearer at hand, and could find means of seeing you oftener.”

[Illustration:

  THE COUNTESS AURORA KÖNIGSMARCK.
  _From the painting in the possession of Count C. G. von Rosen._
]

                                                      “_October_ 27.

  “At last I have received three of your letters at once, and am greatly
  comforted, even though I see that all plot against me. I am more than
  satisfied with you, and I cannot understand how you got it into your
  head that you were forgotten—you who are charming above all women.
  What is more fervent than your ardour, more sure than your promises,
  more touching than your sighs, more tender than your love, more
  pleasant than your company, sweeter than your intercourse, and, in
  fine, more charming than your beauty? With so many perfections and
  attractions, how can you have the least doubt that I could ever leave
  you? Do not think it so light a matter, for my heart is full of your
  charms, and I respect you as much as I adore you. I give myself wholly
  to you—my body, my soul, my possessions, my honour: I sacrifice all
  for the love of you. But even thus I am not sure of you. You cause me
  many sorrows; but when I remember all our exquisite transports, all
  our sweet violence, I forget my grief. What ardour, what fire, what
  love have we not tasted together! Shall we ever enjoy those precious
  moments again?

  “To answer you about the journey you are making.[181] I think you show
  too much eagerness to go, but since you wish it so ardently of course
  I approve. You had the same wish to go to Frankfort! If I were to tell
  you my true thoughts, I do not care too much for my lovely one to seek
  places of amusement at such an unhappy time; but what must be, must
  be—and, indeed, how can we prevent it? To comfort myself I whispered
  to my heart it was the very place for me to see you without being
  known; but it answered, ‘You will have only a moment, and the rest of
  her day must needs be given to others’.

  “I don’t mind the Electress of Brandenburg’s talk, and the way you say
  you conducted yourself at her court charmed me, though I cannot quite
  believe it. But you do not tell me the names of the gallants who were
  there, and it is very vexing that you have not had my letters. The
  Prince will not join the others, but go to the Elector of
  Brandenburg’s. You are wise perhaps to put yourself right in that
  quarter, but to what end will it lead you? You have not enough
  strength of mind to alter your conduct. What do you mean to do? When
  we are the best friends in the world, the least rumour frightens you
  and makes you wish I were ten thousand leagues away; but then, when
  you reflect, you are sorry for your fears. This continual vacillation
  does not help us. Look at the Electress of Brandenburg. She lets the
  world talk till it is tired—till it no longer talks about her. Yet she
  has the same to fear as you.[182] As long as they know nothing
  _positively_, all will work for the best if you are courageous; but
  the least thing frightens you. How then can I give you any advice? You
  do me an injustice when you say that I am ‘engaging in new conquests’.
  I swear to you on my oath that so far from having any such intention,
  I have never been to visit any woman except the wife of my
  lieutenant-colonel, whom I cannot avoid calling on sometimes. I did,
  however, accept the supper invitation of the Elector and the Count of
  Nassau, and many light ladies were present, of whom I have told you.

  “The tale about my house can only have originated with Countess
  Platen, and she may one day have to pay very dearly for her lies. I
  could revenge myself on her very well through Aurora’s lover, but I
  fear that might do harm, and I should not like to go to that extremity
  before I am forced to do so.”

-----

Footnote 182:

  This is not quite fair, for the Electress of Brandenburg never
  attached herself to one man in particular and her numerous friendships
  were most of them intellectual.

-----

                                 “TWO HOURS FROM DIST, _October_ 31.

  “Here I am arrived at my garrison—the most barren spot in the world! I
  am lodged with the nuns; they are not like those of Venice, for they
  see only their nearest relations. I have not got my leave yet, but
  that does not worry me much; I shall be consoled if I get it soon. I
  should have gone about it without fail to-day, only I have hurt my
  foot and may have to rest here a few days. Still, it makes me rage,
  for I hoped to have gone before the Prince’s departure; now I cannot.
  See what bad luck I have! Were it not for a stout heart I should break
  down. Pardon me, I pray, for having advised you to forget me. I am too
  much your friend not to know I ought to do so; but it is no use. I
  _cannot_ give you up. I do nothing but weep. My beard is like a
  hermit’s; my nails are as long as if I were going to dig up my
  grandfather.... When my servant was combing my hair he found several,
  at least ten or twelve, grey hairs, which show how I take things to
  heart. Farewell.”

-----

Footnote 181:

  Another visit to Lützenburg, near Berlin; this was deferred for a time
  (Colt’s _Despatch_).

-----

                                 “DIST, _October_ 27/_November_ 6.

  “I am in the most cursed hole in the world. I can get nothing I want,
  neither your letters nor leave from my regiment. I have to-day sent my
  equipage to Hanover, and am waiting for orders to start; the moment I
  get them I will post at once to the place where my love calls me. I am
  desperate at waiting so long for my leave, and will give up the
  service rather than remain here. If I am driven to that, what would
  you have me to do? Don’t think you will dissuade me, for my mind is
  made up, and if I leave the service I shall at least be able to see
  you secretly. I remember asking you whether you wish me to wear a wig
  or not; as you haven’t answered, I fear you have not got my letter. I
  am not expecting any more letters from you here, but I beg you to
  arrange so that I may find some at Hanover, at our good friend’s. Will
  _ma petite louche_ write a word or two about her journey, so that our
  friend may take precautions. I cannot live without you.... I have
  composed a song in German about my lovely one; I sang it at a party. I
  told the guests that the beautiful one was called Léonnisse, and they
  swore that they would drink their toasts to that name. That made me
  happier, and I drank with them. To make the wine pleasanter, I found
  an old red ribbon, rather faded, which I dipped into it. You know from
  whom the ribbon comes. This is the only hour I have had a little
  happiness for three weeks. I must have some if I am to live. When we
  meet you will win me back to my merry mood. No fear will make me
  falter, no obstacles hinder me; dangers will not weaken me—on the
  contrary, they will increase my passion, and hindrances will make the
  sweetness all the greater. That is how one should love. Love me
  likewise, and I shall be as happy as a king.”

All this time the court of Hanover was in great excitement about the
electorate. The desire of years was now at the point of realisation, and
Duke Ernest Augustus was daily expecting a notification from the Emperor
that he had been invested with the electoral bonnet. The powerful
support of the Elector of Brandenburg was now on his side. On the other
hand, his arch-enemy, Antony Ulrich of Wolfenbüttel, was plotting with
might and main against him, and pages of Colt’s entry book at this time
are filled with tales of intrigue. The electorate was trembling in the
balance. News from Vienna was alternately good and bad. The visit to
Berlin was settled, then it was deferred, then it was decided upon
again.[183] During this anxious period the Duke of Hanover and his
eldest son went to Celle to take counsel with Duke George William, who
was warmly supporting his brother.

Meanwhile Sophie Dorothea, who cared nothing for electorates, but whose
whole soul was absorbed in her secret passion, was keeping up a constant
correspondence with Königsmarck, and longing with eager impatience for
his return. The Electress’s visit, the return of the Prince, and other
matters had rendered it impossible for her to see Königsmarck, even if
he should come back; but the visit of her husband and father-in-law to
Celle at last gave her the opportunity for which she yearned. She wrote
to Königsmarck entreating him to come to her at once, with leave or
without it. On receipt of her letter he set out immediately, riding
night and day. The following letters were written by him on the eve of,
and during, the journey:—

-----

Footnote 183:

  Colt’s _Despatch_, Celle, November 1, 1692.

-----

                                “DIST, _October_ 31/_November_ 10.

  “Since you bid me lose no time in coming to you, I have determined to
  start at once, without waiting for leave, whatever may happen. It is
  not very prudent, for it will give them the pretext they seek; but
  since you wish to see me, I fly, I rush to the spot where you are. Why
  cannot I be there to-night? You relieve me of my forebodings by saying
  that with prudence and wisdom we shall be able to outwit our enemies.
  Let me know your plans, and I will give you my views. My life and
  happiness depend on them. I am sorry your letters were delayed, for I
  suck from them much sweetness. _Anima mia_, what can I do to prove my
  gratitude? How happy I am, mine angel, my divinity, my delight, my
  sole consolation! Your merits are beyond all else in the world, your
  charms above all the sex, your beauty equal to that of the goddesses.
  I cannot live without you any longer. I am dying to be near you; but
  there are yet many days. Adieu, my soul, my life. Adieu.”

                        _Pour la personne connue._

                                         “SUNDAY, _November_ 6/16.

  “This is to give you warning that I shall arrive to-morrow evening.
  You understand me, do you not? Should this fall into your hands before
  ten o’clock to-morrow morning, Monday, let me have a line or two from
  you. On receiving your letter I will act accordingly; but should you
  receive mine _after_ ten o’clock, I will await the usual signal.
  Farewell.”

                                               “[_En route, later._]

  “I hoped to have found post-horses here, but there are none.
  Therefore, instead of Monday, I shall not be with you until Tuesday,
  the 8th. Do not let the seal alarm you: I opened the letter. Though
  the hasty journey will have tired me to death, I cannot let the night
  pass without throwing myself at your feet. Do not refuse me my prayer,
  or I shall die. You will see me in a mean guise, but I hope you will
  not mind. I can come in secretly, without any one seeing me, and be
  hidden as long as you like. I only wait for a word in answer from La
  Confidente. I will come according to your usual signal. The answer can
  be sent to my secretary. He will know where I am; it will be given me
  without fail. Farewell. I am pining for the hour.”

Thus, after a week’s journey, hindered by many obstacles and delayed by
the many subterfuges, Königsmarck entered Hanover by stealth in
disguise, and the same night, all travel-stained and weary as he was, he
found his way to the Princess’s chamber. The lovers met again after a
separation of six months. They were fully aware of the risk they ran.
What tears and sighs and shadow of parting must have been mingled with
the joys of that brief hour’s reunion!

The next day Königsmarck doffed his disguise and reported himself to the
Field-Marshal. As he had left his regiment without leave he fully
expected to be sent away to his estates at Hamburg—a proceeding which
would be tantamount to his dismissal from the Hanoverian service. He had
furnished the pretext his enemies were seeking: he had had his hour and
was prepared to pay the price.

But the Duke was away at Celle, and Marshal Podevils was Königsmarck’s
very good friend, and was not disposed to press too hardly on his breach
of discipline. Instead of sending him to Hamburg he ordered him to
remain at Hanover. The lovers’ joy was unbounded, and for a few days
they enjoyed one of their brief spells of happiness, unalloyed by
jealousy and fear. The story of this is told in Königsmarck’s letters.

                                “[HANOVER,] _Wednesday, November_ 9.

  “I was never more surprised or rejoiced in my life than at dinner,
  when Marshal Podevils ordered me not to go to Hamburg. I am still
  ignorant of his reasons, but I shall know to-morrow. I asked him to
  remember his orders in case they wished to refuse my request, that he
  might take my part. He reassured me on that account. I am the happiest
  man in the world. Fortune, who has turned her back on me so often,
  shows her face again, and I draw a good omen. Heaven be praised if our
  sorrows should end in this way and we should be able in future to live
  as we wish! You may be sure I slept well last night, for, as you saw,
  want of sleep was depressing me unduly. But I think you made allowance
  for a man overwhelmed by love, grief, and a thousand other emotions.

  “Last night makes me the happiest and most satisfied man in the world.
  Your embraces showed me your tenderness, and I could not doubt your
  love. They still talk much about the journey to Berlin, and flatter
  themselves that the business at Vienna will end as they wish.[184] _Je
  reste inviolablement à vous._”

-----

Footnote 184:

  The visit to the Elector of Brandenburg at Berlin and the Electoral
  investiture at Vienna by the Emperor.

-----

If Königsmarck were to remain unmolested at Hanover, it was necessary
that he should win again the good-will of the Countess Platen and lull
to rest her jealous suspicions. She was all-powerful, and, acting on the
advice of the Electress of Brandenburg, Sophie Dorothea sought to
conciliate her, and again advised Königsmarck to do the same. He at
first refused with real or simulated indignation, but eventually
yielded, and made his peace with her. The lovers then enjoyed a period
of comparative immunity. Every person about the court was, in fact, too
much occupied with business of high political importance to heed them
and their affairs. Would the Duke of Hanover go to Berlin, or would he
not? Would the Emperor invest him with the electorate, or would he not?
These were the all-absorbing questions at Hanover. One was soon answered
in the affirmative. On December 2 the Duke of Hanover set out for
Berlin, accompanied by the Prince. Princess Sophie Dorothea was to have
gone too, but at the eleventh hour, as she wished to remain with
Königsmarck, she feigned illness. Her _ruse_ was completely successful.
The court physician was called in, and the Princess was declared unfit
to travel, kept at Hanover, and made to undergo a course of treatment.
Königsmarck writes:—

                                             “[HANOVER, _November_.]

  “On rising from my mattress, which I found the softest bed of down,
  they gave me your letter, wherein I found, what I knew before, the
  most constant love in the world. Your many virtues set you above the
  goddesses, and your constancy raises you above your sex. I note that
  your answer to the one [Electress of Brandenburg] who proposed you
  should make it up with La Platen, was to the effect that if the Duke
  ordered it you would obey, though you did not see to what end. You ask
  me my feeling about the matter. I would never advise you to do such a
  thing, for it is beneath noble souls. But what grieves me is that
  while you think it a mean action on your part, you advise me to do it.
  I believe you wish to try me, and so I forgive you; otherwise I should
  be very angry with you for wishing me to do a despicable thing. Don’t
  imagine I will consent. I will not budge an inch from my determination
  for all the countesses in the world; but I am willing to aid your
  plan, since you hope for a happy ending. I am willing to be civil to
  her, even friendly, as in former times, if she be civil to me; but
  never could I make her believe I liked her, hating her as I do. Fie!
  it is beneath me. My transports of delight when I held you in my arms
  prevented me from realising the full force of your proposition; I find
  it so much beneath me that I refuse altogether, and beg you will say
  no more about it. How can I thank you, angel mine, for all your sweet
  favours? You have made me the happiest man in the world.”

                                                        “_November._

  “You could not have given me pleasanter news. Though the journey will
  not take place,[185] I still owe you the same debt, but with this
  difference—if they shatter themselves with their politics, we shall
  not risk the same chance of being discovered. That may easily come to
  pass; indeed I hope to God they will break each other up. But, Madame,
  my joy is not without alloy, for Prince Ernest told me that the Prince
  assured him, if the journey to Berlin fell through, he would go to
  Aller. However, I would rather see you there than run the risk of
  being sent away from you, which would surely happen if we were
  discovered. My ill-luck follows me, and I see no hope of being luckier
  in the future. I could most certainly have come to you last night, but
  La Dondon[186] whispered to the Duchess’s _valet-de-chambre_, and I
  thought they were whispering about us, so I made up my mind to deprive
  myself of the happiness of being with you. I am very grateful to you
  for promising to appear this evening. Do come, that I may see the
  divine eyes that give me light. If you suffered at the comedy, I
  suffered more. I was dying to look at you, for I found you more
  beautiful than ever; but I dared not give my eyes that delight for
  fear of spoiling everything.

  “The journey to Hamburg depends on your commands, and I will take them
  from your lips this evening. At the same time I will tell you all
  about my interview with La Platen—to rejoice you. I will only tell you
  now that at first our conversation was interrupted by her tears of
  rage, but I found a way of changing them to loving looks at your
  bidding. This was an outrage on my love for you, for which I mean to
  see you at my feet begging my pardon. You cannot love me as much as I
  love you, for at your bidding I have with her sinned against my love
  for you.”

-----

Footnote 185:

  The journey to Berlin was postponed (_vide_ Colt’s _Despatch_,
  November 18).

Footnote 186:

  _La Dondon_, the plump woman, a lady-in-waiting.

-----

                                 “_November_ 29/_December_ 9 1692.

  “I have heard nothing of your illness except that the Duchess told me
  you were very unwell, and the Prince said so too; in fact, every one
  thinks you are quite unequal to the journey. Mind you do not undeceive
  them! Everything goes well up to now; my throat is rather swollen, but
  that will not hinder me from seeing you, if you wish it, to-morrow
  evening. I am sorry you are so _triste_: why cannot I be with you to
  make you forget your pains? But, beloved, remember you are making the
  effort for a man who will be ever grateful to you, and who is
  convinced that he is loved by the sweetest woman in the world.
  To-night, between six and seven o’clock, I shall write to you again.
  Farewell.”

                       “_About_ _November_ 30/_December_ 10, 1692.

  “Poor child! what are you not suffering? To be rubbed[187] without
  being ill is too much! I am really unworthy of the pain you are
  undergoing, and am quite crushed by all you tell me of your
  sufferings. Can I do nothing to deserve all you do for me? I call to
  witness all my tenderness, my love, my overwhelming passion, my
  devotion, hoping thus to be worthy. I would sacrifice myself a
  thousand thousand times, only too happy to seal with my blood the love
  I bear you, counting it an honour to lose my life for so sweet a
  woman. If my stupid verses can divert you and make you laugh, here
  they are. I will compose some every day:—

                     Du sagst Du liebst mich,
                     Und ich anbet’ Dich,
                     Da sind wir Beide vergnügt, etc.

  “I have heard nothing new. The news from Vienna is good; they expect
  the courier every moment. The Prince is going; and every one pities
  you, poor dear! they are quite sure you are unable to go. Up till now
  everything goes on well. Tell me if you think it possible for us to
  meet to-morrow. They certainly spy upon us, but if we fear no
  surprises, _pour l’amour de Dieu_ let me see you! I cannot live so
  many days without a glimpse of you. I would rather die than lose my
  love.”

-----

Footnote 187:

  “Pauvre enfant! Que ne souffrez-vous point! Suer, se faire frotter,
  sans avoir de mal c’en est trop.” Apparently a seventeenth-century
  form of massage.

-----

                                                 “_December_ 1/11.

  “I could learn nothing about your journey. La Rose[188] said he
  thought it would be very inadvisable for you to travel, for your
  illness might come from your being _enceinte_, and travelling would be
  hurtful to you—even dangerous. La Court said she did not believe the
  Prince would go; but one cannot be sure about that—the only sure thing
  is that you must stop where you are. I will tell you more to-morrow.
  Arrange for some one to wait for me in the gallery at half-past
  eleven. I will write to you all I know, and you may be sure that after
  the sweet privileges you have given me I could never change. On the
  contrary, I love you a thousand times more every day. Your charms fire
  me so much that I can hardly live. I have the sweetest dreams about
  you. Farewell until to-morrow.”

-----

Footnote 188:

  La Rose was the court physician.

-----

The Duke of Hanover’s journey was wholly successful, and if gratified
ambition can make a man happy he returned to Hanover a happy man. The
labours and the intrigues of years were at last crowned with success,
the dearest object of his life was granted—he came back Elector. The
news was eagerly expected. Colt writes: “A courier is come hither with
the welcome news that the electoral bonnet was given on the 9th, and
just now we have had advice that the new Elector will be here this
day”.[189]

-----

Footnote 189:

  Colt’s _Despatch_, December 20, 1692.

-----

The new Elector arrived as advised, and the whole city turned out to
meet him. His entry was a triumphal procession. There were great court
ceremonials: all the foreign envoys went in state to pay their respects
to the Elector; there was a general thanksgiving in the churches and
much firing of cannon.

In the court functions Sophie Dorothea—henceforth to rank as the
Electoral Princess—was called upon to play her part. As she was
naturally fond of gaiety, there is no doubt she rapidly recovered from
her “illness,” and entered with zest into the spirit of the festival.
Equally certain is it that Königsmarck’s jealousy was again aroused. He
made little or no excuse for the exigencies of her position, and indeed
would seem to have resented her access of rank as a personal affront; he
was certainly jealous of her husband, if we may judge from the following
remonstrance, which is perhaps better given in the French:—

                                                  “_December_, 1692.

  “Princesse Electorale! L’on peut à présent vous nommer comme cela, car
  apparemment le prince Electoral vous aura investie de ce titre
  d’honneur cette nuit passée. Les embrassades sont-elles plus
  charmantes quand on est dans ce rang!... Je ne peux dormir de rage,
  qu’un prince électoral me prive du plaisir de voir ma charmante
  maîtresse. Je vous aurai félicité aujourd’hui de votre nouvelle
  dignité, mais je doute que votre époux ait fait son devoir,
  aujourd’hui, car si l’on doit juger de son empressement pour vous
  revoir, l’investiture ne sera faite qu’à six heures du matin. Je
  souhaite que celle-ci vous soit rendue immédiatement après vous aurez
  en fraîche mémoire les plaisirs électorals.... Hélas! je n’oserais
  vous faire souvenir de ceux que nous avons eus ensemble; ils vous
  paraîtront si minces (je me sers du mot _mince_, parce qu’une chanson
  dit: ‘Hélas, mon prince, que vos amours sont minces’) que vous n’en
  aurez plus l’idée.”

This letter brings the correspondence to a close for a time. Soon after
the court festivities consequent on the Electorate came to a close, and
Königsmarck left on a visit to his estates near Hamburg.

The year 1692 ended brilliantly for the House of Hanover.




                              CHAPTER XIX.

                       THE TRYST AT BROCKHAUSEN.

          O friend of all true lovers—tender Night!
            O solace of the dark! O comforter!
          Cover us in from the too garish light
            With curtains that no curious breathings stir.
          Hem us about, and set thy stars to stand,
            That none may come us nigh to hear or see
          How mouth seeks trembling mouth and hand holds hand,
            Or what low whisperings of wonder be.
          Cover us in, and keep us well from harm;
            Let us lie surely in thy shelter fair
          (Even as my love lies safe within my arm,
            Content to find her present Heaven there):
          And we will tell thee all our secrets sweet
            Ere Day binds sunny sandals on thy feet.
             W. A. MACKENZIE, in the _Pall Mall Gazette_.[190]

-----

Footnote 190:

  By permission.

-----


The future was casting dark shadows along the path of the Princess and
her lover throughout the year 1693. Their meetings were brief and
stolen; their partings anxious and prolonged—a foretaste of that long
parting when they would meet no more. The letters which passed between
the lovers during the first five months of this year apparently did not
find their way into the hands of Aurora, and are therefore not preserved
in this collection. It is, moreover, difficult to follow the movements
of the courts of Hanover and Celle during this period, for Colt, our
invaluable guide, went to Dresden in January to invest the Elector of
Saxony with the Order of the Garter, and remained many months. The
English envoy had also to meet the Saxon demands in return for the aid
the Elector was to give William and the Allies in the forthcoming
campaign. This occupied him until May, when he returned to Celle, and
soon after the campaign began simultaneously in Flanders and in the
Palatinate. The Electoral Prince of Hanover went with the Hanoverian
troops to Flanders, and the Elector of Saxony led his troops to the
Palatinate.

Königsmarck went neither to Flanders nor the Rhine, but remained at
Hanover, despite the fact that his position had become more and more
precarious. Whispers of his intrigue with the Princess ran around the
court; he was out of favour with those in authority, the Elector treated
him with marked coldness. Yet he could not tear himself away from the
Princess, and would not quit the Hanoverian service, as it gave him the
pretext for keeping near her. For Königsmarck to remain in the
Hanoverian army meant ruin; he had no hope of promotion, and if the
intrigue were discovered it would probably mean his imprisonment or
death, certainly his banishment. His financial affairs were neglected,
and this, added to his gambling and extravagant living, made him very
short of ready money; while, to make matters worse, the King of Sweden,
who (with Denmark) was now quarrelling with the Brunswick princes to a
point which looked like open war, threatened to confiscate his lands
unless he quitted the service of an unfriendly prince. The outlook could
hardly have been gloomier, and Königsmarck gained little to compensate
him for the risks he was running. Since the beginning of the year there
had been an obvious, though unexpressed, determination on the part of
those in authority to keep him and the Princess apart. In January he
went to Hamburg. On his return to Hanover the Princess was sent to
Celle, and she did not return until the preparations for the campaign
were well advanced. It was expected that Königsmarck would serve in the
campaign in Flanders as he had served the year before; but he excused
himself on divers grounds—the hope of being near the Princess through
the summer, while the Electoral Prince was away, was too tempting for
him to resist. There may have been another reason, too, for last year he
had contracted heavy gambling debts in Flanders which were not yet paid.

Under ordinary circumstances it would have been difficult for
Königsmarck to have had himself excused, but it so happened that there
was a possibility of his services being required nearer home. The kings
of Sweden and Denmark, always uncertain, had practically withdrawn from
the Alliance, and were now threatening hostilities, more particularly
against Hanover and Celle. Their demands not being satisfied, the Danes
gathered their troops around Ratzeburg, in Saxe-Lauenburg, a fortified
town north-east of Hamburg, not far from the Holstein frontier. Only
three years before, when the Duke of Celle inherited Saxe-Lauenburg, as
he feared his warlike neighbours, he had repaired the fortifications of
Ratzeburg at great expense. The Danes and the Swedes, seeking a pretext
for war, now found a menace in these fortifications, and demanded their
demolition. This demand the Emperor was disposed to grant; but the Duke
of Celle and the Elector of Hanover strongly resisted it, and it looked
as though they would have to send troops to the aid of the fortress, and
in that event (which at first seemed very unlikely) Königsmarck
volunteered his services.

Whatever the lovers’ hopes were of remaining near one another throughout
the summer, they were doomed to speedy disappointment. No sooner had the
Electoral Prince set out for Flanders early in June than the Electoral
Princess, much against her will, was hurried away from Hanover to
Luisburg, and she remained there, under the eyes of the Elector and
Electress, until she went to Brockhausen on a visit to her parents, who
were almost as vigilant. But, despite all obstacles, the lovers found a
way to meet, and one night, at Brockhausen, a country house of the Duke
of Celle’s, the Chevalier came to his Léonnisse. The outlines of the
tryst are given; it needs but little imagination to fill in the picture.
The warm June night ... the air heavy with the scent of the limes ...
the cavalier hidden amid the trees ... the signal, the soft low whistle
... the Princess stealing through the dusk to meet her lover.... It is
the tale of Tristan and Isolde over again.

The correspondence in this chapter opens on the day when the Princess
was sent to Luisburg, and the letters are those which passed between the
lovers through June while she was at Luisburg and Brockhausen. They are
largely taken up with the possible gallantry of Prince Max, a lover’s
quarrel because Königsmarck went to a supper party at the Countess
Platen’s, a reconciliation and subsequent meeting.

Save for the stolen visit to Brockhausen, Königsmarck was all the time
at Hanover, holding himself in readiness to march against the Danes if
need be. Perhaps the most noteworthy point in the letters is the conduct
of the wily Electress[191] in praising Königsmarck to her
daughter-in-law. Her only possible object could have been to sound poor
Sophie Dorothea, who readily fell into the trap, and no doubt betrayed
herself much more than she admits.

-----

Footnote 191:

  The Duchess Sophia, henceforth known as the Electress, and Duke Ernest
  Augustus as the Elector.

-----

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                              “[LUISBURG,] _Thursday, June_ 8, 1693.

  “I arrived here in great distress; I cannot tell you the anguish I
  suffered after we parted. The thought that I may not see you for three
  months robs me of happiness. I am continually reproaching myself for
  not having said more to you—for having lost those precious moments.
  But I thought the other coach was following me, and my grief was so
  great that I never dreamt of asking about it, and I was walking
  slowly, waiting for my ring.

  “To crown my misery, I found they had put Max next to me, in the room
  belonging to my husband. I wanted so much to go to bed when I got
  here. I was quite broken down, and had such a headache I could
  scarcely hold up. Imagine my astonishment when I found everything in
  uproar and disorder, for my servants had not had the wit to prepare
  anything, although they knew my wishes, as well as I know yours. It
  was most careless and impertinent of them. I do not ever remember
  having been so angry. Every one was at supper when I arrived. I sent
  word to the major-domo to change my rooms quickly, as I absolutely
  refused to have those arranged. He raised very absurd difficulties,
  and excused himself by saying he had only obeyed the Elector’s orders.
  At last I ordered Kopstein to come. You would have laughed much had
  you seen me, for I was very angry, and rated him soundly. He went and
  spoke to the Elector, and came back presently to tell me that if the
  suite of apartments were three times as large it would be for me
  alone, and gave orders that Max should be lodged in the other house. I
  hear Max was mighty civil, and would not let his people do anything
  without knowing whether I approved. If the Elector had not sent me a
  proper answer, I should have gone away to-day—reason would have said
  to Brockhausen, but my heart would have whispered to you, and I know
  not whether my heart would have prevailed over my reason. I should
  have spent the night, on my own authority, in the apartments opposite,
  which they say are reserved for my father, but it is rumoured are kept
  for La Platen. However, I am as I would be, away from all company; and
  the Electress’s [plan] has fallen through also, so I have nothing more
  to fear. I saw no one yesterday except those I have mentioned, and I
  have seen no one to-day. I shall not go out. I prefer to be alone and
  give myself up to my tears, which are even more abundant to-day than
  yesterday. As long as I was able to see you I did not realise what our
  separation meant, but now I have no hope—no comfort in the world.
  _Grand Dieu!_ why am I fated to be separated from such a lover as you?
  How sensible I am of your love and tenderness!—they are graven on my
  heart and memory for ever.... I longed to write to you last night, but
  I could not, as I had neither paper nor ink. I was very much vexed,
  for it would have relieved me to have sat down and poured out to you
  the immensity of my pain and my passion. _Adieu, mon enfant adorable._
  I must end, not through my heart’s fault—it is so full that I should
  never end—but because my eyes hurt me so much.”

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                                 “HANOVER, _June_ 8.

  “My grief is greater now than when we parted. Your tender caresses
  kept me from realising all our separation meant at the moment; but
  now, alas! I am the most miserable man alive. I love, I am loved; my
  mistress is loving, constant, and true: yet I cannot hope for happy
  days. Oh! cruel Love, for whom dost thou keep thy sweetness?—for the
  inconstant and those who love not truly? It seems so, for were love’s
  sweetness for the constant, we should surely taste more of it. If my
  sorrow is so overwhelming now, when I am only five leagues from you,
  what will it be when the fatal day dawns for my departure? Every
  thousand paces will plant a dagger in my heart, and before I join the
  army my sobs will have stifled me. But I will gladly suffer torments,
  and chance all the odds of changeable Fate, if I can only see you
  again as before, lovable, passionate, constant, charming, gracious,
  and true. Give me but the hope of our meeting, and I can endure all
  the cruel woes a cruel absence can cause. I curse the day it entered
  my mind to ask permission to go to the war. _Dieu!_ can I truly love
  you when I take so false a step? Hate me, see me no more in your life,
  forbid the very mention of my name, keep my letters no more, treat me
  like a dog, like the meanest of men,—I deserve it all! But what advice
  am I giving you? _Grand Dieu!_ I shudder when I reflect. Were you to
  take me at my word, what would become of me? Be generous, forgive my
  fault, have pity on me, for I am losing my head and know not what I
  say.

  “I send herein the numbers,[192] which are rather meagre; but never
  mind—the rest will follow. I cannot conceal from you a misfortune that
  befell me last night. La Platen, to damn me, sent to beg me to come to
  supper in the castle behind the mill. I pretended to be ill, but as
  she insisted and sent a second time, I went, for fear she might guess
  the cause of my sadness. What bondage!”

-----

Footnote 192:

  This refers to the second cypher—in numbers.

-----

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

  “[LUISBURG,] _Friday_, _June_ 9/19, _One o’clock after midnight_.

  “I did not expect to get any news from you so soon, so picture my joy
  when I received a thick packet. Alas! my joy did not last long, for if
  the beginning of your letter is delightful, the end of it is much the
  reverse. I should have written to you even if I had not received it,
  for my only pleasure is to make you remember me, and I could not go to
  bed without assuring you of my love and faithfulness. I am heartbroken
  at not being able to see you, and until we meet again I shall find no
  relief from my sorrows. But I don’t know why I tell you all this: you
  do not feel the same towards me, as your conduct shows only too well.
  I am not at all pleased with you for going to La Platen’s supper
  party; it pierces me to the heart. You have certainly a command over
  your feelings which I cannot hope to imitate. It would not have been
  possible for _me_ to have shown my face at a party the very day we
  bade farewell, but I am sure you concealed your emotions so well that
  no one suspected you of sorrow. I do not wish to reproach you, but if
  it be true that you love me, you should be sorry for showing it so
  little. Surely I deserve better of you, for the way I live and the
  sorrow I suffer might let you deprive yourself of a little amusement.
  I can hide my grief so little that Sitardie to-day asked me the cause
  of my sadness, and then he went on to say he was going to compose a
  lament on your absence! I came late from my room, and went only a
  moment to see the company playing cards. The Elector wants me to take
  a hand at Neike (?), so that he may play with me; Ilten to be a third.
  I shall keep out of his way, for I have not the same command over my
  feelings as you. I drove out with the Electress. We were quite alone,
  and she spoke of you and said you were _très gentil_. Balati[193]
  offered me his hand when I came down to supper. I should have refused
  him had I dared, for it suffices that he is no friend of yours for me
  to hate him. After supper I kept close to the Electress; she went to
  the table, and the game ended a moment after. I retired as soon as I
  could, and walked with La Confidente under the trees near the palace.
  See the difference between my conduct and yours, and think how much my
  love is above yours. I shun everybody, I am careful over the smallest
  trifle; yet, no sooner am I gone than you forget your vows and console
  yourself with a woman who hates me. No! Nothing can excuse your
  conduct, nothing can be more unkind. You had no end of pretexts for
  declining that supper party, yet you went. I tremble for the future.
  What will it be, _Grand Dieu!_ in a few months, if you can do such a
  thing on the very day I leave? You are so easily comforted. I cannot
  write more—for my tears.”

-----

Footnote 193:

  The French envoy.

-----

                                       “_L’envoi, the next morning._

  “I have not slept a wink; my eyes are as big as fists, and I dare not
  show myself in public. La _pauvre_ Confidente is pale because I fret
  so; she sleeps in the small room next me, and I woke her up at five
  o’clock in the morning. I am still in bed in agonies of despair at
  your conduct; it shows so little love for me, I cannot be comforted,
  for it was the last thing I expected—a thunderbolt would not have
  astounded me more. Was not your absence enough to bear? Why do you
  crush me with such cruelty? I should like La Rose’s opinion to come
  true, but I don’t expect it. Adieu, Monsieur. I wish you many
  pleasures; no doubt you will find fresh ones every day, and forget all
  about me.”

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                           “HANOVER, _June_ 10/20.

  “Once on a time I was wont to complain that I did not dream of you;
  but now, thank Heaven, not a night goes by but I dream of you only. A
  poet has composed these lines on my dream delights:—

                   L’autre jour j’aperçus en songe
                   Celle qui cause oies soupirs,
                   Qui consentait à mes désirs;
                   Mais tout cela n’est qu’un mensonge.
                   Ah! ce mensonge m’a flatté
                   Autant qu’a fait la verité.

                   La beauté qui le jour se couvre,
                   Pendant la nuit ne cache rien:
                   Les yeux fermés je vis un bien
                   Qui disparaît quand on les ouvre.
                   Dieu, pour soulager mon amour,
                   Faites que je dorme toujours!

                   Rien ne fut plus doux que Silvie,
                   Et, sans que je fisse d’efforts,
                   J’eus dans l’image de l’amour,
                   Le plus doux plaisir de la vie.
                   Dieu, pour soulager mon amour,
                   Faites que je dorme toujours!

  I wish you the same delight, the sweetest the absent can know. If my
  song win your approval, and I find any one who can fit music to the
  words, I will send it to you. I sing it with the greatest pleasure.

  “What do I not owe to you? You behaved so well about Prince Max. You
  see, you have more power than you think. As long as your father lives
  they will always treat you with consideration: the Elector has need of
  him, and will not readily fall out with him. You wish to know, _ma
  chérie_, how I pass my time. Alas! how can I spend it away organizing
  you but in dreaming day and night of your lovely eyes? I pine, I sigh,
  I curse the day of my birth. Sleeping, I dream of thee; waking, I
  sing:—

                      Dieu, pour soulager mon amour,
                      Faites que je dorme toujours!

  “La Platen sends me pressing invitations every day, but I only went
  once—I told you, the day before yesterday, at nine o’clock. I found
  them all at table. Without joining the party, I walked up and down by
  myself, singing, and as soon as they rose I returned to town without
  saying a word. If this does not please you, order me as you will; I am
  ready to obey all your commands. If you think we can meet while you
  are at the Elector’s, let me know, for I am dying with impatience to
  see you; but, for the sake of our love, do not risk anything,—we
  should pay for the joy too dearly, our bliss would be turned to bane.
  How grateful I am to you for telling me your love in terms so tender!
  Believe me, mine equals yours. I cannot find words strong enough to
  express it. My eyes bear witness of my heart’s passion; they have
  spoken for my loving heart in torrents of tears. When a man loves as I
  love, he does not change; and you are one of those rare women whom a
  man respects, honours, and adores all the more when he knows them
  well. My love is rather worship. If any comparison can be made between
  mortals and the gods, you could well be taken as an example. What
  beauty, what goodness, what sweetness, what charity, what brightness,
  what charm, what loveliness, what clemency! You are mercy incarnate.
  You are like the divine beings of whom the Bible speaks. Do not be
  astonished at my quoting you sweet things from the Bible, for I am in
  a most devout mood.

  “Tell me when you are going to Brockhausen and what answer your mother
  has sent you: I must know. I should like to know also how the Elector
  behaves to you and what the Electress has said. I rejoice that Prince
  Max’s charming manners do not charm you.”

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                “[LUISBURG,] _Sunday, June_ 10/20.

  “I am starting in two hours’ time with the Electress for Brockhausen;
  we shall be back to-morrow evening. She is taking no one but Bruno and
  a lady’s maid, and I am taking only Marie. I received your letter, and
  it gave me great pleasure. I should have nothing to complain about if
  you had not accepted La Platen’s supper party on the very day I left:
  it is like a dagger’s stab to me; but I have written you a long letter
  already on the subject, so I will say no more. If you can justify
  yourself and give some good reason for having gone, you will relieve
  me greatly.... I have had a letter from my husband; he permits me to
  go to Brockhausen, but does not wish me to be there long. I told him
  that the Electress had given you a knot of ribbon for your standard,
  and other ladies had done the same. Here are his very words in answer:
  ‘You must have a great lack of news to write to me about _la
  galanterie de madame ma mère_; I doubt not that you followed her
  example’. There is something in his answer that grates on me.

  “Your song is very pretty. Send me the music. Alas! I have not had a
  pleasant dream yet: how can I when I sleep so little? Sitardie told me
  again yesterday that he is composing some verses on your absence in
  which he depicts me as wasting with sorrow. I don’t quite like the
  joke, yet I dare not take it seriously. I did not leave my room until
  very late. The Elector has been asking me why I will not play. I
  excused myself on the ground that Ilten could not be seated so long;
  he was so much interested with Sitardie that he was always wanting to
  run about after him. I fear he did not believe me; but I look on it as
  a positive torture to be so long with people. I went for a drive with
  the Electress. She did not go to the supper-table, so I supped alone
  in my room and went for a walk after with La Confidente; then I went
  to bed. I have no joy but in solitude. It would be a great joy to me
  to see you once more; not a moment goes by that I do not wish it. La
  Confidente is in the small room next me, and you could stay without
  being seen; there would be nothing to fear. You could even stop a
  whole day without any one guessing it; but as it is almost impossible
  for you not to be met coming or going by some one who would recognise
  you, I will say nothing about it, for though I long passionately to
  see you, I would rather deprive myself of the joy than expose you to
  danger.... My mother has not yet answered my letter. When I know her
  plans I will let you know; but in any case I shall come back here with
  the Electress for a few days. I was nearly forgetting to thank you for
  the sweet things you say, and when I am quite pleased with you I will
  send some to you; but I shall not look for them in the Bible (as you
  do), but in my heart. You ask how the Elector behaves to me. He is the
  same as usual, I believe; but to tell you the truth I haven’t troubled
  to find out. The Electress is very friendly.”

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                         “[HANOVER,] _June_ 11/21.

  “Your letter of the 9th would have given me great comfort had not your
  most unjust reproaches wrung my heart. I only went to the supper to
  prevent people talking, but you think it a crime. How unfortunate I am
  to have done a thing which displeases you, through motives of policy!
  You know I am compelled to keep a watch over myself before others, and
  to go about as usual, therefore you are wrong in finding fault.... I
  love to see you a little jealous, but am thoroughly distressed when
  you think I have consoled myself in your absence with such as La
  Platen. Assuredly you are going out of your way to wound me. Why take
  such a contrary view of my conduct? What I did was only for love of
  you, but you will not take policy as an excuse. Maybe I have done
  foolishly; but think what you did a year ago in going to Monsieur
  Colt’s ball—a great _fête_ as it was. You danced much and merrily, and
  in truth I was hurt, but policy excused it, and after reading this I
  hope you will not think me so guilty, for what comparison is there
  between my walking near the river while others dance, and your dancing
  with many men? What I say is true, 107[194] I will bear witness. I
  swear that I walked with him while they were dancing, and did not go
  near the lively company; but, on the contrary, without talking to
  anybody, I walked on the ramparts behind the cavalry barracks. After
  refusing La Platen’s invitation three times, I could not very well
  excuse myself for that night, for La Rose had taken me apart, saying,
  ‘Why are you so melancholy? Are you ill?’ I went, therefore, and paid
  my respects to La Platen. They were at the supper table. After supper
  they went out walking, but I sat down on a heap of fresh mown grass
  without saying a word to any one. I thought only of your charms and
  the joy of being loved by you, and then I took my way home without
  seeing La Platen any more. This I vow on my damnation; and I swear to
  you also that I will never put foot in her house again except to take
  leave, be the consequences what they may; so you can be at rest about
  that. I will never see her again, though it ruin me. All your
  entreaties will avail nothing.

  “Now let us look into your conduct a little—you, so tender and
  true—and see if we can find a flaw in you. Prince Max went to your
  apartments, which could not be helped, and Balati escorted you
  downstairs. I heard this last piece of news through my enemies. You
  know well I am jealous of him. What, too, of the long conversations
  with Sitardie, which took place ‘only because he spoke of me’?
  However, I am satisfied, if you would be the same. But you are so
  suspicious—and why? Because I went to a supper without eating, and to
  a dance without dancing. That is all my guilt. Do you think I would
  forsake my divinity for a supper? Really, if you have such a bad
  opinion of me, you had better leave me. But I tell you, without losing
  my temper, I love you passionately and without guile, and no interest,
  no beauty, no supper, and no dance will ever make me do anything which
  would give you just cause to suspect me. I entreat you, tell me
  frankly if you are cured of your suspicions.”

-----

Footnote 194:

  The key to this cypher is lost.

-----

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                              ““[LUISBURG, undated.]

  “I returned with the Electress very late last night from Brockhausen,
  and had the joy of finding your letter, which I read over at least ten
  times. I should have answered it before going to bed if it had been
  possible. But first let me tell you what happened at Brockhausen. We
  arrived there Sunday at nine o’clock in the evening; we supped, and
  after the company had retired I sat up with my parents until nearly
  two o’clock. They entered into my grievances very fully; they are not
  pleased with the way the court of Hanover is acting, and they think
  exactly as I would have them do. My husband, it appears, wrote a very
  civil letter to my father, leaving him absolutely free to keep me as
  long as he pleases. You know he wrote to me quite the contrary, and I
  told them so. They want me to ask him how long he will let me stay
  away. Let me know if you approve of this. I will await your answer
  until Monday. I spent half the next day in bed, the other half with
  the Electress and my parents.

  “They say the Danes are certainly marching. I know not whether to
  rejoice or be sad, in any case I fear I shall not have the joy of
  seeing you, for they seem determined to keep me here [Luisburg] as
  long as they can. Max is staying here. I have not said a single word
  to him: in fact, I should forget how to speak if it were not for the
  Electress and La Confidente; they are the only two with whom I have
  any conversation. We left Brockhausen at seven o’clock, and arrived
  here at eleven, and I had supper in my room. I took a bath this
  morning as an excuse for not going out. This is an exact account of
  everything I did yesterday and to-day.

  “I must now answer your letter. I am sorry if mine grieved you, but my
  heart was so full that if I had told you all my anger you would not
  have got off as lightly as you did. I am satisfied with your excuses,
  and glad of your assurance that everything took place in public. Yet,
  even so, I would have given my heart’s blood for you not to have gone.
  Without offence, how can you be such a fool as to draw a comparison
  between my going to Monsieur Colt’s ball, whither I went a fortnight
  after you left,[195] and because the Elector and Electress insisted
  upon it, and your going to La Platen’s supper party two hours after I
  had gone, and when you had bidden me so tender a farewell? I never
  even dreamt that you were disporting yourself in that way. But we will
  talk no more about it, for I love you, and I cannot be angry for long.
  Even before you wrote I had forgiven you. I am a fool to confess it;
  but do not take advantage of my weakness. Don’t give me ground for
  thinking you are acting a part again; but, on the other hand, don’t be
  so silly as to keep away from La Platen altogether. You know my views
  on the subjects and it is most important to keep her in good humour;
  therefore, for the sake of our love, go there as before. It was not
  your visiting her that I found so bad, but the time and the way you
  did it—on the very day I left. It nearly drove me out of my mind.

  “You seem to mock at the account I have sent you of my doings. Mock as
  much as you please, but it is true. You tell me I talked a good deal
  with Sitardie. He told me he was composing some verses on your
  absence; but you can disabuse your mind of the idea that any one is
  flirting with me. I shall start at the end of the week for
  Brockhausen.”

-----

Footnote 195:

  For the campaign in Flanders, June, 1692.

-----

                             “[LUISBURG,] _Wednesday, June_ 14/24.

  “The Electress talks about you every time I walk out with her; and, as
  I have told you, I am alone with her a good deal. I know not whether
  she does it through friendship for you or because she thinks it
  pleases me; in either case, it is the same. _Je ne peux même entendre
  nommer votre nom sans un transport dont je ne suis pas la maîtresse._
  She praises you so highly that were she younger I should be jealous. I
  really think she is fond of you; she can hardly show it more, and it
  makes me quite uncomfortable! She has just sent me word to come out
  for a walk with her, and so robs me of the joy of writing to you—my
  only one when we are not together. Some day perhaps I shall be able to
  see you as I will, and never to leave you more. I believe I shall go
  mad, for the life I lead is intolerable. Let us hope for a happy
  change; let us do everything to be together. I shall never get used to
  separation from you; I find it harder every day, for I love you more
  ardently than ever.”

                        “[LUISBURG,] _Twelve midnight_ [_Saturday_].

  “I could not finish this afternoon. The Electress prevented me from
  bathing to-day. She tells me I have so very few days to remain here
  that she wishes me to be with her. However, I shall take a bath
  to-morrow.... I have never felt the force of my love for you more than
  now—except perhaps in our most rapturous moments. I tell you again, my
  life and my peace are in your hands. _Mon Dieu!_ how dear you are to
  me! how dearly I love you! I shall never be happy until we are
  together all our life long. When will that bliss come? How I long and
  yearn for it! Such joy as that cannot be bought too dearly.... They
  tell me La Platen is not coming here after all; I am not surprised to
  hear it. I should have been astonished if she had come as long as
  _you_ remain in Hanover. She is quite free now, and, should you take
  advantage, the opportunity is excellent. I am absent, and _les absents
  ont toujours tort_. But no! you would be incapable of anything of the
  kind. You are loving, tender, and true; it is a crime to suspect you.”

[Illustration: HERRENHAUSEN.]

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                         “[HANOVER,] _June_ 13/23.

  “I am waiting to show you how absence has wasted me. I must know the
  hour, the day, and where I am to come. I will see to the rest. But
  tell me, how will you be able to keep me hidden without endangering
  yourself? The risk I run is not very great, and to see the one who
  loves me I would willingly be torn in pieces.

  “Let me kiss the beautiful lips that kissed me so sweetly. Ah! when we
  meet we will show the sweet violence of our passion by the tenderest
  tokens. I would give my blood this very moment for one sip of your
  honey lips. I know battles are dangerous for us men, particularly
  against the Danes, for we always lose; but if you really wish to
  dispute the fact that I have more passion, more constancy, more
  devotion than you, I accept your challenge. Know this: for two months
  I have been preparing myself to meet the attack, and as it is long
  since I have taken up arms, I might be overcome. Yet I will fight a
  duel with you with the greatest possible joy. I only wish to know the
  _rendezvous_, the arms, and the seconds. My weapons will be my eyes
  and my mouth.... Choose a day and hour when duty will not hinder me
  from coming, and you will see how I shall fly to you. Come out when it
  suits you. I am glad you give me the chance.

  “I am delighted to hear that La Confidente has put aside her chilly
  airs, and am curious to know with whom she has been flirting. She will
  say, ‘But, alas! it is a dream. Why is it not for good?’ I hope it is
  Bal aux Fores, though, i’ faith, she deserves some one more
  attractive, more gallant and younger, for I verily believe she would
  show much passion for her lover, who would soon make her lose her
  coldness, for she is passing fair and has a good figure.”

                                         “[HANOVER,] _June_ 15/25.

  “It is very bad the Prince should write in two ways—bad for himself,
  but all the better for you and me; for they will clearly see what a
  rage he is in. You must have irritated him extremely. I have heard
  from Marshal Podevils. According to appearances war will be declared
  very soon, and as a great favour (which enrages me) they will let me
  take part in the campaign. I must take it ‘as a great favour,’ that
  some one evidently wishes to get rid of me! My regiment will march to
  the Elbe, and I shall be able to do the campaign, and to smooth
  matters down a little. The Marshal tells me I may return when they
  give me an order to do so. I am not to start this week, for he wishes
  first to learn the issue of a conference which is being held where you
  are [at Luisburg].[196]

  “It is not a little matter that your father is beginning to listen;
  and, with your mother’s help, you may perhaps succeed in your plan,
  provided you do not relax your efforts. Remember, it is the only way
  for us to become happy.... I should not advise you to write to the
  Prince to ask him the time you ought to stay, for in doing so you
  subject yourself, and it is always better to be free. Wait first to
  learn my fate, and when we know for certain what will be done with me,
  you can go to Brockhausen. If your parents again press you to write,
  say you know it will displease the Prince and you positively refuse to
  displease him while you have so little support to expect from your
  father. But should they promise anything substantial, write anything
  and everything they wish, but beware of being tricked. That is my
  little piece of advice. And now for yours. Don’t think of inducing me
  to return to La Platen. All your commands and prayers will be in vain.
  Had I followed my own inclination, I should have kept to that
  resolution long ago; but you made me feign and act in a cowardly
  manner, which, but for you, I should never have done. But you will not
  catch me that way any more. Whatever may happen, I will avoid
  Monplaisir like hell. I have seen no lady in this house since you went
  away. I bathe in the river every evening at seven o’clock, and to kill
  time I shoot swallows from my window. I hope these innocent diversions
  will not give you further ground for unjust suspicions.”

-----

Footnote 196:

  But meantime the Princess had gone again to her parents at
  Brockhausen.

-----

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                           “[BROCKHAUSEN,] _Friday_, _June_ 16/26.

  “After pining for three days and suffering tortures of suspense, I
  have the joy of receiving two letters from you. The desire of my heart
  is to see you again. I have already told you it is quite easy as far
  as I am concerned. La Confidente sleeps in a small room near me. You
  can come in by a back door and stay twenty-four hours if you wish
  without the least risk to me. Every evening I walk alone with La
  Confidente under the trees, quite near the house. I will look out for
  you from ten o’clock until two o’clock. You know the usual signal. You
  must also know the back door. The door of the palisade is always open.
  Do not forget to give the [first] signal; it is you who must give it,
  and I will wait for you under the trees. I look forward with rapture
  to seeing you; I have longed for it every moment since we parted, and
  on that account have put off going away [from here]. My mother and
  father are in a great hurry to return [to Celle] as soon as possible.
  We can talk over our business when we meet; it would take too long to
  write about it. I think only of the joy of seeing you. If joy kill, it
  will kill me. You will find me as tender as ever—even more so. I shall
  give you so many kisses, and with such fondness, that you will be
  sorry you ever doubted me.... I am sorry that you no longer go to
  Countess Platen’s, it is rather important you should go. As for the
  other minx, she does not trouble me. I entreat you go there as usual,
  and so relieve my fears. I am quite easy now, for I believe you will
  always be mine. Come soon—soon; never mind the day; the sooner the
  better.”

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                 “[BROCKHAUSEN (?),] _June_ 16/26.

  “I make haste to let you know I am here, and I flatter myself you will
  be as glad as I am. Le Feltam gave me my leave. I have changed my
  mood. At present let us think only of embracing each other. What joy
  for me, a hopeless lover! I had not shaved since our sad adieu, but
  to-day I am clean-shaven and merry-looking. Let every one sing ‘The
  chevalier is conqueror,’ and for my sake, for yours, and all that is
  dear to us, let me throw myself at your feet. See how joyful I am!
  Until now you have known me sorrowful, but I am beginning to breathe
  again and forget my troubles. Don’t think, though La Platen may be
  ‘free,’ she could in any way alter my devotion to you; death itself
  would not efface it, still less that old _cocotte_. I don’t know what
  I have done to deserve the Electress’s favour, but if it does us any
  good I am very glad to have it.”

                                                    “_June_ 17/27.

  “... I will not fail unless the command to march prevents me. I am
  dying with joy and longing. To-morrow night at ten o’clock I will be
  at the _rendezvous_. _Le signal ordinaire nous fera connaître. Je
  sifflerai du loin ‘Les Folies d’Espagne’._ If I understand the spot
  aright, it is near the house, between where the Duke’s stables used to
  be and the house. I will be there at ten o’clock.”

                                         “[HANOVER,] _June_ 20/30.

  “This is to let you know my expedition ended without accident, except
  that in coming out of the palisade I saw two men walking about six
  paces from me. I did not dare turn my head, and so was quite unable to
  see their faces. One of your women lighted a candle outside the
  dressing-room as I went through, but I do not know which one it was,
  for I did not dare turn my head. These are all the incidents, dear
  heart, except that I found the way much longer returning than coming.
  The difference is easily understood! I found when I got back a
  despatch to the effect that I must march with my regiment at the end
  of the month, and a letter from my secretary which makes me tremble. I
  will send you the original at the first opportunity. A million thanks
  for your sweet tenderness and dear proofs of love! Were it not for the
  comfort and consolation they give me, I should die of trouble, for no
  man before ever saw himself ruined all at once. But I have found a
  treasure worth all that Northern land, and I would not change places
  with that barbarous and unjust King [of Sweden].”

                                   “[HANOVER,] _June_ 23/_July_ 3.

  “I shuddered on reading your letter.[197] To what danger I have
  exposed you! _Dieu!_ how near we have been to our ruin! What a fatal
  accident to occur just at the wrong time! It is so like a novel that
  were you to tell it, many people would not believe you. I had no idea
  so many people were about, and two of them followed me. I thought it
  was without design, but I see now that I owe it to my legs that they
  did not catch me. But I lost myself, and did not get back to my horse
  until four o’clock. Just think of the time I took in running from left
  to right and right to left! The favour which Providence has showed us
  is indeed great; I shall remember it for a long time. Just think how
  easy it is to be lost. All human prudence cannot avoid an accident,
  but we have come through safely. I vow that no one recognised me.

  “You were sweet to say you were pleased with me, and I am so charmed
  with your assurances that I cannot thank you enough. I have slept well
  the last few nights; and I needed it, for the run on foot was very
  tiring. Your divine kisses intoxicated me so much that I drank a
  bumper to steady myself. They say the Elector will certainly be here
  on Monday. See how unfortunate we are. What ill-luck this is! I fret
  all the more because you are not coming with him. I am going away this
  day week. They say your father is going to Celle; if so, I hope
  greatly I may see you again. Think if it can be managed. _Ma petite
  brunette_, how I will kiss thee when I hold thee again! Meanwhile I
  dream of thee.

                      Dieu, pour soulager mon amour,
                      Faites que je dorme toujours!”

-----

Footnote 197:

  This letter of the Princess is missing; it must have referred to some
  accident after their meeting.

-----

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                               “[BROCKHAUSEN,] _June_ 23/_July_ 3.

  “I am very anxious. I have not heard from you yet.[198] I have had a
  letter from my husband in answer to the one I wrote from Luisburg
  complaining that they tried to lodge Max next me. I also mentioned
  that you were going to the Ukraine. He answers as follows: ‘You have
  acted like a veritable Lucretia towards Max. I see that my honour is
  safe in your hands. I am surprised to hear Königsmarck is going to
  take part in the campaign to the Ukraine; it will do him no good. I
  fear he has not paid his debts yet, and from all they say he will get
  into trouble in consequence.’ I am in sore distress about this. Tell
  me what you wish me to answer him, for I am sure my husband takes a
  malignant delight in writing thus, he is full of envy and hatred
  against any one like you, who is charming and deserving, and merits
  distinction. I am engrossed with my own plans. My mother is beginning
  a business which will be very good for me if she succeeds. She wants
  to make over her Celle estates as a present, with money, to me. She
  spoke about the business to Bernstorff, who promised great friendship,
  and offered his services on my behalf. If they would only employ him I
  am sure he would see I had my rights. If he would take up my interests
  my father would do everything that could be wished. We must try every
  means in our power. The matter is too near my heart for me to neglect
  it, for upon the issue hangs all my future happiness.”

-----

Footnote 198:

  The letters must have crossed.

-----

                               “[BROCKHAUSEN,] _June_ 25/_July_ 5.

  “We start to-morrow after dinner for Celle. I am very glad, for it
  brings us nearer to one another, and I shall hope to have news of you
  oftener. I have not been able to write from here as much as I should
  have liked. I am broken with many anxieties, and tremble lest your
  embarrassments may take you to Flanders. Your Swedish business worries
  me also, and to crown my misery I cannot see you, and shall have to
  spend a whole month without you—you, who are the only joy of my life.
  _Grand Dieu!_ how weary I am of the existence I lead! how sad and
  hopeless it all is! The end of my misery seems still very far off. But
  I am wrong to complain, since you love me: that thought should console
  me for everything, for as long as you do not change I shall be
  happy.... I hear my mother. Adieu.”




                              CHAPTER XX.

                           LOVE’S BITTERNESS.

               Ah! what a little time to love is lent;
               Yet half that time is in unkindness spent!
                                                DRYDEN.


The Princess spent the month of July at Celle and Wienhausen with her
parents. She did not once meet her lover, who remained at Hanover daily
expecting orders to start on the campaign against the Danes. For,
contrary to expectation, and despite the mediation of an Imperial envoy,
who journeyed to Hanover on purpose to arrange matters, the Duke of
Celle and the Elector of Hanover came to an open rupture with Denmark
and Sweden over the fortifications of Ratzeburg, and Denmark sent troops
to demolish them. This, of course, was tantamount to a declaration of
war. It was an anxious time for the little court of Celle, for the Danes
were far superior in numbers, and if successful at Ratzeburg they might
follow up their advantage by entering the duchy and even seizing Celle
itself.

It was especially unfortunate for the Princess, who, absorbed in her mad
passion and desperately unhappy, had come to the conclusion that she
could no longer live at the court of Hanover, or indeed anywhere apart
from her lover. She therefore concentrated her energies on obtaining a
grant of money from her father, a sum sufficient for her to maintain an
establishment of her own. The plea for independence was reasonable
enough, for she had been very unfairly treated in her marriage
settlement; and at any other time the Duke, ignorant of the real reason
for which she wanted the money, might have been disposed to listen, but
now, with the expense of raising many troops and the possibility of
defeat and ruin, he was quite unable to accede to her wishes. Without
money things must e’en go on as before, for separate establishments were
expensive, and flight was even more so, and Königsmarck, wealthy though
he was, had none at this juncture. He was crippled with gambling debts,
he had neglected his affairs, and the King of Sweden threatened to
confiscate his estates. The lovers were in despair; everything fought
against them; all around was war and rumour of war; while, to add to it
all, Königsmarck was now to be sent away on a campaign against the
Danes. Yet, as usual, their letters are filled alternately with ardent
love and fierce jealousy; their love was not of a nature to give either
of them any rest, even if things had gone smoothly. The proximity of
Prince Max, despite the fact that he was the Princess’s brother-in-law,
was sufficient to arouse Königsmarck’s suspicions (a curious comment on
the morals of the time), and she, in her turn, was furiously jealous
because he gave a farewell party to which the Countess Platen was
invited. But the story of all this is told in the letters, which begin
with the Princess’s arrival at Celle and close with her return to
Hanover. The Princess sent Königsmarck a few lines to tell him that she
had reached Celle (and a little poem unfortunately lost), to which he
replied.

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                     “HANOVER, _June_ 26/_July_ 6.

  “After many days I received a letter from you. It gave me as much joy
  in reading it as a starving man would have in devouring a delicate
  morsel when he had not tasted food for days. It satisfied my craving a
  little, but I still hunger until I kiss you again. I don’t understand
  in what your father is hard, unless it be in the matter of your
  separate establishment. If that be so, I am surprised you should have
  broached the subject so soon, when you had only been home one night. I
  hope you will succeed, for your mother is on your side, and if your
  love be true you will work for it.... If you really wrote that song
  you ought to write some more, for it is very well done, and most kind
  to ‘Tercis’; he thanks you very much, and when certain fancies are out
  of his head, he will try to answer it. Though your mother has promised
  you two thousand crowns, I fear it will be very little good, but it is
  well to have her on your side—would to Heaven your father were the
  same! I hope I shall not offend if I implore you, in case your mother
  warns you against me, not to let her make the least impression on your
  mind. The officious attentions of Prince Max and of those of whom you
  do not write, as well as the conversation you had with him, displease
  me very much. You asked me if you might speak to him, and you did so
  without my consent. Why did you not tell me?...

  “I am a little reassured, for Prince Max has just arrived. Tell me all
  about the foreigners who have been at Celle. Marshal Podevils asked me
  yesterday to come and see him to-day, as he had something to say. I
  went about eleven o’clock. He said that having been always one of my
  friends, he wished to warn me some one had spoken to him about us,
  saying: ‘What a row there will be if there should really be an
  intrigue between them!’ I answered: ‘Monsieur, since the day you
  warned me of the Elector’s suspicions I have not spoken to Madame la
  Princesse _tête-à-tête_’; and I promised him to be very discreet. He
  said he told the person who mentioned the matter that he would answer
  for me, and it was better not to speak about such things. He would not
  give the person’s name, but I think it is a friend of yours and mine,
  110.[199] The Marshal firmly believes this gossip originates with La
  Platen. He is on your side and pities you much, and it is kind of him
  to have warned me. He declared that the Elector was no longer
  suspicious, which is a comfort.

  “The companies of infantry are marching, but my regiment remains near
  Hanover for a few days. Whether the Danes advance or not, I shall
  still have to go with the army. I must start without seeing you unless
  you can arrange it otherwise. It depends on your mercy and tenderness
  to say whether I shall be able to kiss your feet, and if my kisses are
  dear and sweet to you, you will say ‘Yes’. Do not risk anything, for
  precautions must be taken. We are treading on dangerous ground; but
  when people love as we love they do not consider trifles, and if one
  holds the loved one, what matters the cost? Were I to see the scaffold
  before my eyes I would not swerve.”

-----

Footnote 199:

  110, probably some courtier at Hanover, but the key is missing. (?
  Sitardie.)

-----

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                      “[CELLE,] _Wednesday, July_ 8.

  “If my letters give you pleasure, yours are the only joy of my life.
  But I have had one to-day which both rejoices and grieves me. I am
  _desolée_ to see you are not satisfied with me. If I did not mention I
  had spoken to Max it was because I had not then done so. I had no
  conversation with him until the day he left, and this is word for word
  what passed between us. I said: ‘Max, I thank you for the courtesy you
  showed me at Luisburg’. He replied: ‘It was only my duty, and I shall
  always be glad to serve you in all things’. I was rinsing my mouth.
  Bernstorff and my mother were at the other side of the room, quite
  near. I vow our conversation ended there. That same evening he took
  leave of my father and my mother (who was holding my hand). She kissed
  him, and desired me to do the same. I withdrew my hand abruptly, and
  went to the other side of the room, whence I asked him in a loud voice
  to convey my respects to the Electress. Later on, my mother begged my
  pardon, and I asked her never to suggest such a thing again, as it
  annoyed me greatly.

  “What Marshal Podevils told you surprises me. I thought they no longer
  suspected anything between us. I am not accusing 110; all my
  suspicions fall on 103.[200] Had 110 done so, he would have been the
  falsest of men; for he swore on his honour to warn me of anything that
  might be said about me, and assured me he never heard anything. Try to
  find out from Marshal Podevils who told him this gossip, for it is of
  consequence if the Elector suspects anything afresh; if not, I count
  it of no importance. They are all very much pleased with my conduct
  here; the Electress spoke of me in the highest terms. I little
  expected you to tell me you are still going with the army—if you can.
  The blow stuns me. Why did you let me think you were going to stay
  when you all along meant the contrary? I am deeply hurt to think you
  are going far away from me, perhaps for long. Were you to stay, in
  three weeks’ time I should be able to see you again. How I long for
  it! How dull and tedious are the days! You are all my joy. La
  Confidente and I are always thinking how we can manage things for you
  to come here; but the difficulties make me feel hopeless. I long for
  you with passionate longing.

  “_Grand Dieu!_ if you go away without seeing me I shall die....”

-----

Footnote 200:

  I cannot find the key to these numbers in the cypher.

-----

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                     “HANOVER, _June_ 28/_July_ 8.

  “I advise you not to speak of me so frequently, and not answer the
  Prince unless you wish to write to him; in that case you might say
  that you asked me when I took leave of you why I was not going to
  Flanders, and I said I had first to raise money to pay my debts in
  Flanders. I think you can easily say this; it would do neither harm
  nor good, so please yourself, and do whatever may be most _à propos_.
  Pray be on good terms with Bernstorff; but beware! Do not let him see
  you are estranged from the Prince, and don’t let him guess that you
  wish the money to retire upon some day, and prevent your mother from
  making a fuss or saying anything about it. Mind you take my advice.
  You must not ignore the fact that everything Bernstorff knows La
  Platen knows; and business of this consequence is liable to be known
  by them simultaneously. Do not fret about my losses; they are not very
  great, and if I lose villages I gain a divinity, who is worth more to
  me than all the kingdoms put together. Your vows of constancy console
  me for all my troubles.”

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                          “[CELLE,] _Friday_, _June_ 30/_July_ 10.

  “I witnessed yesterday a scene between my father and mother which gave
  me much food for thought. One could not imagine anything more unkind
  and bitter than the things they said to each other. Buccow[201] was
  the cause; my father defended him, which made my mother desperately
  angry. I trembled to see two people whom love alone united so much
  exasperated at so little; indeed, they threatened to leave one
  another. Two hours after they made it up; but my mother was stung to
  the quick by my father’s words, and with reason. You may imagine she
  has very little influence if she cannot succeed in a business she has
  so much at heart. It doesn’t make me hopeful about my affair, for all
  my trust was in her, and I see it is enough for her to wish a thing
  for it not to be done. My father is hard beyond imagination. I am far
  from expecting great things of him, and I see from his manner towards
  my mother that one cannot believe in his kindness; so I am in a very
  bad humour to-day....”

-----

Footnote 201:

  Buccow (_Le Bâtard_), the illegitimate son of the Duke of Celle.

-----

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

  “[HANOVER,] _Friday_, _June_ 30/_July_ 10, _Twelve o’clock midday_.

  “The life I have been leading since the court returned must, I fear,
  give you cause for much jealousy, for I am playing every night with
  ladies, and, without vanity, they are neither ugly nor of mean rank. I
  crave your pardon, but I cannot live without a little pleasure, and
  one of them is so much like you that I cannot help being in her
  society. You will be curious to know her name, but I will not tell,
  for fear you may forbid me to pay her my court. I cannot forget those
  delectable moments at Brockhausen. What pleasure! what transports!
  what ardour! what rapture we tasted together! and with what grief we
  parted! Oh that I could live those moments over again! Would that I
  had died then, drinking deep of your sweetness, your exquisite
  tenderness! What transports of passion were ours!... I will always be
  your true lover, absent or present, wherever you may be, and whatever
  may befall. La Platen has appeared dressed in a ridiculous yellow
  cloak.”

                                           “[HANOVER (?),] _Sunday_.

  “You ask me to give up the campaign. I will obey you blindly without
  reflecting, but on one condition, if to save my honour I must needs go
  once more you will give me leave. They tell me that General Pless, in
  Denmark, is disgraced; and if that be so, that was the post they
  wanted to give me. The terms were very advantageous, but it does not
  matter now. The Elector has gone to Brockhausen, that charming place
  where you were. Will that sweet hour ever come again? One of my
  manœuvres to deceive my servants is to spend a few nights on the soft
  grass, unless it rains.”

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                                   “[CELLE,] _July_.

  “I am inconsolable at finding so many difficulties in the way of our
  meeting, but I could not dream of exposing you to danger, and you know
  how dangerous it would be. Pity me! I have no comfort in the world but
  you, yet everything is against us. Your tender caresses still linger
  in my memory; I feel them still. Ah! how I long for a return of those
  moments! But the joy would kill me verily. Had I not received a letter
  from 205[202] before I got yours, you would have put me in a fever by
  speaking so much of your pleasures and the lady you flirted with; but
  I am free from anxiety, thanks to her, for she writes to me:
  ‘Yesterday all the ladies were at court; but they must have been very
  dull, for I saw our courtiers languishing and not flirting at all. A
  man must be _blasé_ indeed to be reduced to playing with children. Yet
  that is what Königsmarck did all the evening; he passed the time
  making houses with cards for the little princess and the little
  chevalier.[203] I admired him for it, because he seemed anxious not to
  give his lady-love cause for jealousy—that is, if he has one, but it
  is hard to say whether he has or no.’ You may imagine how your ways
  delight me and bind me more strongly to you. But there is much malice,
  my very dear one, in leaving a poor woman in such dire anxiety, for
  you had not the charity to tell me the name of the lady with whom you
  were enjoying yourself. Except for knowing how admirably you behave,
  205’s letter does not give me much pleasure; I am terribly afraid she
  may suspect something. You ought to be the proudest man going, for
  every one admires you. You are a universal favourite—even old women
  bear witness to your charms. As for me, I count it the highest glory
  to possess such a lover. Love himself is not more beautiful and
  charming. You unite tenderness and faithfulness with the most perfect
  manners. Nothing is wanted to complete my bliss but to see you again
  and never leave you more. I spend many sleepless nights thinking about
  it all; it would be infinitely more pleasant were I to spend them in
  converse with you, Beloved. That is a joy I cannot hope to grasp for
  several days yet; but I am resolved not to delay much longer.

  “The Electress told my mother that nothing could be more hideous than
  La Platen’s yellow cloak. I rejoice that neither she nor her cloak
  will come in my way. I am thine, my beautiful one. I will die all
  thine.”

-----

Footnote 202:

  This number cannot be traced; it must be some court lady at Hanover.

Footnote 203:

  The little Princess Sophie Dorothea and Prince George Augustus. This
  and the following letter contain the only mention of the Princess’s
  children throughout the correspondence.

-----

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                          “[HANOVER,] _July_ 2/12.

  “I am grieved to hear that your mother has quarrelled so with your
  father about Le Bâtard. It is easy to see which side is the weaker,
  and I fear we can hope for nothing. You will be compelled to devote
  yourself more closely than ever to the Prince, and I shall have to
  seek some corner of the world, and beg for bread that I may not
  starve. Frankly, your father’s conduct surprises me; there is no doubt
  it is prompted by La Platen, through Bernstorff, for she rules him
  absolutely and he is almighty with your father. Your preceding letter
  cheered me much, for it seemed that Bernstorff wished to interest
  himself on your behalf; but he is as deceitful as the devil, and
  thinks to trick you. Do not trust his smooth words, but let him show
  his good-will in deeds.... The Elector has gone to Herrenhausen. I
  asked Prince Max where he is to be lodged, and—would you believe
  it?—he is to be put in your father’s apartments next your own. You may
  imagine my dismay. I cannot advise you to return, for as soon as you
  are back they will make me march. When you are at Herrenhausen and
  Prince Max lodged, for all intents and purposes, in your apartments,
  and I forced to leave just when I hoped to find joy and
  satisfaction—when all this happens, what will become of me? I suffer
  every kind of misfortune—loss of money, family quarrels, and false
  friends; twenty men who were under me are advanced above me; now they
  are trying to make me lose my reputation, and, what is worse, I am
  always sent away from my own love.

  “The party was very merry. The little prince and princess danced, but
  I did not join. I walked with some others by the river, and withdrew
  early, abandoning myself to my sorrow and tears, which I shed
  abundantly. When I had undressed I paced alone on the ramparts until
  one o’clock.... Monsieur Rosse came here yesterday. He brings news
  that the Danes are marching and will surely bombard Hamburg. You
  cannot believe the joy this news gives me, for I may see you sooner
  than I thought. Marshal Podevils has left without any one knowing
  whither he has gone. That is mysterious. God grant us a happy ending
  to our troubles, for I am at the end of my tether!”

                          “[HANOVER,] _Monday morning, July_ 3/13.

  “The enclosed letter will show you how my affair in Flanders is going
  on, and I send one also from my secretary; tell me what you think of
  it. It seems he wishes to free me from my chains, but they are borne
  with joy; all the arguments in the world will not make me go far away
  from you. Who are the people who are trying to draw Prince Max again
  into a troublesome intrigue? and how go things with your father and
  mother? Does your mother still hope to succeed in your cause, or has
  she given it up?

  “I went to pay my respects to La Platen yesterday, and she proposed
  _une partie pour dîner chez un cabaretier_, each man to take his lady.
  I said promptly, ‘I will take Madame la Capitaine’. La Platen became
  as red as scarlet, and screamed out, ‘I will take Monsieur Balati’.
  She was in such a temper all through dinner that every one noticed it.
  I doubt if she will forgive me the slight; but that is the least of my
  troubles. So long as you are faithful I count the rest as nothing.”

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                            “[WIENHAUSEN,] _Wednesday, July_ 5/15.

  “I am at last out of anxiety; to-night I received two of your letters.
  I am grateful for your kindness in granting my prayer about the
  campaign, and I vow that I will never ask anything that might harm
  your honour. As they tell you, Pless[204] is disgraced, and they
  formerly offered you his place; it is certain they will now offer it
  again. They are sounding you about it. I am terribly frightened every
  time promotion is offered you, though I am greatly distressed to think
  that I am the cause of your refusing it. Yet I should die of grief if
  you were to accept, for it would take you away from me so far that it
  would scarcely leave any hope of my seeing you again. You know well
  enough that without you life is nothing to me; you take the place of
  all. Do not abandon me, for the sake of the love I bear you.

  “I tremble at all you tell me about your embarrassments; I feel them
  more than if they were my own, for you are dearer to me than myself.
  My father and mother have quite made it up, and are on better terms
  than ever. I do not give up all hope of getting my wish, and I will
  not throw up the game even if they refuse me. But I find this a very
  unfavourable time, for they talk of nothing but the war, and
  difficulties arise on every side. We must wait until a more convenient
  season. My father is more affectionate to me than ever, and my mother
  overwhelms me with kindness; every day she assures me that all she
  possesses in the world is for me, so I am at rest about that. If only
  my father were the same I should be free of my troubles. I will die
  rather than ‘devote myself to the Prince,’ as you think I shall be
  compelled to do. There is no difficulty I will not conquer to be
  united to you. It is the dearest wish of my heart, and I think I shall
  succeed. I trust to the good-will of Bernstorff. My mother urges him
  every day to make the estates of the duchy give me thirty thousand
  crowns; but this terrible war will delay the business.

  “I gather from your letter that I must not think of coming back to
  Hanover while Max is lodged near me. We are really very unlucky;
  everything conspires to vex us, in little things as in great. I hope
  he will soon tire of staying at Herrenhausen and return here. If that
  happens, I shall start at once to join you.... You will always be the
  arbiter of my destiny. The more I read your letter the more I am
  touched by it. You tell me you will be obliged ‘to seek some corner of
  the world and beg bread that you may not starve’. Do you count me as
  nothing? and do you think I will ever give you up, whatever may
  happen? If you were reduced to that extremity, be sure nothing in the
  world would hinder me from following you; I would starve with you.
  _Mais, mon Dieu!_ do not let us give way to such sad thoughts. We may
  perhaps be happier than we think. Let us love and comfort one another,
  whatever may befall. Perhaps our sorrows will end as I have
  foreshadowed; for I hope to get what I wish when things right
  themselves. I will continually urge it, so that it will be hard to
  resist me.

  “You ask who are those who try to stir Max up again. They are Denmark
  and Wolfenbüttel. It is quite true, for my father told me, and it is
  feared he will yield. You have forgotten to send me your secretary’s
  letter and the one from Flanders; pray remember to do so. I fear if
  you irritate La Platen too much she will revenge herself. Deal gently
  with her, but not too gently. I know well she will harm me all she
  can, but I love you so passionately that I cannot be reasonable.”

-----

Footnote 204:

  “Monsieur Pless, who formerly belonged to the Prince of
  Denmark.”—_Vide_ Colt’s _Despatches_.

-----

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                                 “_Tuesday evening._

  “I forgot to enclose the letters I mentioned, so I send them now. The
  review of my regiment prevents me from sending this by the midday
  post. My affairs in Sweden are as bad as they can be, and your
  prospects with your parents are perishing. It is enough to make us
  despair.... Some officers are just coming in; I am obliged to end.
  _Adieu, mon ange._ How dearly I love you! _Adieu._”

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                    “[CELLE,] _Friday, July_ 7/17.

  “Are you not ashamed to write me such short letters? The one yesterday
  was rude in its curtness. I do not think there are more than ten
  lines. True, you make excuses about your officers and duties; but I am
  not satisfied with such reasons, for I have every day more obstacles
  than you will ever have all your life, yet I overcome them, and write
  letters so long that I fear they weary you. Your secretary’s letter
  conceals something which you can easily find out if you like.
  Farewell, this will be short, after your example.”

    “[CELLE,] _Sunday, July_ 9/19, _One o’clock in the afternoon_.

  “If the Count de Steinbock[205] and Count de la Gardie are still with
  you, and intend coming here, I entreat you to come with them. It is a
  feasible pretext. I don’t think any one could find fault. I hope when
  you get here Love will aid us, and we shall find means of seeing one
  another. It will be much easier to see you here without any fuss. I
  shall die if I have not the joy of embracing you. I picture such
  delights when we meet that I am in ineffable transports. Should you
  come, let me know beforehand, so that the excess of my joy may not
  betray me. I tremble lest it may lead me to do some dangerous,
  extravagant, and ridiculous thing.”

-----

Footnote 205:

  Count Steinburg (or Steinbock) was an Imperial envoy, who was probably
  at Hanover trying to arrange matters about the Danes on the part of
  the Emperor. Colt mentions him a little later as being in the
  Palatinate on a similar mission.

-----

                                   “[CELLE,] _Monday, July_ 10/20.

  “If you knew the joy the eagerness you show for us to live together
  some day gives me you would see I have nothing else in my head but to
  succeed in the business I have in hand. I have always feared it was
  only your kindness for me that made you suggest it, and your
  inclination had no real part; but I am quite free of that trouble now,
  for it really seems you want it as much as I do. Be sure I have
  nothing so near my heart, and I shall move heaven and earth to
  succeed. Can you doubt that I would sacrifice with pleasure the whole
  universe for you? I ask of God only an opportunity to prove what I
  say. I count all else as nothing: you alone suffice for me. My
  ambition is limited to pleasing you and keeping your heart true. You
  take the place of crowns, kingdoms, and thrones to me, and all the
  universe would not console me for your loss.

  “I don’t think I can make Max move from where he is lodged at
  Herrenhausen; I have no pretext, for our apartments are quite
  separate, and have no communication whatever except by one door, which
  I can close if I choose. All my women will be lodged around me.”

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                        “[HANOVER,] _Tuesday morning, July_ 11/21.

  “You are glad, I believe, I wrote you that short letter, so that you
  might have something to scold me about. I did it on purpose, so you
  might know by experience what it is like. I have more than ten of
  yours even shorter than mine, but _I_ did not call you rude for so
  writing. You have licence to call me what you like, but you are unjust
  not to accept the excuse of my military duties. I know one ought never
  to admit any obstacle to one’s love, but _ma chérie_, how many times
  have you not made excuses—the sentinel, the watch, or some silly tale
  of people hanging about? Have I ever said a word? have I not shown
  more forbearance than you? You are very imprudent to play cards with
  the General and his wife; you certainly will not win much. He is a
  very gallant general—at least Prince Max told me so—but he forgets his
  place in praising you so highly. I should like to see you playing with
  him—with your smiles and graces. How you will receive this attention
  and that! and what sweet glances you will cast him to reward him! How
  your eyes will sparkle at his compliments! I fancy I see you: I know
  your airs. Don’t think I am jealous; it doesn’t matter to me. I know
  you cannot live without admiration, and therefore it is better that it
  should come from an old fool than a young fop. I talked to Prince Max
  about your father’s affection for you, and he agreed with me that it
  is _un amitié de singe_, since he does nothing for you. True parental
  love consists in settling on one’s daughter a comfortable sum; and it
  is just now that your father ought to do it, for if he should be
  ruined [by the Danes], on what would you live?”

                                 “[HANOVER,] _Friday, July_ 14/24.

  “If Count Steinbock had been going to Celle I would have accompanied
  him; but as he is not, I cannot gather from your letter how I am to
  come. You disguise your hand so much that I can hardly make out what
  you write. I should dearly love to come and see you; but it is
  difficult, for Count Steinbock has gone, and they don’t speak about my
  marching, so I must come _incognito_. But, before I can come
  disguised, I must have instructions, and it is not easy unless I am
  well posted in what I am to do; I might take a wrong step and ruin
  everything. I cannot gather from your letter what it is you wish, and
  I cannot make out from the feigned writing which way I am to come, or
  even where you are, or how I am to keep myself hidden when I get to
  Celle.”

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                 “[CELLE,] _Saturday, July_ 15/25.

  “As the two counts have gone away, you have no longer any pretext for
  coming here openly. I did not think the thing was possible otherwise.
  I am opposed to your coming disguised: it is too dangerous, and, as
  you say, it might ruin us for ever. Do you think that if I had been
  able to find some way of seeing you I should have waited for you to
  ask me how? I should have taken advantage of it long since, and not
  have pined like this. Do not dream of coming here without my
  knowledge; it would be a miracle if you escaped, and there are no
  miracles in the time we live. You seem displeased because I don’t tell
  you positively about my return. You are absolutely master of my
  movements, and if you read my letters carefully you will see what I
  mean. I can quite understand it would not be pleasant for you that I
  should be lodged so near Max; and therefore I am compelled, in spite
  of my longing to see you, to stay here. You suspect no end of things;
  you imagine that if I had a real wish I could find no end of pretexts
  to come. I thought you would be satisfied with my delicacy about Max.
  It seemed to me that if you could have induced him to come here, I
  could seize the advantage by starting the very day he left Hanover.
  But do you decide, and do not think that any reason or consideration
  whatever will prevent me from coming to you. I will wait for your
  answer that I may do as you wish; but, for goodness’ sake! make it so
  clear and straightforward that I shall not misunderstand.”

[Illustration:

  THE ELECTOR ERNEST AUGUSTUS OF HANOVER.
  _From an old print in the British Museum._
]

                                   “[CELLE,] _Monday, July_ 17/27.

  “I do not think you will stay long enough in Hanover for me to see you
  there. My father is in great trouble. The Danes are advancing, and
  have everything necessary to cross the Elbe. That will put me at a
  greater distance from you. Everything combines to make me despair. I
  dare not, in the state matters are, press my father about my affairs,
  for if the war turns out badly things will go hard with him.

  “The beginning of your letter is charming. You assure me you will risk
  your life to see me. How can I show you my gratitude for all your
  tenderness? But perhaps you no longer feel like this, and your love
  has gone. If that be so, I wish for death! Without your love what have
  I to do with life? It would only trouble me, since it is for you I
  wish to live. I wrote to you yesterday all that you wish to know; that
  is why I say no more. Your answer will govern my movements; I may
  possibly get it to-morrow night very late. I am sure the week will not
  pass without your having to march; everything they say makes me think
  so. In case that should be, and I may not be able to go to you, I will
  point out what you are to do to see me here.”

                                              “_Twelve at Midnight._

  “My mother tells me to-night that she wishes to take me to Milady
  Colt’s[206] to-morrow. I fear it may hinder me from writing to you—a
  grief to me; for, were I to write every moment of the day, my pen
  would never run dry on the subject of my love. I think of nothing but
  of seeing you soon; the thought fills me with joy. I asked Chauvet,
  who came back from Engesen to-night, whether my father would set out
  this week. He assured me that he would not, and said the Elector and
  my father would not leave each other; so at last I have arrived within
  sight of my desire, and no longer fear hindrance in the way of seeing
  you. I much approve of your advice, and am acting upon it with all
  possible despatch. I believe we shall be fortunate and have everything
  we wish. I am beginning to hope that good luck will at last attend us.
  Every day my affairs improve; I will give you details about them when
  we meet. Only Max worries me. I will not suffer him to stay where he
  is at Herrenhausen; but as I go to Hanover first, and not to
  Herrenhausen until late the next day, I hope to be two nights running
  in Hanover. Perhaps they will let me spend the remainder of the week
  there. But I feel sure the Elector and my father will set out
  together, and in that case Max will go with them. I will do exactly as
  you wish; you have only to say what I am to do. Let me find you tender
  and loving. You will be very cold if you resist all the love I shall
  bring to bear on you. I think I shall die in your arms; my rapture
  will kill me. Adieu. Do not forget to come to me the very day I
  arrive. Were you to fail, I should never forgive you as long as I
  live. Farewell. In the spirit I kiss you again and again; I would give
  half my blood to be kissing you in reality.”

-----

Footnote 206:

  Lady Colt, who lived at Celle, was Sir William Dutton Colt’s second
  wife. The only child of this second marriage, Leonora Sophia, was born
  at Celle, and the Electress Sophia and the Duchess of Celle stood as
  her godmothers. One of her descendants is Mr. N. Bond, to whom I am
  indebted for this information.

-----

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                 “[HANOVER,] _Monday, July_ 17/27.

  “I went to dinner yesterday at La Platen’s; she showed me a letter
  from the Electoral Prince, which was very kind, very long, and rather
  familiar. I hope this news will not give you ground for jealousy, and
  I hope, too, the fact that Monsieur de la Sitardie is at the point of
  death will not make you too sad. The young Countess Platen[207] is
  very ill, so all the house is in grief. They say the Prince will come
  back loaded with laurels, so it seems there has been something to do
  over there after all.... I did all I could to induce Prince Max to go
  to Celle, but he declared that he had business here which prevented
  him. I rage about it.... There is no news here about the Danes, which
  makes me hope I shall not march for some time. I shall certainly go
  through Celle if we march towards the Elbe, but I mean to have a
  private audience of you, so prepare yourself for it. It seems to me
  that going to the comedy every day means that you are enjoying
  yourself. I do not grudge you pleasure; on the contrary, I am glad,
  provided the gallants do not come into your box and whisper sweet
  things in your ear, as I hear certain people do at the comedy. I am
  delighted you should enjoy yourself, and will try to do the same,—that
  is why I have asked our ministers to supper. La Platen will not be one
  of us because of her daughter’s illness. I fear none of them will be
  so amusing or witty as your company, but I can live without amusement
  and you cannot.”

-----

Footnote 207:

  Countess Platen’s daughter, Charlotte Sophia, who afterwards became
  Madame Kilmansegge and accompanied George I. to England, where she was
  created Countess of Darlington.

-----

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                “[CELLE,] _Wednesday, July_ 19/29.

  “At last I have your answer, the one I have been waiting for
  impatiently to determine my movements; but I am none the wiser. All I
  can make out is that you do not want me to come for a few days. At any
  other time I should have been very angry, but now I am as indifferent
  as you. You seem to be very phlegmatic about all I do, and I assure
  you I am equally so as regards yourself. I am rather glad to be in
  this mood, for otherwise I should have been hurt about the _fête_ you
  gave last night to La Platen and other ladies. Stubenfol gave a full
  account of it at the dinner table. ‘Everybody was delighted. No party
  could have gone off better; everything showed forethought and
  gallantry.’ I am not surprised you surpassed yourself, the ladies were
  well worth the trouble, and when a host is inspired by such charming
  guests he must needs succeed to perfection. It is easy for me to
  follow your advice. I feel quite content to stay here as long as it
  pleases you. Many thanks for all the news you tell me. I am not
  jealous of La Platen because she has had a letter from the Prince. I
  am delighted to see so fine a union. I also send no end of good wishes
  for the continuation of your pleasures; I should be quite distressed
  to interrupt them by my presence. I don’t know how you expect me to
  reconcile the eagerness you pretend to show concerning my movements
  with the indifference you display by your conduct. If you had even a
  little consideration for me you would not behave as you do. Continual
  pleasure-parties take place. But I am wrong to complain or to find
  fault with _your_ behaviour; it is _my_ conduct, forsooth, that is
  open to criticism! I go, you say, every day to the comedy; the
  gallants whisper in my ear; they caress me in the box! Is it to fill
  up your paper that you tell such falsehoods? There is not a word of
  truth in them. Since I have been here they have played a comedy only
  twice, and each time I have been in my father’s box alone with him. I
  am always considering your wishes: I am ashamed of it, for I carry
  consideration much further than you deserve. But I have said enough on
  the subject; it is so unpleasant that I am very glad to end it.

  “You wish me, I believe, to tell you about my affairs. Yesterday I
  read over my marriage contract; it could hardly be more
  disadvantageous to me. The Prince is absolutely master of everything,
  for there is nothing I can dispose of without his consent. Even the
  clause about my dower is so badly worded that they can easily cheat me
  and take it away.[208] I was very much surprised at this unexpected
  blow, and so hurt that tears started to my eyes. My mother was moved,
  and tried to comfort me; nothing could be more tender or kind than
  what she said to me. She even went so far as to offer to sell her
  jewels so as to settle on me some sort of an income. At last we
  decided it would be better to speak to my father first, as perhaps he
  would be able to put the matter right. My mother did so this morning,
  and his answer was favourable. I hope I shall get what I want. My
  mother advised me to talk to Stubenfol, and ask him to push the thing
  also, to show him my marriage contract, and point out how unjust it is
  to me; so that without any one being able to guess my plans, I have
  the finest pretext ever known.”

-----

Footnote 208:

  A fragment of this letter relating to the Princess’s marriage
  settlement is quoted (in the original French) by Palmblad in his
  _Aurora Königsmarck_, and Dr. Köcher has seized on it as an inaccuracy
  which goes to prove that the letters are not genuine. Yet it is
  substantially correct. The Duke of Celle was undoubtedly beguiled into
  a marriage contract most unfavourable to his daughter. He gave her a
  marriage portion of one hundred thousand thalers and the estates
  already settled on her. The hundred thousand thalers promptly went
  into the Hanoverian coffers (there was no Married Woman’s Property Act
  in those days). The estates were not disposed of so easily. If no son
  were born, these estates, particularly the lordship of Wilhelmsburg,
  were to remain the Princess’s; and should the Prince die before his
  consort, this property and all its revenues were to revert to his
  widow, and her children could only inherit them after her death, and,
  as a widow, the Princess was to be entitled to a dower of twelve
  thousand thalers. But the Princess had a son, Prince George Augustus,
  and so these estates were locked up; she could not realise them or
  raise money on them in any way. She was not likely to become a widow
  (however devoutly she might hope for that consummation), and so she
  was penniless, with nothing of her own save the allowance the Elector
  of Hanover thought fit to dole out to her for her dress and petty
  expenses. Her father, of course, might subsidise her occasionally, but
  that was merely a matter of his good-will. Hence her efforts to obtain
  a sufficient sum to enable her to set up a separate establishment and
  be independent. In this, as in other things, the evidence is all in
  favour of the absolute genuineness of these letters.

-----

                                               “[CELLE,] _Thursday_.

  “I am even angrier to-day than I was yesterday. The more I think of
  what you have done the more I find cause for annoyance. You have
  reason to be thankful for having delayed my return, for had I arrived
  piqued as I am you would surely have had a piece of my mind. I don’t
  know why I revert so often to the same grievance, but, though I wish
  to speak to you on other subjects, I unconsciously fall back on this
  one. The cause is not hard to find. Your unkindness cuts me to the
  heart, and, though I ought to get used to it, I cannot help being
  sensitive. Here are three unkind things all at once, which one surely
  should not expect from a man who prides himself on his delicacy and
  values his love so highly. You will remember you went to a feast at La
  Platen’s two hours after I left Hanover for Luisburg, in spite of the
  overwhelming grief in which you left me and the sorrow you pretended
  to show. You had enough self-control to hide your sadness so well at
  the feast that no one perceived it. The second party, which you say
  was so innocent, and which I am willing to believe was so, since you
  wish it, took place a week ago; and your most magnificent and
  brilliant entertainment the day before yesterday. Here are three
  parties in a very short time to my knowledge, not counting those I
  shall never know about, which, being secret, are doubtless all the
  sweeter to you. I am beginning to get used to your unkindness, and so
  far from spending the night weeping and wailing, as I was weak enough
  to do at Luisburg, I sleep very well, and wake up fortified and
  angrier than ever. I am quite convinced that this is a matter of
  indifference to you either way, because if you had ever so little
  regard for me you would have behaved very differently. But I am
  certain you do not love as I do, and renounce all pleasure; you are
  incapable of so strong a passion. Do not restrain yourself, I entreat
  you. Think only of your pleasures; count me as nothing. No doubt all
  these revelries will terminate in a complete reconciliation between
  you and La Platen, or some fresh intrigue. If only my wishes are
  needed to contribute to your happiness, you can have them: there is no
  joy I do not wish you. It so happens that Fortune, to give me revenge,
  has sent hither to-day a young baron from Mayence. He is very
  handsome, well built, and magnificent. You are no doubt willing that,
  rather than die of _ennui_, I should amuse myself with him! I believe
  you to be still too much my friend to refuse me that little comfort.
  You see, I am franker than you, for though you sent me word of your
  _fête_ you said nothing about the ladies and La Platen coming to it;
  yet the whole thing was got up for her! Of a truth, I am well repaid
  for living like a nun and shunning every one, even men of sixty, _mais
  n’importe_. I will say no more! You ought to be ashamed of yourself to
  act as you do. I will not reproach you; you ought to reproach
  yourself. But it shows, alas! there is very little love proof against
  absence. Unfortunately for me, my love does not lessen, and I am too
  tender and sensitive. Teach me how to learn the secret of
  indifference. I must end this. In spite of all my resolutions, it
  might escape me that I love you, and I would rather die than tell you
  so to-day.”

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                         “_Wednesday, July_ 19/29.

  “My banquet, as you call it, was a very dull affair, though La Platen
  came with her husband. The young countess is still very ill. Madame
  Bussche’s coach-horses took fright and bolted, and the ladies were so
  unnerved by the accident that they scarcely spoke two words, added to
  which it was very bad weather, for fine rain set in and a great wind
  arose which made us break up very early: they all went home before
  eleven o’clock. I did not sit at the centre table, as there was no
  room; I supped with Harrenburg and a lieutenant of my regiment, and
  was delighted to have a pretext to escape from my guests. I was a very
  convenient host; they will not boast much about my attentiveness. But
  how could I be attentive when I was so _distrait_ and my heart far
  away with you? I vow I thought more of you than of all my guests put
  together. My reason for giving the supper was because I am going away
  soon, and it was the right thing for me to do. I have been so often to
  their dinners that it was necessary for me to make some return. Do not
  think I did it to court any one, or with any thought of intrigue. I
  vow, on my perdition, it was not so. I have told you the true reason;
  there was none other, I swear to you. Don’t draw unjust comparisons.
  As a man, I am compelled to do many things which as a woman you need
  not do. Some one has been telling me I have become so odd that it is
  no use seeking my company. I said: ‘When good fortune forsakes a man,
  what would you have him do? I get no promotion and I am losing all my
  possessions.’ He answered: ‘What about love?’ I replied: ‘I no longer
  think of it’. But God forgive me, it was the greatest untruth I have
  ever told in my life.”

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                   “[CELLE,] _Friday, July_ 21/31.

  “Since you tell me your party was dull and tedious, and everybody went
  home early, I am fain to believe you; though Stubenfol said nobody
  ever was so merry a host as you, and the party did not break up until
  after midnight. I can quite believe you found the time so short: the
  company was too pleasant to admit of weariness. You must give me leave
  to doubt that you thought more about me than of any one present. I am
  not vain enough to flatter myself so much. I count myself happy if you
  think of me in your spare time (should you have any), for everyone is
  talking about your entertainments and continual parties, at which you
  shine so brilliantly. I rather think you spoke the truth when you said
  you ‘no longer thought of love’.

  “But I must speak of something else. I want to forget all about that
  affair: my thoughts kill me. I should have been willing to defer my
  return to Hanover for a few days had your _fête_ not taken place just
  then to distress me, for the very moment you ask me to stay here you
  plunge into deeper pleasures there. What can I think of your conduct?
  Must it not convince me that you did not want me, so that you might
  better amuse yourself, and you feared my presence would be a
  hindrance? You ask me to comfort you, but it is from you I expect
  comfort. I certainly have no pretext for staying at Hanover only three
  or four days; I shall very likely be there for twelve or fifteen days
  at least, so take precautions accordingly. I think you will know your
  movements before the end of next week, and when you are certain, let
  me know positively what you wish me to do. I shall not think of
  leaving here until you let me know.”

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                   “HANOVER, _Friday, July_ 21/31.

  “I have received your very charming letter. Your ‘handsome and
  well-made man’ and Monsieur le Huguenot more than convince me that you
  find your stay at Celle very pleasant. All I have to say is this—if
  you are not pleased with me, I am even less pleased with you, and if
  this sort of thing goes on I will no longer be your dupe. I am quite
  able to find answers to all your accusations, but I will shorten my
  letter for fear of keeping you from a pleasant conversation or a walk.
  I am, Madame, with much respect, all yours.”

                                  “_Sunday_, _July_ 23/_August_ 2.

  “At last I am in a fit state to answer you about your baron from
  Mayence. I have taken a few hours to settle my bile, and I am now cool
  enough to write and tell you the vengeance you propose to take is too
  small, even if I have sinned as much as you think; but my oaths,
  attested by Gohr and d’Els, whom I can call as witnesses, must surely
  convince you that Stubenfol lied. Don’t you think you have been a
  little quick to take your revenge? I must needs send my witnesses,
  since you will not believe my word of honour. In any case, I will
  never forgive your tricks with the baron. Your natural tendency shows
  itself again. You are only too glad to seize any pretext for flirting;
  you would rather die than miss the chance. What am I to think of you?
  You know my weakness: I am naturally jealous, and such behaviour as
  yours makes me a hundred times worse. How many times have you urged me
  not to give way to violence, but first to hear your excuses and the
  truth? If you were piqued about my supper, why didn’t you write and
  scold me as much as you liked? But no! you were too charmed with the
  baron; he is young, well made, handsome, and captivates you,—that is
  why you find, or pretend to find, my conduct so guilty. Oh! it is too
  much! I can no longer deceive myself. Your letter of Friday confirms
  my worst fears. Your excuses for not coming here do not deceive me.
  You are the most unfaithful of women. Go to, cruel one! and flirt with
  your new cavalier. Why have you held me so long with your deceitful
  airs and promises? Why have I sacrificed everything for you? You are
  not content to take away my peace of mind, but you rob me of my
  honour, my reputation, and all I have in the world. Is it not for such
  as you that I have neglected everything? You know the state of my
  affairs. I am well rewarded, truly! I will fly from Hanover, where I
  might meet you. Did not my house force me to stay here, I would leave
  to-morrow. I hope, however, to find an honourable pretext for getting
  away; and should the Danes confiscate my lands in Holstein, that will
  serve. Madame, I am not dishonest, like you. I will send you back
  everything I have belonging to you, and as soon as I get to Hamburg I
  will take counsel with my friends as to my future plans. I will return
  to my own people, and though I may have neglected them the future
  shall make amends. ‘The continual ceremonies in which I shine’ are
  with my dragoons; I am with them every day, drilling them, and for
  three days I have not been anywhere except to the hunt, in which I
  take part every day. Have I not always given you the choice of coming
  here or staying at Celle? I did it on purpose to see if you had
  sufficient love to risk coming; but I soon saw something was keeping
  you back, though I was ignorant of its being a ‘handsome, well-built
  young baron’. You now ask me to tell you positively what you are to
  do. Why the devil should you want _me_ to give you directions? Were I
  to tell you to stay and amuse yourself with your new lover, or were I
  to tell you to come here, it would not matter—you would find some
  excuse for quarrelling with me in either case.”

                                “_Saturday_, _July_ 24/_August_ 3.

  “My letter of yesterday has no doubt surprised you. When I read it
  over I said to myself: ‘Is it possible I could come to such a pass as
  to write such a letter to the woman who is dearer to me than all the
  world?’ I was ashamed to send it, but after reading your letter three
  times I determined to send mine on to you. Looking at things in the
  right light, I ought to be more manly; I ought not to be so sensitive.
  I am much obliged to Stubenfol for spreading such monstrous reports
  about my banquet. You know the man he is—‘Much ado about nothing’. I
  don’t wonder he found my banquet a fine one, for he ate six partridges
  all by himself, and drank a whole barrel of sherry. It was the finest
  and grandest festival he ever attended—was it? Give him the same thing
  in a pig-sty and he will exaggerate it into having been served in the
  finest flower garden of Italy.... I was coming to the baron presently,
  but, for fear I should lose my temper, I will try to go to sleep
  instead: it is two o’clock. If I went on much longer I should write
  things I should be sorry to say to a lady.”

                      _The Princess to Königsmarck._

                                                  “[CELLE, undated.]

  “I expected to receive an infinity of excuses from you, and the most
  beautiful things ever written, to appease me. I was much deceived, for
  I found your letter quite the contrary: you are still too proud to beg
  my pardon. I could not help laughing to see how you fell into my trap,
  and how my ‘baron’ sticks in your throat. Your anger gives me so much
  joy that I have quite forgotten mine. I am delighted to have revenged
  myself singly, and I like myself all the better for it. I hope you
  will be free from anxiety before you receive this letter, for I have
  sent you the portrait of the personage, and that suffices. But the
  idea of your giving yourself such airs! I am the injured one, yet you
  scold me! That is rather an odd way to seek reconciliation. How tired
  I am of being angry—otherwise you would not be let off so easily. But
  I have a weakness for you which will not suffer me to quarrel with you
  for long. I should be delighted to make it up with you: you have only
  to make my mind easy about your banquet, and swear you love me as much
  as ever. I will forget and forgive everything, and make you see in
  return that you are very wrong to be dissatisfied with me, for I
  deserve all your love, and do everything to please you. When you have
  realised the injustice you do me by your mad imaginings, you will ask
  my pardon, and deeply repent of your bad and wicked thoughts. I fear
  our first interview will be spent wholly in explanations, and the love
  and tenderness which alone ought to be present will be conspicuous by
  their absence; but you will have it so—it is not my fault.

  “I am coming to you on Tuesday or Wednesday. I have already sent you
  word by Stubenfol, and I hope to find you tender and faithful. If you
  be not I shall die, for I am fain to confess that I love you to
  distraction: in spite of all my anger and annoyance, I have never
  loved you more.

  “I forgot to speak about what you told me a few days ago—that you had
  made a vow to keep the sixth[209] commandment if we should ever live
  together. There are no vows I would not joyfully make to be with you
  always, too: I wish for nothing else in the world; all my thoughts are
  bent upon it.”

-----

Footnote 209:

  The seventh in our liturgy.

-----




                              CHAPTER XXI.

                    THE CAMPAIGN AGAINST THE DANES.

         There is not in the fierce world anything,
         Scorn, agony, stripes, bonds, fears, woes, deep shame,
         Kingdomless ruin, but with open hands,
         With joyous bosom open as to love,
         Yea, with soul thankful for its great delight,
         And life on fire with joy, for this love’s sake
         I would not embrace and take it to my heart.
                                             SWINBURNE.

The Princess came back to Hanover, and a few days later Königsmarck set
out for the war, so their meetings were few and brief. She was expected
to proceed to Herrenhausen, where the electoral court then was; but she
lingered in Hanover, excusing herself on the ground that Prince Max’s
apartments at Herrenhausen adjoined those set apart for her. The excuse
was flimsy, for Prince Max had recently been staying with her parents at
Celle while she was there; and though his gallantry had once threatened
to exceed the friendship allowed to a brother-in-law, that was long ago,
and he now treated her with only ordinary courtesy. But she had raised a
similar objection successfully at Luisburg, and it served to delay her
visit to Herrenhausen until Königsmarck left Hanover. His orders to
march came suddenly, on his return from a visit to the Princess, and he
had to start the same night without wishing her good-bye. He left her
apartments piqued because she seemed to be in a hurry for him to go: in
truth, she was conscious of being watched by spies, and snatched every
moment of her lover’s company with a fearful joy. The first of the
following letters of the Princess was written before she knew
Königsmarck had left Hanover for the campaign; the next two or three
describe an interview she had with Countess Platen, of which the most
notable point is that the Countess tried to persuade Sophie Dorothea
that it was not she, but the Electress Sophia, who had made mischief
with the Elector about her intimacy with Königsmarck. The Princess’s
letters end with reproaches to her lover for having left her so
unkindly, and having sent her no word since he went away.

                       “[HANOVER,] _Monday_, _July_ 30/_August_ 9.

  “It is four o’clock, and I can no longer hope to see you to-day. _Que
  je suis malheureuse! Vous n’êtes pas content de moi._ I fancy your
  good-bye was not so tender as it ought to have been. I am overwhelmed
  with many troubles. You are going away, and I shall not see you for
  ever so long. I am so distressed that I wish myself dead this very
  moment. I have not slept, I have a dreadful beating of my heart, and I
  am so grieved at not seeing you to-day that I am almost beside myself.
  Life is unbearable without you: how cruel of you to doubt it! I cannot
  forgive your cruel injustice last evening. Is it possible you think me
  capable of feeling joyous and gay on the eve of your departure—I, who
  would like to be dead all the days I spend without you, and only live
  when I see you again?

  “My mother has written to me about Max. This is what she says: ‘_Je ne
  conseille pas, 201 (moi) de s’embarrasser du voisinage; si le voisin
  fait trop de bruit, il n’y a que faire passer votre lit dans
  l’antichambre; par là vous éviterez le bruit, et vous éloignerez du
  galant_’. I shall know what to do! My mother also tells me the
  Electress has thanked her for letting me come back, and said she was
  delighted to see me again. My mother says, considering the kindness
  the Electress shows me, it is the right and proper thing for me to
  have left my parents and pay her my court, but she hopes at some
  future time the Electress will be good enough to let me return to
  Celle. That makes me despair more than ever, for I dare not hurry my
  return home, since my mother does not wish it, and I have only just
  come back to Hanover.”

                              “[HANOVER,] _Monday, Eleven at night_.

  “I have been to Herrenhausen. The Electress told me she had spoken to
  the Elector, and he thought it absurd for me to imagine such things
  about Max, and said: ‘It is only a silly excuse she is making. I’ll
  take care that Max won’t thrust himself upon her in any way.’ He also
  said many other things, too long for me to tell all at once. When he
  had finished talking, the Electress asked him if she were to repeat
  everything he had said to me. At first he said ‘Everything you like,’
  but afterwards he said ‘No’. I asked if the Elector wished me to
  remain ignorant of what he had said, because then he wouldn’t
  understand my coming to Herrenhausen after saying I should stay in
  Hanover, and the Electress (who is by way of being very attentive to
  me) said she should write to me a note to-morrow with full
  instructions what I am to do, but, whatever happens, I shall now be
  here the whole week. The Elector will be obliged to start in a few
  days, and, from what the Electress says, Max will be one of the party.

  “La Confidente went last night to La Platen’s, who talked a good deal
  about me. She said that people do not understand the retired life I
  lead, and every one is talking about it; but that is the least of my
  troubles, for I scorn the whole world so long as we love one another.
  I had hoped, as I can see you no longer, that I should receive a line
  from you to-day; I am much disappointed that nothing has come. I
  wonder I have the strength to write to you. I am distressed beyond
  words at your departure on this campaign. _Mon Dieu!_ why have you
  gone? What would I not give to scold you in person for the injustice
  you did me yesterday when you thought I wanted you to leave me sooner
  than usual? I would give my warm blood and very life to lengthen the
  moments we spend together.

  “La Confidente says that La Platen asks to see me to-morrow; I fear
  she wants an explanation. I expect to be terribly lectured about my
  ways, but I will answer her as she deserves. Max is ill: I wish he
  were ill enough to change his quarters. I am ill too, but my sickness
  comes from loving you, and only you can soothe my pain and cure me.”

                                    “[HANOVER,] _Tuesday, August_ 1.

  “I cannot be comforted because I see you no longer. I am sad, too, at
  not having had a word from you; there may be some coldness, and I love
  you so passionately that I wish myself dead if you love me not
  likewise. I had a note this morning from the Electress, and she says:
  ‘The Elector told me over again the same things I told you
  yesterday—that it would be absurd for you not to come to Herrenhausen
  through such unfounded scruples, and he will answer for any slander
  they may circulate; Max will not force himself on you in any way, and
  you have only to lock the door. So it rests with you to come whenever
  you like, when you have quite done making a fuss.’ She adds to that
  much love. I will turn and twist as much as I possibly can, so that
  the Elector will have gone before I get there.

  “I fear the letter I wrote to you yesterday has not the smallest
  amount of sense in it. I was in a pitiable state, for your abrupt
  departure shows that you are not pleased with me, and I was so ill I
  could hardly bear myself. La Platen is coming to see me; I will tell
  you our conversation before I go to bed.

                                                 “_Eleven at night._

  “I have had a three hours’ _tête-à-tête_ with La Platen. The most
  important part of the conversation is that she knows the Electress
  lectured me last year about you, and said that so far from the
  Electress speaking to the Elector in the way she wished me to believe,
  _c’est elle qui lui en a rompu la tête, et que jamais l’électeur ne
  lui a dit un mot_, and afterwards the Electress told several people
  that she had warned me to change my conduct with you, as it did you
  harm. La Platen then went on to entreat me to alter my ways [_changer
  de manière_], saying I lead such a retired life that everybody wonders
  at it. People were complaining that I neither look at nor speak to
  them; I could not imagine all they say, because it was not natural for
  a woman of my age to turn her back so decidedly on society, and they
  are seeking to find the cause of it all. I answered that if I had made
  any difference between one and another, if I had not treated everybody
  in the same way, people would have had a right to find fault; but as I
  favoured nobody, they have no cause to complain. She spoke several
  times about you; she is only too pleased with you. At last we parted
  as intimates; no friendship could have been confirmed by more promises
  than she made me.

  “I have not been out of my room to-day, and my journal will be very
  long. I am going to bed, as I am worn out, but I shall not be able to
  sleep. How can I, when I have such a big boy as you in my head?”

                                             “[HANOVER,] _August_ 5.

  “This is the sixth day since you left, and I have not had a word from
  you. What neglect and what disdain! In what way have I deserved such
  treatment? Is it for loving you to adoration, for having sacrificed
  everything? But what use to remind you of this? My suspense is worse
  than death; nothing can equal the torments this cruel anxiety makes me
  suffer. What an ill fate is mine, good God! What shame to love without
  being loved! I was born to love you, and I shall love you as long as I
  live. If it be true that you have changed, and I have no end of
  reasons for fearing so, I wish you no punishment save that of never
  finding, wherever you may be, a love and fidelity equal to mine. I
  wish, despite the pleasures of fresh conquests, you may never cease to
  regret the love and tenderness that I have shown you. You will never
  find in the whole world any one so loving and so sincere. I love you
  more than woman has ever loved man. But I tell you the same things too
  often; you must be tired of them. Do not count it ill, I implore you,
  nor grudge me the sad consolation of complaining of your harshness. I
  am very anxious for fear they have detained the letter you were to
  have written to me from Celle. I have not received a word; everything
  conspires to crush me. Perhaps in addition to the fact that you no
  longer love me, I am on the eve of being utterly lost. It is too much
  all at once; I shall break down under it. I must end this to-morrow; I
  shall go to Communion.”

This is the last of the Princess’s letters preserved in this
correspondence; she ends as she began, full of love and tender
reproaches. The remaining letters are written by Königsmarck, and we
have to invoke the aid of external evidence to fill up the blanks.
Unfortunately this is meagre, for Colt (whose entry book has been a
trusty guide) had left Celle on his last diplomatic mission early in
July. His orders were to attend the Elector of Saxony during his
campaign on the Rhine. The fatigue of the long marches was too much for
him, and he died suddenly at the Saxon headquarters, in August, a martyr
to duty if ever there was one, leaving his widow, who was at Celle, very
badly off. He was succeeded by Cresset, who did not take up his duties
at the courts of Celle and Hanover until the following January.

The campaign against the Danes does not appear to have come to a regular
engagement; the object of the northern Powers was rather to frighten the
Duke of Celle and the Elector of Hanover into submission than to drive
them to open warfare; and even when the two armies were in sight of one
another, separated only by the Elbe, a truce was being negotiated.
Königsmarck gives a brief account of his march to the Elbe, which seems
to have been from Hanover to Celle, thence to Lüneburg _viâ_ Epsdorff.

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

       “[ON THE MARCH,] _Saturday, August_ 5/_Tuesday, August_ 15.

  “I hope you had my letter yesterday; it was sent by express, but I
  fear it may not have been delivered to you. I went to dinner at Celle.
  Their Highnesses asked me if Madame la Princesse were still in
  Hanover. I told them I had the honour of playing cards with her and
  Madame l’Electrice on Saturday, and since then I had seen neither of
  them. Bülow gave me so much to drink _que j’avais une bonne raidis_.
  Later they took me to Madame Boidavis’s; but I don’t remember what I
  did or said there, and as I had to return to my quarters, I did not
  stay very long. Monsieur Goritz arrived after dinner. He talked a long
  time with Monseigneur le Duc, and I had the honour of conversing with
  Madame la Duchesse. We talked of serious and pressing matters, but I
  had so much wine afterwards that I have clean forgotten the
  conversation, wherefore I am very sorry. Thus the day ended. Wednesday
  and Thursday went by in marching, hunting, and being very badly
  lodged. Friday, August 4, I had your letter. Don’t think I had
  forgotten you; all the time I was thinking of you, whatever work my
  regiment may have given me. I even forgot my duties dreaming of you;
  you are the only being in the world who would make me forget them. My
  great anxiety is lest you should be at Herrenhausen. You know what
  that means: Prince Max is there.... I cannot forget how you hurried me
  out of your apartments last Monday—God knows for what reason. But, _ma
  chérie_, don’t think I suspect you of any mean design—no, I believe
  you are incapable of any such thing; it was because it was absolutely
  necessary that I should go, lest we should be discovered.... Adieu,
  _mon ange_. Think of him who worships you, and don’t let him go out of
  your thoughts for one moment. Believe me loving and faithful and proof
  against all. Hell and its torments will never make me change. I will
  be faithful until death, and after death.”

                                   “[ON THE MARCH,] _August_ 6/16.

  “Your letter clearly shows that you will always remain a child and let
  every one govern you. Your mother orders your movements more than you
  do yourself. Because, i’faith, she tells you the Electress is so kind
  that you should pay her great attention, you are let in for staying at
  Herrenhausen and Hanover, in spite of your wishes and mine. Pull
  yourself together, and remember you are a woman and no longer a child.
  Don’t let them lead you by the nose in this way. It is shameful! Such
  childish fears do not become true-born hearts. Follow your own
  inclinations, not those of others. I daresay if La Platen ordered you
  to live in a particular way you would obey her, especially if she told
  you the Elector thought it right. He has only to say it is ‘absurd’
  for you to change your plans, and forget in a moment all that you have
  sworn a thousand times to me. Say to your heart, ‘Courage, heart of
  mine’.”

                                  “[FROM THE CAMP,] _August_ 6/16.

  “I hope my two preceding letters have reached you. This morning I
  received yours of August 1. I hope you will be satisfied with what I
  told you. I did not fail to remember you, but I could not help my
  letter miscarrying; I swear that I sent it by that peasant.... I vow
  by all that is holy my love for you has not lessened. If my conduct
  has altered, it is because I saw you so different that I hardly knew
  you. While I see you so timid and troubled what am I to think? You
  will not run the least risk for me. If what La Platen told you be
  true, the Electress’s favour will please you mightily. Remember what I
  have told you about her. I doubt whether the Elector ever spoke to the
  Electress, or if she ever troubled him on the subject. I know you must
  be careful. La Platen may be right about that coincidence; there is
  much likelihood, for the Elector’s haughtiness does not agree with
  what the Electress told you. I wonder you still cringe to the
  Electress as you do; she will be your ruin sooner or later. I should
  send her to the devil if I were in your place; but you count her as
  one of your best friends. She has told you so many untruths that she
  may not have spoken at all to the Elector about Prince Max, and I
  firmly believe she has not done so.

  “If you had followed my advice, you would not have given any
  explanation at all to La Platen about your conduct. You would have
  answered curtly, ‘I do as I please’; and it would have been better. If
  she be pleased with me, it is because I disapproved of my sister’s
  conduct and pretended to keep in with her. I don’t disapprove of your
  making up your quarrel with her, but I hope you will be wise enough
  not to tell her anything that might do you the least harm. God save
  you from her. You must look upon her as one of your greatest enemies.
  I am not in the least surprised she spoke to you of me—she is brazen
  enough for anything. I should like to have seen you together—a haughty
  mistress like her with so timid a child as you! I am surprised you saw
  her alone. I defy her to tell you the least thing about me which might
  shake your trust. If I have said anything pleasant to her, it was only
  on very indifferent matters, and at a time when I quarrelled with you.
  Do not complain about my temper, I implore you; no one could be
  gentler than I am, and I am learning to be patient. You know I hate La
  Platen with a deadly hatred, and it is indifferent to me whether she
  comes here or not. I am too much occupied in thinking of you. I love
  you, I adore you now with as much ardour as I have ever done. Had I
  not written to you, you would have been right in saying that I don’t
  love you, but this is the third letter I have written on the march. I
  could not do more, for I have only been at villages where the post
  does not pass near by leagues. I don’t in the least deserve your
  reproaches, though I read them with some pleasure; for I see
  tenderness mingled with the anger. Ah! if you loved me as I love you,
  how happy I should be! But, _ma chérie_, our last evening together was
  not all that I would have wished. I could not write before I left
  Hanover, for when I got home I found everything packed up and ready to
  start, and I was in such despair I jumped on my horse and rode out of
  the town as fast as I could.... Farewell. My superior officers have
  arrived—Prince Max also.”

                                   “[BY THE ELBE,] _August_ 17/27.

  “We are hard pressed here, and the truce is broken; it looks as though
  we shall bang away at one another to-morrow. Should anything happen to
  me I have given orders for your letters and portrait (which I have
  sealed in a packet) to be burned. I want to die less than ever, for
  your letter gives me hope and courage, it is so tender and
  unconstrained. I am delighted with it; it makes me happier than the
  gods. I am more in love than ever. I have plenty of time to think of
  my passion, for I am patrolling day and night. You are always before
  my eyes; I think of you from the crown of your head to the tip of your
  toe. I reflect I am the only possessor of the jewel, which fell into
  my hands in so marvellous a way, and count myself the happiest man in
  the world. Should I die, if the good God has decreed my death,
  remember I die your true slave and faithful lover; and if one can go
  on loving in the other world, I vow that I will declare myself to you,
  and all the beauties of Paradise will never lure me from thee. Adieu.”

                                   “[BY THE ELBE,] _August_ 20/30.

  “My letters are so short that I fear you may be angry; yet it is not
  through negligence, but the calls of duty. We have so few officers
  that I cannot get a moment’s peace. It is now between ten and eleven
  o’clock at night, and at twelve o’clock we go on guard, which lasts
  till morning. From three to seven I sleep, and at seven Le Felton
  gives me work for half the day. Our plans here change every day! I
  cannot tell you what will happen. I had a talk with Buccow about many
  things. Among other things, I said your mother was rapidly wasting
  away. He contradicted me flatly, and swore he would wager three
  thousand crowns in solid silver against me. If he be right you will be
  happy. Buccow told me that when you were at Celle the Duchess bathed
  on the ramparts in the great vats that are there. Do please tell me if
  this is true, for he said you did the same.”

While negotiations were pending between the King of Denmark and the
princes of Brunswick-Lüneburg, the Danish general took the law in his
own hands, bombarded Ratzeburg, and destroyed the fortifications. It was
urged that he misunderstood his orders and acted too soon; but there is
little doubt this excuse was merely a diplomatic ruse; and, the
ostensible _casus belli_—the fortifications of Ratzeburg—having been
removed, the King of Denmark signified his willingness to make peace on
his own terms. As the only alternative was invasion, which they were ill
prepared to resist (and which later happened under the Duke of
Lauenburg), the Duke of Celle and his brother had to put the best face
they could on the matter, and the next two months were taken up in
negotiations for the treaty. All this time the Hanoverian army was
compelled to remain by the Elbe, and Königsmarck with it. Fever broke
out among the troops, and Marshal Podevils, the commander-in-chief, was
seized with it, and had to be taken to Lüneburg.

The Princess meanwhile had left Hanover for another visit to her parents
at Celle, where doubtless she renewed her prayers for money. She could
not have chosen a worse time, for the exchequer of Celle was very low,
and she was met with stern refusal. This, joined to the desperate state
of Königsmarck’s affairs and the general hopelessness of the situation,
preyed on her mind so much that she became seriously ill. When
Königsmarck heard the news, his first thought was to get leave and go to
her at Celle; but on reflection he saw the thing was impossible, as his
presence was required at the camp. All this is made plain in the
following letters:—

                      “[FROM THE CAMP,] _August_ 27/_September_ 6.

  “At this very moment Bülow is crossing the Elbe with the news that
  Ratzeburg is bombarded; it is in ashes. His mission is to testify to
  their Highnesses that General Vaidel has bombarded the place a day
  sooner than he ought to have done, for the King gave him orders to
  wait till Monday, meaning all day Monday; but Vaidel, too delighted to
  open fire, began on Monday at six o’clock in the morning, and at noon
  the town was all in flames. When the King heard of it, he ran to cry a
  halt, for he had promised to do nothing before Wednesday. I let you
  know this because the King is sending a message by Bülow to express
  his regret and to make an offer of peace[210], on the basis of the
  last terms proposed on his side. So it now depends upon our masters
  whether there shall be peace or war. In the latter event I shall not
  see you for a long time, and you may be obliged to flee for safety to
  Berlin or Amsterdam.”

-----

Footnote 210:

  Here we have another proof of the authenticity of the letters.
  Königsmarck’s account of the sending of the Danish Commissioner Bülow
  is in complete agreement with that given by the Electress Sophia in
  her letters now preserved in the Prussian National Archives. The
  sending of Bülow is mentioned nowhere else.

-----

                      “[FROM THE CAMP,] _August_ 28/_September_ 7.

  “Danger is over for the present; and I do not exert myself much, for
  there is no longer any prospect of advancement for me. So it seems you
  will probably see your lover safe and sound, unless the sickness all
  about should catch him. Do not therefore be any longer uneasy about
  me. The courier who went to Flanders was only sent to make the thing
  look more important. I firmly believe that they will not make the
  troops come back, for they are really talking about patching up this
  affair: rather a difficult task, but our side must make a virtue of
  necessity. That is how things stand.

  “Your assurances of tenderness fill me with rapture; you say you would
  love me without arms or legs. Surely you wish me to give up the ghost
  altogether for very joy. You are my idol; I worship you, and my love
  will only end with my life. I am passionate, tender, faithful; my only
  joy is to think of your lovely eyes and the fire which darts from
  them—that sweet fire which burns my heart. But I cannot understand why
  you went to see La Platen before you left Hanover; for three years you
  have not been near her, and now you begin. I know you are very timid,
  but why should you go to see her? Sometimes we must worship the devil
  lest he should harm us.”

                                      “[FROM THE CAMP,] _August_ 29.

  “I can see from your letter that you are ailing, for I found in it
  nothing to move me. I won’t scold you, for I want to know if you are
  really very ill. Don’t alarm me if it be not so, and I implore you,
  don’t eat fruit,—there is nothing so bad for one; lots of people fall
  ill through that. Dysentery is raging everywhere. _Dieu!_ if such a
  misfortune were to fall on me, I couldn’t bear it. I am raging to know
  how you are. I wanted to leave my post and go to Celle; but then it
  would all have burst, and we should be ruined in reputation. Alas!
  poor lover! do you consider your reputation when your beautiful one is
  ill? No, no! let me risk everything. If I do not hear to-morrow
  evening that you are better, expect me. I will fly to your side, and
  won’t budge an inch until you are well. I beg your pardon, my
  beautiful one, for all I have ever said to wound you. Do not refuse
  forgiveness, I entreat you; take care of your health, my life; rest,
  and spare yourself. What shall I do if a great sickness seize you? I
  shudder when I think of it, and death looms before my eyes. If I could
  only be at the foot of your bed to take care of you, it would comfort
  me a little! But how can I manage it? Perhaps I should not see you at
  all, for you will be surrounded by your women if it be true you are
  really ill. Marshal Podevils has been carried off to Lüneburg, and
  that gives me more work; for though Bocage has the left wing, I have
  so much to do on the right wing that I haven’t a moment to myself. I
  shall be glad to end this campaign without having anything to reproach
  myself with. Adieu. May the angels preserve you!”

                 _Königsmarck to Fräulein von Knesebeck._

  “You distress me by not giving me better news. Tell Her Highness not
  to trouble about writing to me. I absolutely refuse to allow her to
  write while she suffers so. How joyfully I would go to comfort her
  were it not for Marshal Podevil’s illness! Besides, the truce ends
  to-day, and I have received orders to be on guard. You can imagine how
  that news grieves me. I am rewarded by the Duke of Celle, but not by
  the Elector, so I am raging. I vow, on my damnation, that were it not
  for my dearest love I would quit the Hanoverian service directly this
  business is over. I will write of this more to-morrow. I received
  Léonnisse’s sweet messages with joy. I pray God soon to give her
  better health. Embrace her tenderly from me.”

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                    “ALTEMBURG, _September_ 19/29.

  “The joy I feel at knowing that you are out of danger is very great,
  and I pray Heaven you will soon lose your weakness. If it will only go
  away, I shall not mind if it leave you pale and thin and reduced to a
  shadow. My only wish is that you suffer no longer. I should be unhappy
  indeed were my love only inspired by your beauty, for in twenty-four
  hours, nay, even less, your loveliness might change to ugliness, and
  then where should I be? My love is founded on more solid qualities,
  and it will never change even when you are eighty years old. The
  beauty of person is but a passing thing, but the beauty of merit lasts
  for eternity. I am not a man to be in love with mere beauty; it often
  dazzles me, but never blinds me, for I have frequently noticed that
  where beauty is so great merit is very little. I vow to you still that
  I do not know when my love for you has made me easy for even a quarter
  of an hour; even now scarcely a night goes by but I sit up half the
  time fearing this and fearing that. I sometimes think if I had done
  right I should never have paid you my court, for I ought to have
  thought about the future and all the consequences that would follow
  upon our love. But then, _I knew you_, and I gave myself up to you. I
  could not listen to reason, but only to my heart. Too late I see all
  the obstacles in the way of our happiness, and I know you see them
  too. You have more to lose than I have, in the rank you are; but we
  cannot alter that, so, _ma chérie_, let us have pity on each other and
  hate the fate which makes us so unhappy. Do not think that I shall
  ever repent having devoted myself to you. No, no! my divine Léonnisse;
  had I to begin all over again I should do the same thing. My passion
  carries me away. I cannot write so coldly as you did for four whole
  pages, but no doubt your weakness made your love seem weak. I will say
  what my true and sound heart dictates. In spite of all obstacles if
  only you will not waver, I will show you a constancy that will last
  till death. Ah! my dear, my dear! true heart wounds are incurable. All
  joy, all danger, make no difference. They only bring home to me that
  nothing is dearer than the love I bear for you; and the more dangers,
  the more difficulties there are to be overcome, the greater will be
  the victory. The conquest of the whole world is nothing to me compared
  with the conquest of your heart. When the time comes for us to be
  together always, we will sing, ‘How delightful is this place! Let us
  taste its delights.’ But when will that happy hour dawn? I am waiting
  for it with intense impatience. It is ‘better late than never,’—a
  detestable proverb for loving hearts, but what would you?

  “As the Prince has desired you to return to Hanover soon, it is no use
  your thinking of going to Epsdorff, or Göhre, but go straight to
  Hanover. I shall not be done here this month, and the month of
  November will bring back all our warriors, and as the Prince is one of
  them we must take advantage of the precious time. If it be true that
  you have such an aversion to the Prince, I pity you, for you will
  suffer even more than I do, and that is not a little.... The Prince is
  one of those monsters who sought to devour the unhappy Andromeda.
  Would to Heaven I were Perseus to free you from him; but, alas! what
  can a mortal man do?... I am all yours, heart, soul, and body. Ah! if
  I could but kiss that little mouth whose sweetness I have so often
  tasted. My blood riots when I think of it. For eight weeks I have been
  keeping Lent. I have not shaved since I left Hanover, I have been
  living like a monk, fasting on Sundays and not missing a sermon, and
  all for the sake of the sweetest little woman in the world, whom I
  love more than my two eyes—so tenderly that I cannot find words to
  express my feelings. My only joy is in gazing on and kissing your
  portrait as I lie on my bed, without taking my eyes and lips off it
  for two hours at a stretch. In those moments I must own that I am not
  a monk, for my passion carries me away. Adieu, adieu.”

When the Princess had recovered from her illness she was sent back to
Hanover, and her mother went with her. The Electoral Prince, George
Louis, had now returned from the campaign in Flanders, and the Elector
of Hanover and the Duke of Celle agreed that it would be better for him
in the future to remain at home and see more of his wife and children.
Even the Duchess of Celle urged her daughter to attach herself more to
her husband. The affairs of the House of Brunswick-Lüneburg were not at
their brightest; the trouble with the Danes was a heavy blow, and the
campaign this year in Flanders had been attended with disaster all along
the line. The French had captured Ghent, won the battles of Linden and
Neerwinden, and besieged and taken Charleroy. The star of William and
the Allies was certainly not in the ascendant, and the general
depression made itself felt at Hanover and Celle. Under these
circumstances it was all the more necessary for the families to pull
together and show no disunion. The Princess was therefore bidden to
return to Hanover and her wifely duty, and make the best she could of
her lot—advice which could hardly have been more unpalatable. Her dismay
was shared by Königsmarck, who, on receipt of the news, endeavoured to
obtain leave from the camp and set out for Celle, where the Princess
was. She had been delaying her departure on the pretext that she was not
yet well enough to travel. Of Königsmarck’s letters at this time I give
the following:—

                                      “[FROM THE CAMP,] _October_ 1.

  “Oh, cruel destiny! oh, endless misfortune! why wilt thou always
  distress me? Scarcely did I see the sun’s rays than a cloud robbed
  them from my eyes. Only this fatal blow was needed. What! I may not
  even taste three or four days of bliss with you? Oh, my dear one! I
  ought to have worshipped you from afar, not loved you; Heaven punishes
  me for my audacity. You are happier than I, for you hope your mother
  will find a way out of your troubles; but I have no hope, and greatly
  fear your plans will not succeed. Alas! where am I to look for
  consolation? My charming divinity, let me bury myself in some lonely
  corner of the world, far away from the light, since all hope of
  passing my life with you is lost. I pity you, my angel; yet I suffer
  more, for I am the cause of your pain and sorrow. Take care that the
  Prince does not find any coldness in you, though that advice is
  greatly against my inclination. You must guard yourself against the
  danger that threatens you. I therefore advise you to cajole and
  flatter the man I wish you to hate; you must coax him without fail.
  The tears you are shedding are tears of blood to me. But for me you
  would be the happiest woman in the world; yet remember, I suffer no
  less than you. I thought by devoting myself wholly to you that I
  should be the happiest of men; but destiny has thwarted us. I have
  forsaken relatives, friends, countrymen, estates, and wealth to have
  the joy of sometime tasting peacefully the delights of our mutual
  love; but, alas! I have lost all without gaining my desire.

  “A certain friend of our court told me that they think the treaty will
  soon be signed, but the Danes make so many quibbles that it is
  postponed from day to day. We shall still be here ten or twelve days,
  so the Prince will see you before me, and this cuts me to the heart.
  Count Platen’s son came to see me yesterday, and brought me a letter
  from his mother, who is reckoned great among us here; I enclose it to
  you, so that I may have nothing to reproach myself with. My answer was
  only six lines, and as cavalier as courtesy permitted. When I have the
  happiness of seeing you, I will repeat it word for word. The young
  Count told me that the peace would be signed for certain on Tuesday,
  but as that is too long for me to wait I must try to find some other
  means of seeing you at Celle before you go to Hanover. I don’t know if
  I can manage it, but I shall know to-morrow....

  ”_L’envoi._—I am writing to ask Marshal Podevils to give me leave for
  three days. I shall be at Celle before you go away. Directly I know I
  will start at once. I will come disguised. Wait for me on the small
  staircase two nights running until twelve o’clock. I know the way to
  the hidden staircase at the back, and will wait for the signal if I
  reach there safely. Adieu.”

Whether Königsmarck saw the Princess at Celle or not it is impossible to
say. But this much is certain—he returned to Hanover from the campaign
late in October, some weeks after the Princess’s arrival there. The
following letters (which bring this correspondence to an end) were all
written between then and the close of the year. The first is the most
interesting, for it shows that the Princess had qualms of conscience
about the double life she was leading, though she had not the strength
to break from it. Her desire was to flee with Königsmarck to some
far-off land, obtain a divorce from her husband, marry her lover, and
live in what Count Schulenburg-Klosterrode quaintly calls “an honourable
married state”. In other words, she wished paradoxically to get rid of
the temptation by yielding to it. Königsmarck, on his part, was not
backward in sophistries; he reminded her that their thoughts had always
been directed towards matrimony, and, once united to the Princess, he
vowed to lead a sober and cleanly life. Whether these good intentions
would have been carried out it boots not to speculate; but one thing was
now certain, Königsmarck could not remain in the service of the Elector
of Hanover. He was still received at court, but every movement was
watched. His stolen meetings with the Princess were few and far between
and attended with great risk. Often their appointments were not able to
be kept, while the fact of a letter having gone astray or a signal
misunderstood was sufficient to throw them both into a fever of
agitation. Yet he was still so unreasonable that, if the Princess
treated him in public with necessary reserve, he reproached her
passionately in private. Marshal Podevils warned him again, the Duchess
of Celle warned her daughter, and the coldness of the Elector and
Electress and the gossip of the whole court must have been surely more
than sufficient to point out the extreme danger of the path the lovers
were treading. Yet they rushed on, not blindly, but with their eyes wide
open, to the very edge of the precipice. Thus ended the year.

                      _Königsmarck to the Princess._

                                     “[HANOVER,] _Thursday morning_.

  “If your father be ruined you will have nothing left to hope for, but
  I believe the demands of the Danish envoys will not be so exorbitant
  as all that. You think that I no longer wish to see you; you must know
  I wish it more than ever, and it will not be good for us to be kept
  apart much longer—for many reasons, the chief being that should the
  Danes come into the country—God preserve us!—they might open all
  letters, and ours also. To avoid that possibility we should have to
  break off all communication, and without being able to see or write to
  you my life would not be worth living. So you think your love for me
  is a great sin, and you believe God punishes you for it. Great
  heavens! what a thought! Do not get such an idea in your head, for
  that kind of folly might lead you far from me. You know that our
  resolves, our inclinations, our wishes are in harmony with the divine
  laws, and it only depends on Him above to take us away from the life
  we lead. I vow to Him after that I will sin no more against the sixth
  commandment, and I will lead a pious life, free from reproach. Make
  Him also the same vows—perhaps He will hear our prayers. I am longing
  for that happy consummation, and with what joy I will repent of my
  sins! Your caresses, your love, your very presence will be
  all-sufficient to me.”

                  “[HANOVER,] _Tuesday, Two o’clock after midnight_.

  “Your conduct is not very kind. You appoint a _rendezvous_, and then
  leave me to freeze to death in the cold, waiting for the signal. You
  must have known that I was there from 11.30 till 1, waiting in the
  street. I know not what to think, but I can hardly doubt your
  inconstancy after having such icy proofs of it. You did not deign to
  look at me all the evening, you purposely avoided playing cards with
  me, and you wanted to get rid of me. I will go away quickly enough.
  Farewell, then. I start to-morrow morning for Hamburg.

                                              “[_The next morning._]

  “Having spent the whole night without sleeping, I have had time to
  think over my troubles. I determined to go, but then I remembered I
  once swore to you that I would never go away abruptly, and I want to
  know before I go the reason of your behaviour. That is why I am still
  here to-day. I shall not appear at court, for I mortally hate it, and
  so you will not be able to give me the signal with your eyes; but the
  other way will let me know if I may come in. I am glad I did not
  continue my letter last night, for I was in so violent a rage that I
  should certainly have said some unpleasant things for which I should
  now be sorry.”

                                                “[HANOVER, undated.]

  “I was sure that you would be dissatisfied with me because I did not
  keep my appointment. I don’t know if you think my reason a good one,
  but it was a very real one....[211] But, I say, why did you let me
  wait the day before yesterday two hours in the street? and why do you
  not excuse yourself? Do you think I am not hurt by such treatment.
  Read my first letter, you will see the reasons why I thought you ought
  to have let me know. I did not cry out about it, but that did not
  prevent me being very much piqued. Your letter of yesterday charmed
  me: I will make a play of it, for, besides the wit, it is filled with
  natural and convincing tenderness. I can see it is my charming
  princess, my Sophie, who wrote it—adorable angel! I shed tears in
  reading your letter. Your lovely eyes have been bathed in tears, and I
  am the cause! Königsmarck, thou dost not deserve to possess Sophie’s
  loving heart.”

-----

Footnote 211:

  He was ill, but there is no need to quote his detailed description of
  his illness.

-----

                                              “[HANOVER,] _Tuesday_.

  “My anxiety will not let me sleep. I go over everything in my mind,
  even my childhood; but I cannot find the letter I had from you last
  night nor remember where I put it. I burned one yesterday,—it might
  have been yours by mistake. Unfortunately the missing letter is the
  one in which you notified when and where I might see you. It was the
  last I had from you. I remember it well; I had it from La Confidente
  on Sunday morning, for yesterday morning she had one from me; but she
  did not write back, and that worries me. I did not find anything in my
  hat last night. You remember that you asked me what I was looking for.
  I answered: ‘My hat; some one has stolen my gloves’. You replied: ‘No
  doubt, for Count Horne, or Oxensterne, I don’t remember which one it
  was, had a fringed pair of gloves stolen’. You see, I remember
  trifles. Do not imagine, then, I could have forgotten such a thing as
  an appointment with you. Would to Heaven I _had_ forgotten, for I fear
  our carelessness will be our ruin. I swear to you that I looked in my
  hat, and, as to my gloves, I put them on, but there was nothing in
  them. I was angry with La Confidente, for she had given me the signal
  and yet I found nothing [in my hat]. I thought she had not had an
  opportunity. But I was much surprised on leaving the room to find
  nothing, for La Confidente had given me the signal a second time. I
  wanted to speak to her about it, but Prince Ernest followed me so
  closely, and Stutenfrich was next to me on the other side, that I
  could not do so. You will see from my letter of last night that I made
  no mistake; it was written as soon as I got home. If I had one from
  you I should not have forgotten it in three hours’ time, despite my
  poor memory. _Dieu ait pitié de nous, car sans son secours je ne sais
  comment nous sortirons de cette affaire._ I take Him as witness that I
  fear not the peril I run. But to lose you for ever, that is what
  distresses me!

  “If I wished to go away from you, it was because I might be able to
  help you better at a distance than if I were near. They might imprison
  me perhaps, but that is a ridiculous thought; I will not dream of it.
  I was admiring you last evening, watching you laughing before that
  mirror in so merry a mood; yet all the time I was trembling, for I
  thought that the Elector and your mother were already talking about
  that letter, and were planning how to punish us. Your cheerfulness
  makes me suspect many things: sometimes I think you will not see me
  for a long time and little by little detach yourself from me. Other
  thoughts come into my head whereof I will not write to you. I am so
  troubled because of that accident that my brain is in a whirl. To
  crown it all, Madame Goritz has told me that she knows I hid
  _incognito_ three days in the town without showing myself, and the
  people I employed in my intrigue had betrayed me, and a dozen things
  beside; it would take too long to write it all. This, added to the
  loss of your note, makes me beside myself. If among all my sorrows I
  had not the one of fearing that you might weary of me, I should
  console myself in spite of everything, but that thought finishes me.
  Should they begin to question La Confidente as to whether I have
  written to her sometimes, she must say at once that I wrote to her
  several times from Flanders, but not from here. My brother-in-law
  [Count Lewenhaupt] must be apprised of the same thing, so that we may
  not betray ourselves. It is necessary my brother-in-law should know
  what to answer in case he should be questioned, and know to whom the
  letters were addressed which my lacquey brought him. I shall say that
  when I went away I asked him to give the letters addressed to the
  ‘Frole Crunbuglen’ to a woman who would ask for them under that name,
  and he sent on to me the answers the woman brought, without asking
  from whom the letters came. He must say neither more nor less. If I do
  not make my meaning clear, I must have a word with you, for it is wise
  to take precautions in time, lest we be discovered. You must deny ever
  having written to me at all, but La Confidente must not deny that I
  have spoken about you, in case they ask what I have written to her.”

                                                “[HANOVER, undated.]

  “What will you say, Madame, when you learn that they did not let me go
  through the day without the misfortune I dreaded? Marshal Podevils was
  the first to tell me to beware of my conduct, because he knew on good
  authority that I was watched. I pressed him to give me more
  particulars, saying I did not understand what he meant; but he would
  tell me nothing except that it was concerning a lady of the court, and
  you can see to whom he refers. I was not satisfied, and implored him
  to tell me more positively in what way my conduct was wrong. He said
  he would do so to-morrow on condition I promised not to speak to any
  one about it. Prince Ernest has told me the same thing; and he is not
  quite as guarded as the other, for he admitted that the conversations
  I had from time to time with you might draw upon me very unpleasant
  and serious consequences. I could not wait any longer in the
  antechamber for fear of breaking down after hearing such news. Were
  you to see the state I am in you would pity me; my eyes, from which a
  torrent of tears has flowed, would show you how my heart is aching. O
  God! where am I to find a shelter to end my misery? O cruel Fate!
  scarcely hast thou let me taste the delights of love than thou
  plungest me into the most pitiable state ever known! From what I could
  gather from Prince Ernest, all that he knows is through Le
  Barbouilleur, and he, no doubt, will speak to me about it, but up to
  now he has avoided me. I shall know to-morrow: perhaps I shall suffer
  arrest and death.... Nothing has touched me to the quick so much as to
  find that our affair is in every one’s mouth. I wouldn’t mind the
  Electress of Brandenburg’s knowing it, if only half the court did not
  know it too. When am I to see you? When shall I gaze into those
  beautiful eyes? When will they beam on me and declare the joy it gives
  you to rest in my arms?”

                           “[HANOVER], _Tuesday evening, 5 o’clock_.

  “I do not know if I am to attribute the sadness in your eyes to your
  pious scruples or to the thought of our approaching separation. I
  flattered myself it was the latter during the game; but at supper the
  sad look vanished and you were as cheerful as ever. Perhaps your
  partner’s conversation had something to do with it, for he seemed to
  put you in good temper in a moment. But I may do you wrong; and you
  restrained yourself because no one should notice your grief; in that
  case I forgive you. I wanted to ask you yesterday to let me affect a
  cheerful look, but I could not do so. I beg you, don’t let La
  Confidente make me signs when she has nothing to give me, or when she
  does not want to speak to me. I was anxious about her signals all
  night.

  “I needed your letter to deliver me from profound grief. Everything
  depends on to-morrow’s news. I feel like a criminal under sentence of
  death, who is to be executed on the morrow. Death would not grieve me
  more than separation from you. I am more than grateful for your
  consent to see me; but I know that interview will break my heart, for
  you are leaving me to go amid many pleasures, in the midst of court
  society, and surrounded by no end of handsome gallants. The Electress
  of Brandenburg will put opportunities in your way and you will not be
  able to avoid them.[212]

  “Until now I have always thought my passion was the cause of our
  differences, and I have blamed myself for acting in so jealous a
  manner; but, Madame, the quarrel we had yesterday evening shows me
  clearly you cannot live without quarrelling. From the most innocent
  thing in the world you magnify the greatest fault imaginable. When I
  am in the wrong and offend you, why are you not reasonable enough to
  say: ‘I will not have you speaking to me in that way, and if it occur
  again we shall fall out’. I should then take care not to commit the
  same fault again. But no, you are always picking a quarrel with me.
  You know such ways distress me, and, added to the wicked affronts I
  suffer every day from all sides, they crush me so that I do not know
  what keeps me from taking my leave. I shall certainly do so to-morrow,
  for it is evident you wish to make my life unbearable. Le Barbouilleur
  found a good deal of fault with you for talking so much to that
  violinist.[213] Of course it was not seemly for a lady of your rank;
  but I am no longer in the state of mind to tell you what is seemly and
  what is not. I must think about beating a retreat, for the way you
  treat me is beyond bearing; I would rather lose my sight than be
  treated so. For mercy’s sake, cannot you alter your ways for the sake
  of a lover who adores you tenderly? Think of all the trouble you have
  caused me, of all the risks I run, and if there be the least spark of
  love left in you, you will not let a heart perish on which your image
  is for ever graven.”

-----

Footnote 212:

  This must refer to a visit Sophie Dorothea was going to make to the
  Electress of Brandenburg at Lützenburg. The Electress was probably
  staying at Hanover and Sophie Dorothea was returning with her to
  Lützenburg.

Footnote 213:

  Probably Ferdinand, the favourite violinist of the Electress of
  Brandenburg.

-----

                                                “[HANOVER, undated.]

  “I am joyful to hear of your return (from Lützenburg), and as my
  sickness is ended, if you will allow me to come to you and kiss your
  knees and ask your pardon for all my suspicions, I shall be overjoyed.
  I am punished enough for them, God knows; for I have been sick unto
  death with grief and rage, and I had no news of you. I will see you
  any day and hour you wish. Farewell.”




                             CHAPTER XXII.

                          THE GATHERING STORM.

               My star! a baleful one.
               I see the black night, and hear the wolf.
                   What star?
                              TENNYSON, _Queen Mary_.


Königsmarck went to Hamburg in January to see if he could raise money,
but he failed, and returned to Hanover more embarrassed than before. At
Hanover he had long outworn his welcome: the court had no smiles for
alien nobles when they were short of money, and Königsmarck was now a
suspect and under a cloud.

Apart from the chronic difficulty with Sophie Dorothea, the Electoral
family had its own worries. Prince Max was again troublesome, and the
King of Denmark and Duke Antony Ulrich of Wolfenbüttel were secretly
inciting him to rebel. The hatred of the last-named prince for the House
of Hanover was now open and declared; and he was an exceedingly
dangerous enemy, as his knowledge of the domestic discontent in the
Elector’s family gave him much opportunity of intrigue. Informed of
everything at the Hanoverian court, it is said that Duke Antony Ulrich
made overtures to Sophie Dorothea to induce her to take part against the
Electoral House, and she was not indisposed to listen, though she
hesitated to commit herself until all hope of obtaining money for a
separate establishment from her father was at an end.

Both Hanover and Wolfenbüttel were full of spies, employed by their
respective princes against each other, and the Elector soon got
knowledge of these intrigues. Prince Max was sent to Savoy, where he
took command of a regiment of cavalry, his father allowing him thirteen
thousand dollars instead of the six thousand he had previously granted
him. But, as the English envoy shrewdly remarks, this was “only to get
rid of him, for fear he should revolt again”.[214] Prince Christian, who
was also suspected, was sent into Hungary to take part in a campaign for
the Emperor. Of the disaffected there remained only Sophie Dorothea,
whose intrigue with Königsmarck, if the Elector had but known it, was
the most dangerous of all. But as soon as Ernest Augustus had got rid of
his insubordinate sons he fell ill, so ill that fears were entertained
of his life; these family worries had probably told upon his health, for
he was now advancing in years, and had always been a free liver.[215] He
was not nearly as robust as his elder brother, the Duke of Celle, whose
temperate habits and love of hunting and out-door pursuits gave him the
enjoyment of vigorous health.

-----

Footnote 214:

  Cresset’s _Despatches_, Celle, March 20, 1694. Prince Max subsequently
  became a Roman Catholic and Jacobite, and died in open rebellion
  against his elder brother (George I.) in 1726.

Footnote 215:

  Schaumann is my authority for this statement. The Elector’s illness is
  not mentioned in the English envoy’s despatches.

-----

The Elector’s serious illness brought many questions to the front which
had hitherto lain in abeyance. Though there was every reason to believe
the Electoral Prince would adhere in the main to his father’s policy,
yet the Elector’s death which now seemed within the range of practical
politics, would of necessity bring about changes—none more momentous
than the dethronement of Countess Platen from the position of power she
had so long enjoyed. It would mean, also, the relegation of the
Electress Sophia to the comparative obscurity of Electress-Dowager, and
would, of course, involve the accession of Sophie Dorothea to the
dignity of Electress. Sophie Dorothea did not covet the Electoral
diadem, but it would be thrust upon her whether she would or no, and the
mere fact of being Electress, though she had no influence with her
husband, would of necessity give her added dignity and honour. She would
become a force for her enemies to reckon with, especially as she had the
Celle family influence at her back.

The prospect of Sophie Dorothea reigning at Hanover as Electress was not
contemplated with equanimity either by the Electress Sophia or by the
Countess Platen, though from different reasons. Countess Platen well
understood that the new Electress would certainly not ignore her
arrogance as the Electress Sophia had done, and she might even refuse to
receive her at her court. She therefore redoubled her efforts to involve
the Princess in disgrace and ruin, and unfortunately the Königsmarck
affair gave her a handle. There is nothing to show that the Electress
Sophia took part in these tactics, for though she strongly disliked the
idea of the daughter of the despised d’Olbreuse taking precedence of
her, her line of policy had hitherto been to give Countess Platen a wide
berth, and she was not likely to reverse it now.

The Princess cared nothing for affairs of state, and, absorbed as she
was in her mad passion for Königsmarck, heedless alike of appearances
and consequences, she thoughtlessly played into the hands of her
enemies. Countess Platen was so far successful in her manœuvres that she
managed to poison the mind of the Elector against his daughter-in-law,
and she inflamed the Electoral Prince against his wife anew. The
immediate result was that he put spies to watch Sophie Dorothea and
Königsmarck, and the Princess’s position at Hanover became more
intolerable than before. The lynx-eyed Knesebeck became aware of the
danger, and implored the Princess either to give up the intrigue, or to
allow her to retire from her service. But the Princess refused to let
her go, and Knesebeck, who was devotedly attached to her mistress,
realising that if she abandoned her she would be without a friend,
stayed on. She was aware of the constant efforts which the Princess was
making to leave Hanover and obtain a residence in Celle territory from
her father, and she probably thought if she remained she might save her
mistress from desperate steps and follow her in an honourable retreat
from Hanover.

But obstacles only seemed to heighten the Princess’s passion. Since her
return from Celle in the autumn she had not relaxed her efforts to
obtain money from her parents; but the Duke of Celle had no funds to
spare, crippled as he was by ruinous wars, nor was he in a mood to
listen to the language of revolt. With her mother the Princess appears
to have been more successful, for we find Cresset, the English envoy,
writing to England about this time of “the desire of this Duchess
[Celle] to pay thirty thousand or forty thousand crowns _à fond perdu_
into our bank, if it be not filled or clogged up”. In the light of the
Princess’s letters we may hazard a guess that the Duchess intended this
sum to go towards her daughter’s separate establishment, little
dreaming, of course, that the separate establishment was but a blind,
and she really wanted the money to fly with Königsmarck to some distant
land.

Every thought and action of the Princess at this time was directed to
one end only—flight, whither, when, and how she knew not. A hundred
expedients flitted through her brain only to be dismissed, for one
obstacle rendered them all impossible—lack of money; a prosaic reason to
enter into the romance of princely personages, but nevertheless a real
one. The Princess did not want much money, but some she must have—enough
to enable her to live in decent independence. It seemed to her, that
when she had taken her flight to some far-off country, the court of
Hanover would be only too glad to be rid of her, a divorce would
inevitably follow, and she would then be allowed to marry Königsmarck
and to spend the rest of her life quietly with him. That she would have
found either happiness or peace may be doubted, but she was willing to
take the risk. She was willing to abandon her high position and rank,
the pomp and glitter of courts, a brilliant prospect of crowns and
kingdoms, for obscurity, dishonour, and comparative poverty. Whatever
view we may take of her ethical standard, we cannot doubt the depth and
sincerity of her one great love passion, all the greater because of the
unworthiness of the man for whom she counted it joy to sacrifice all she
had in the world.

Königsmarck, in his letters and interviews, now as before, was
constantly inciting the Princess to revolt, and his alternate
temptations and reproaches drove her nearly beside herself. In truth
Königsmarck was himself in a tight place. Even Marshal Podevils, his
staunchest friend, turned against him; and when he remonstrated with the
Field-Marshal about his lack of promotion, and threatened to quit the
Hanoverian service, Podevils curtly replied that he would put no
obstacle in his way. Undoubtedly the most dignified course for
Königsmarck to have taken would have been to have acted on this hint and
have resigned his commission in a service where he was so unwelcome.

At this juncture the Countess Platen, who knew how hard pressed he was,
but who retained a liking for him, sought anew to tempt him from his
allegiance to the Princess, and with shameless effrontery offered him
her daughter in marriage, promising him in return the favour of the
Elector, rapid promotion in the army, and her powerful support. She knew
full well that his embarrassments, though acute just now, were only
temporary, and thus she would not only secure an eligible _parti_ for
her daughter, but would win him over to her own interests.

To his credit, be it said, Königsmarck resisted the temptress, and
rejected her offer with scorn and indignation. He went so far as to
remind the Countess Platen that there were certain reasons why he should
not marry her daughter.[216] These scruples the Countess Platen neither
understood nor sympathised with; indeed, she strongly resented them, and
she and Königsmarck parted in bitter anger. “A slighted woman knows no
bounds,” and she soon made her quondam lover feel the weight of her
displeasure. A rumour ran round the court that Königsmarck would be
arrested on the ground that he had not paid his gambling debts in
Flanders and thereby brought discredit to the Hanoverian army.

At this moment, just when Königsmarck’s affairs were at their blackest,
a door of escape was opened to him by the sudden accession of his friend
Duke Frederick Augustus to the Electorate of Saxony. Duke Frederick
Augustus succeeded his brother, the Elector George Frederick, whose
death was sudden and tragic. The young Elector George, who was weak and
dissolute, was entirely under the sway of a beautiful brunette of
twenty, whom he created the Countess von Röohlitz. During her brief
reign the favourite ruled Dresden with a rod of iron, and drove the
Electress from the court. Early in April, 1694, she died suddenly of
small-pox, and the Elector, who would not leave her bedside, caught the
fell disease and died eleven days later. Stepney, the English envoy at
Dresden, thus writes in his quaint way:—

-----

Footnote 216:

  This lady, Charlotte Sophia, the young Countess Platen referred to
  once or twice in the correspondence, was said to be the daughter of
  Countess Platen by the Elector Ernest Augustus. She married, later,
  Baron Kielmansegge, Master of the Horse, and accompanied George I. to
  England. On the death of her husband George I. raised her to the rank
  of Countess of Darlington. There is evidence to show that George I.
  recognised the kinship between him and Lady Darlington, but she was
  generally supposed to be his mistress. The precise relationship must
  always remain a mystery.

-----

“The revolution we have had here is so sudden and so extraordinary and
so surprising that I know of no romance or tragedy to compare to it
except _All for Love_. A virtuous Electrice has been slighted like
Octavia, yet supported her disgrace with a patience and constancy equall
to y^e Roman Ladyes. An Elector has revelled in pleasures with an
Imperious Mistress (who pretended to be a wife), and defyed y^e open
Scandall of Adultery and double Marriage; till y^e Scene changed, and
y^e fond Pair were carried off y^e Stage one after y^e other (like
Anthony and Cleopatra) in less than a month. Our Saxon-Lady was dressed
up in as much State after her death as y^e Egyptian Queen was before she
applied y^e Aspicks, and was buryed in a Mausoleum where lay three
Princes of y^e Electorall family, but has had little rest there; For y^e
rage of y^e new Government has rifled her coffin of all her ornaments
and has transported y^e Corps naked to a churchyard where lye none but
Malefactors and those who dye of pestilential distempers. The Mother for
having had a handsome daughter is prosecuted as a Witch; as if Beauty
without Philters were not charm enough to make a Prince of 26 Love
passionately as y^e Elector did, and all families here who have either
Allyances or friendship with these poor Ladyes are either crushed or
shaken by the Fall, as is usuall in mighty ruines.”[217]

-----

Footnote 217:

  Stepney’s _Despatches_, Dresden, May 18/28, 1694, State Paper Office,
  “Foreign Papers,” Germany.

-----

Truly a revolution—transformation, rather! Youth, beauty, vice, insolent
in their power, and suddenly King Death waves his wand and they are
swept from the stage and become as though they had never been. What an
opportunity for the moralist! It may be feared, however, that the moral
was lost on the royal brother Augustus who succeeded thus unexpectedly;
and so far as morals went the court of Dresden lost rather than gained
by the exchange. Augustus II., better known in history as Augustus the
Strong, the modern Sardanapalus, “the Saxon man of sin,” as Carlyle
calls him, scandalised and dazzled Europe for nigh on half a century
with his vices. The Elector George was weak, the besotted lover of one
imperious mistress, who ruled him wholly. The Elector Augustus was
physically strong, and ruled by nothing save his despotic will and his
unbridled lusts. The number of his mistresses bid fair to rival those of
Solomon, but no one of them ruled him, for he devoted himself to none.
“Constancy is not in his nature,” writes Stepney, “and he may be called
in y^e liberall sense a father of his people, as good King Charles was,
for he is an impartial distributor of his bounty, and while he is in y^e
humour, the first woman y^t offers is sure of his caresses.”[218] This
was written in no spirit of exaggeration. Augustus was “father of his
people,” indeed, for his court formed a seraglio, and when he died he
had no less than three hundred and fifty-four children by his numerous
mistresses. Yet there was a certain splendour about the Saxon Elector.
Like Augustus of Rome, he found a city of brick and left a city of
marble. During his reign Dresden became one of the most beautiful cities
in Europe. He established noble picture-galleries and museums full of
objects of art, metal work, armoury, precious stones, porcelain, and
glass. Great though were his vices, wanton though his extravagances, his
love of the fine arts redeemed him from utter grossness. His reign
indeed recalled the declining days of imperial Rome, when the most
exquisite polish and the grossest licentiousness flourished side by
side. Reckless, selfish, ambitious, luxurious, and despotic, the career
of Augustus the Strong affords few parallels since the days of the
Cæsars.

-----

Footnote 218:

  Stepney’s _Despatches_, Dresden, May 29/June 8, 1694.

-----

Such was the Prince whose sudden advent to power was hailed by
Königsmarck as a means of deliverance from his troubles. He had written
of him long ago to the Princess: “He is a good sort of prince; I wish he
would become Elector”. His wishes were now gratified, and on receipt of
the news he posted off to Dresden without delay.

The truth of the familiar Scripture, “Put not your trust in princes,”
must surely have been proved by Königsmarck more than once in his
adventurous career. Yet there were several reasons why he should be
inclined to put his trust in this particular prince: they were old
friends and boon companions; they had travelled about Europe together in
1687; they had fought together, drank together, and gambled together
during the campaign in Flanders in 1692, when Duke Frederick Augustus
disappeared, leaving behind him a pile of unpaid gambling debts, and his
boon companions cursing him, as well they might. Of them Königsmarck was
one of the heaviest creditors, for the Saxon Prince owed him no less
than thirty thousand crowns. While he was only Duke Frederick Augustus,
with extravagant habits and no power, to redeem the debt seemed
hopeless, but it was quite another thing now that he had become Elector.
So Königsmarck argued, and the present state of his affairs lending him
wings, he set off for Dresden in almost indecent haste, lest other
claimants should be in the field before him. He had interest, too, at
his back, for without that interest his claim would have been little
worth.

Königsmarck arrived at Dresden within a week of the Elector George’s
death. Notwithstanding the nature of his errand, which could hardly have
been quite agreeable to the new Elector, he was favourably received, and
his petition listened to very graciously. Augustus had not forgotten—not
at all; he never forgot a debt of honour, but it was a little
inconvenient for him just then to find so much ready money. He was
barely settled on his Electoral throne, and heavy expenses consequent on
funeral rites and coronation festivities had to be borne; but he would
give Königsmarck the post of major-general in the Saxon army in payment
of the debt. This was hardly what Königsmarck expected or desired: his
wish was a large sum of ready money. But the offer was better than
nothing; the post was one of dignity, the pay was large, and the rank
and perquisites considerable. The favour of the Elector was an earnest
of better things to come (which indeed were hinted at), so he accepted
it with all the grace he could.

It is not easy to see how Königsmarck could have accepted this post as
major-general in the Saxon army, as he undoubtedly did, consistently
with the fact that he held at the same time the post of colonel in the
Hanoverian army[219] and with his promise to the Princess to fly with
her at the first opportunity to some far-off corner of the world. But
perhaps in this, too, he looked to the favour of the Elector.

-----

Footnote 219:

  Many chroniclers have puzzled their heads to reconcile these two
  facts, but the question is absolutely set at rest by the despatches of
  Stepney, which are now published for the first time in this book. They
  will be quoted later, and show quite clearly that Königsmarck was
  major-general in the Saxon army at the same time that he was a colonel
  in the Hanoverian service.

-----

Königsmarck’s business having been settled, his thoughts lightly turned
to pleasure, and the court of Dresden afforded ample opportunities.
Augustus the Strong did not greatly mourn his departed brother, who
indeed left few to mourn him; and after he had gratified his love of
display by giving him a gorgeous funeral, he turned his attention to the
ceremonies and festivities of his own coronation, and he found time to
inaugurate the round of revelry, feasts, and entertainments which lasted
throughout his reign. To these entertainments Königsmarck was bidden as
a welcome guest, and the new major-general proved his mettle, as was
meet for one so distinguished in love and war and so celebrated in his
adventures. Nor was he merely a welcome guest at the table of the
Elector. From the English envoy’s (Stepney’s) correspondence at this
period it appears that he was well received in Dresden as the favoured
guest of many nobles, and he himself entertained him, as he “had known
him in England, Hamburg, Flanders and elsewhere”. True he states that he
had “no great opinion of y^e sparke,” but that was after his fall, and
no one has a great opinion of the fallen.

Feasting and riotous living seem hardly fitting for a disconsolate lover
such as Königsmarck avowed himself to be, whose one desire was to find
some “corner of the world” where he might live with the object of his
love, and forego all honour and pleasure for her dear sake. But few men
are quite consistent, and Königsmarck was not among them. While the
Princess was eating her heart out in the palace at Hanover, weeping and
wailing, quarrelling with her husband, importuning her parents, moving
Heaven and earth to advance her pet scheme, Königsmarck was revelling in
the wanton halls of Augustus the Strong. It is a sad fact, but there is
no denying it, for this is a true history. His conduct was far from that
of an ideal lover. If he had kept to eating and drinking and high play,
it would have mattered little, but unfortunately the wine-cup loosens
the tongue, and the brilliant Königsmarck, known to all Europe for his
wit and amours, must needs maintain his reputation at Dresden by
boasting of his conquests at the court of Hanover. Nothing interested
the different courts of Germany so much as the vices and scandals of
their neighbours, and the court of Hanover afforded a rare opportunity.
Königsmarck was more than ready to gratify their curiosity about it.
Countess Platen, Madame Weyhe, Madame Podevils, Fräulein Schulenburg,
the Elector and the Electoral Prince all furnished matter for sundry
spicy tales, Countess Platen most of all. How Countess Platen bathed in
milk and then gave it away as a dole to the poor of Hanover, how she
painted her face, how she domineered over the Elector, and how she made
overtures to Königsmarck, offering him her daughter, and his reasons for
refusing—all this and much more he babbled in his cups, and all was duly
reported and exaggerated, if exaggeration were possible, to the court of
Hanover by informers at Dresden.

The rage of Countess Platen and the other ladies may be better imagined
than described. Whether Königsmarck went further, as his enemies
alleged, and to his lasting dishonour boasted of his intrigue with the
Electoral Princess, there exists no evidence to show. From Stepney’s
despatches it would appear that he did not, for that worthy later
mentions the Princess’s name in connection with Königsmarck with
surprise. On the other hand, it must be remembered that the same charge
had been brought against Königsmarck before, and he had denied it so far
as the Princess was concerned, though he admitted it in the case of
Countess Platen and others. His denial counts for little, for he was
probably too much intoxicated to remember what he said and what he did
not say. We must not judge him too harshly for his free drinking, for it
was in those days the custom of courts, and there was never a festive
gathering but that the majority became more or less intoxicated. But the
fact that he was a wine-bibber undoubtedly detracts from the value of
his denial. Be that as it may, there is no doubt whatever that
Königsmarck’s gossip at Dresden was repeated at Hanover to the people
about whom he talked, and they were incensed beyond measure. This did
not only apply to Countess Platen and the Elector Ernest Augustus, but
to Fräulein Schulenburg and the Electoral Prince. Ermengarda Melusina
Schulenburg, to her credit be it said, never mixed herself up in court
quarrels, nor sought to thrust herself upon the Electoral Princess; she
was of a peaceable disposition, and this no doubt was the secret of her
lasting hold on George’s affections. But even Ermengarda Melusina had
her foibles; she was avaricious (perhaps wisely so, for she knew that
the favour of princes was fickle), and she was not without her share of
vanity. To hear that her grasping propensities had been publicly derided
and her charms decried at the court of Dresden by that loose fish
Königsmarck was more than she could bear, and her tears of rage and
vexation made the Electoral Prince more bitter towards his wife’s lover
and more incensed with his wife. So altogether Königsmarck had a pretty
tempest brewing against his return to Hanover.

Meantime the unhappy Princess, railing more than ever against her
Hanoverian surroundings, was counting the days for her lover’s return in
her dull apartments in the old Leine Schloss, and seeking a pretext
which would serve to carry out her scheme of separation from her
husband. It was not long in coming. The sullen and silent Electoral
Prince as a rule avoided meeting his consort save in public; but one
day, provoked by the tears of Schulenburg and the tales from Dresden, he
burst into Sophie Dorothea’s apartments without ceremony, and upbraided
her coarsely for her favours to Königsmarck, telling her that she was
the by-word of the Saxon court. The Princess, who hated her husband with
a loathing which passes words to describe, was not slow to defend
herself. Her ancient grievance against Schulenburg lent a barbed tip to
her tongue, and with passion she retorted that it was not she, but her
husband and his scarecrow mistress who were the laughing stock of the
courts of Europe. She went on to say that the one thing she desired was
a divorce, to which the Prince retorted that he would be only too glad
to grant it to her, and would enter into any plan to bring it about.
Bitter recriminations followed, and the quarrel grew fiercer, until at
last, goaded beyond control by some taunt levelled at his mistress,
George Louis sprang at his wife, and, seizing her by the throat,
threatened to strangle her. The shrieks of the Princess brought
Knesebeck and other attendants rushing into the chamber, and then the
Prince relaxed his hold on his half-fainting wife, and threw her from
him, crying with an oath that he would never see her again. As soon as
she recovered, the Princess, still smarting under this brutal insult,
without asking leave of the Elector, as she ought to have done, set out
for Celle immediately, announcing, to all who cared to listen, her
intention of seeking her parents’ protection and of never returning to
Hanover. So far as her husband was concerned she declared that the
breach was irreparable, as indeed it proved to be.

Travelling nearly all night, the Princess arrived at Celle early in the
morning and threw herself at her astonished parents’ feet. To them she
told her pitiful story, pointing to the marks of violence which she bore
on her body and entreating their aid and shelter. The Duchess of Celle,
who loved her daughter beyond all things, took her part warmly, and
declared that nothing should part them again; but the Duke, influenced
by Bernstorff, refused to listen to his daughter, rebuked her for her
insubordination, and bade her roughly to return to Hanover and her duty.
He had no sympathy with her grievance against Schulenburg, and he bade
her take as an example of wifely duty her excellent mother-in-law, the
Electress Sophia, who never raised difficulties of this kind. No doubt
he thought the graceless Königsmarck was at the bottom of it all. In
truth, the Duke of Celle could ill afford a rupture with Hanover just
then. His brother had stood by him bravely throughout the war with the
Danes, which was far more his quarrel than the Elector’s. The danger was
not yet over, for the Danes were still threatening to invade his
territory, and their demands for indemnity had reduced his exchequer to
its lowest ebb. Thus there were reasons of state as well as of domestic
policy for his insisting on his daughter’s return and if he could have
had his way he would have packed her back to Hanover the same day. But a
man, even though he be a duke and a father, is apt to reckon without his
host where women are concerned, for, finding tears and prayers
unavailing, Sophie Dorothea promptly relapsed into violent hysterics.
Her mother declared her quite unfit to travel, and in this opinion she
was duly seconded by the court physician, who feared the strain on the
Princess’s reason.

There is little doubt that Sophie Dorothea was really ill—worn out by
anxiety and grief; and this, added to her husband’s brutality, and her
father’s repulse, reduced her to a state of nervous prostration from
which she took some weeks to recover. The old Duke, who really loved his
daughter after his fashion, though incensed at her conduct (and it must
be admitted she was a troublesome daughter), was moved by her illness
and distress, and, when he had posted a despatch to Hanover he gave her
leave to remain with her mother for a time, premising that she must
return to Hanover and her duty as soon as she was able to travel. He
could grant her this favour the more easily, as the Elector and
Electress were setting out for Wiesbaden for a cure, and the court would
be away from Hanover for the time being. So Sophie Dorothea stayed on
with her mother at Celle in absolute retirement, seeing no one, her
health being still delicate, and when the court moved to Brockhausen she
went there too with her parents.[220] Whenever she had an opportunity
she renewed her entreaties to her father to give her a separate
establishment, but he sternly refused.

-----

Footnote 220:

  Cresset’s _Despatches_, Celle.

-----

Smarting under her disappointment, the Princess wrote the letters to her
lover, complaining bitterly of her father’s harshness, which afterwards
told so heavily against her, and alienated the only powerful friend she
had in the world.

The Princess went to Celle at the end of April, soon after Königsmarck’s
departure for Dresden; she remained there and at Brockhausen all through
May, and it was not until the middle of June that the Duke of Celle
insisted on sending her back to Hanover. The Elector and Electress had
now returned from Wiesbaden, and had signified their willingness to
welcome back their errant daughter-in-law; moreover, the Electoral
Prince, who had incurred his share of blame for bringing about this
family scandal, had gone to Berlin on a visit to his sister, the
Electress of Brandenburg. It was thought advisable that he should absent
himself for a time from his wife, and meanwhile the parents hoped to
patch up again the outward semblance of a reconciliation between the
ill-mated pair, as they had often done before. The Princess would
therefore not have to face the ordeal of meeting her husband immediately
on her return to Hanover, and as she was now better, the Duke of Celle
insisted that she should go back, as her absence for so long a time was
creating a scandal. In vain the Princess wept and prayed. The Duke,
prompted by Bernstorff, bade her roughly go back to her duty. It is
possible that had he temporised, or held out hope of granting her
request, the catastrophe which afterwards wrecked the happiness of his
daughter might have been averted. But the Duke was nothing of a
diplomatist; he was simply a headstrong old man, and unfortunately the
Princess had inherited from him a similar temperament. Thus, driven to
bay, she lost her temper and threatened desperate courses. Words passed
between her and her father which were never forgotten nor quite
forgiven. In vain the Duchess of Celle tried to make peace, but between
two such headstrong natures her words were only oil to the flames. There
was nothing for the Princess to do but to return to the place she had
left two months before vowing she would never see it again. This meant
the triumph of the Platen faction and the public humiliation of the
Princess. To her proud spirit it was worse than death.

Thus thrust from her father’s gates, Sophie Dorothea set out on her
return journey, her heart full of anger and revolt. A message had been
sent to Celle that the Elector and Electress would be happy to receive
her at Herrenhausen, where they were now staying. The road from Celle
ran past the gates of Herrenhausen, which was situated about a mile from
Hanover. It was expected and required by the rigid etiquette of German
courts that the Princess on her return should call and pay her respects
to the head of the family (appearances must be kept up at all hazard);
and, advised from Celle of the day and hour she would return, the
Elector and Electress and their court assembled to receive her with due
formality. The courtiers, who knew all the circumstances of the case,
were on the tip-toe of expectation to see how the Princess would demean
herself. Countess Platen, more eager than the rest, and anxious to
triumph over her fallen foe, craned her head out of the window to see if
the Princess were coming, just as she and her sister, Madame Weyhe, had
done once before, when Sophie Dorothea made her first entry into Hanover
as a bride on the occasion of her ill-omened marriage. The Princess’s
carriage was heard approaching, the outriders were already visible, the
gates of Herrenhausen were thrown open, when to every one’s astonishment
the Princess leant forward and, without stopping the carriage, bade the
coachman drive as fast as he could past Herrenhausen into Hanover.

The astonishment of the courtiers, and the indignation of the Elector
and Electress at seeing themselves thus publicly flouted, knew no
bounds. One must understand the rigidity of German court etiquette at
that period to appreciate the enormity of the Princess’s offence; it was
not merely an act of discourtesy, but one of revolt. It is impossible
not to sympathise with the spirit which dictated this act, for even if
there had been no other reason, the presence of Countess Platen was
sufficient to justify it.

Arrived at Hanover, the Princess went at once to her apartments in the
Leine Schloss, and there, attended only by the faithful Knesebeck, who
followed her mistress still, albeit with fear and trembling, she gave
out that she was ill, and steadily refused to see any one. Her conduct
was at once reported to Celle, and those in authority were at a loss to
know what to do. The situation was one which certainly could not be
maintained for long, and the excuse that the Princess made was seized
upon to deceive the world, and a polite fiction was circulated to the
effect that the Princess’s health had broken down during the journey to
Hanover, and she would shortly return and join her parents at
Wienhausen. We cannot but admire the decorum with which these Hanoverian
princes tried to hush up their family scandals. Ill the Princess
undoubtedly was, but it was an illness of the mind rather than of the
body. She was sick unto death of Hanover and its surroundings and, all
the time when she was refusing to see any one, she was maturing a
desperate plan of flight.




                             CHAPTER XXIII.

                       THE MURDER OF KÖNIGSMARCK.

              How do men die? But I, so trapped alive—
              O, I shall die a dog’s death, and no man’s.
                                             SWINBURNE.


A day or two after the Princess returned to Hanover Königsmarck came
back from Dresden. He had been kept informed of her movements, and, as
her affairs grew more desperate, the question of flight was freely
discussed in their letters. Königsmarck at first advised the Princess to
fly to France, change her religion, and throw herself on the protection
of the French King. France was her mother’s country, and the Duchess of
Celle was known to be friendly towards France, and even suspected of
leaning to Popery. The Princess, too, through Balati, the French envoy,
had exchanged compliments with Louis XIV., and had distinctly favoured
the French party in opposition to her husband, who always upheld William
and the Alliance. In the days gone by, when the Duchess of Celle and her
daughter were supposed to have some influence, they had received many
valuable jewels from the French King. A change of religion would
effectually exclude the Princess from the court of Hanover, now deeply
pledged on the Protestant side, and constitute a claim on the
munificence of Louis, who liberally pensioned distinguished converts,
such as, for instance, the late Duke John Frederick of Hanover and King
James of England. There was no reason why he should not pension the
Princess as well, as she would certainly be a thorn in the side of his
adversaries. Königsmarck, too, was favourably known at the court of
Versailles, and were he to enter the French service he might hope for
promotion and a career with honour.

Undoubtedly there was a good deal to be said in favour of the
Princess’s flight to France, but there was also much against it. Such
a step would cut off Sophie Dorothea irrevocably from the House of
Brunswick-Lüneburg—not only from Hanover, which she ardently desired,
but from Celle, which she did not desire, and from all future favours
from her father. The Duke of Celle all his life long had been the
stoutest opponent of France, and for his daughter to go over to his
enemies would be unpardonable treason; it would mean disinheritance
without hope of reinstatement. The Princess, too, though not a deeply
religious woman, was attached to the faith in which she had been
brought up, and had no wish to change it, and without a change of
religion there was no hope for her in France. Moreover, Elizabeth
Charlotte, the Duchess of Orleans, who was the devoted niece and
correspondent of the Electress Sophia, occupied a prominent position
at the French court. She hated the Duchess of Celle and the Electoral
Princess, and would undoubtedly do everything in her power to make
things unpleasant for Sophie Dorothea. Lastly, and this obstacle was
insuperable, the Princess had not enough money to fly to France and to
maintain herself there for any time; it was a long way, and she ran
considerable risk of being overtaken. So she dismissed the French
plan, and turned her thoughts to one far more practicable—flight to
Wolfenbüttel.

Here the ground was well prepared. Knesebeck had a married sister in
Brunswick, one Frau von Metsch, whose husband was in Königsmarck’s
service and to whom many letters were sent at this time. She doubtless
acted as an agent between the Princess and Duke Antony Ulrich. The
strained relations between the Princess and the electoral court were
well known to Antony Ulrich. She was his cousin; he had known her from
childhood; she was nearly being allied to his house by the closest ties,
and he was her mother’s earliest friend. In this, her hour of trial, he
communicated to her his sympathy and assured her of his support, more
especially as he saw in these family dissensions something which might
be turned to his advantage and could not fail to humiliate the Elector.
The union of Hanover and Celle had been a hard blow to him, and anything
which tended to disunion was in his favour.

Finding every other means of escape from a position which had become
intolerable cut off, the Princess resolved to fly to Wolfenbüttel, and
place herself under the protection of her cousin and old friend. The
journey was short and inexpensive, and her escape from Hanover to
Wolfenbüttel would not be as irrevocable as flight to France; it would
not involve a change of religion, or make an unbridgeable gulf between
herself and her father, for Wolfenbüttel’s quarrel was not so much with
Celle as with Hanover. Once there, Duke Antony Ulrich would be sure to
plead in her favour, and would certainly not give her up to the tender
mercies of the Hanoverian Court. It would be better for Königsmarck too,
for Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel was allied with Denmark and Sweden, and
Königsmarck, a Swedish subject, had only to throw in his lot with his
King to be received back into favour. Of course, from the point of view
of the Hanoverian government, the Princess’s flight to Wolfenbüttel
would be a treason even worse than flight to France, for all relations
between the two courts had long since been broken off and
Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel was a declared enemy of the electoral house.
Putting Königsmarck out of the question altogether, the Princess’s
policy was unpardonable in the eyes of the Hanoverian government: she
first revolted and then plotted treason.

Unfortunately for the best interests of the Princess, Königsmarck _was_
a factor in the situation. He had come back to Hanover almost
simultaneously with the Princess,—an audacious act in itself, for he was
in disgrace at court on account of her. Ostensibly he had returned to
attend to some necessary business; in reality he came back for the one
and only purpose of aiding the Princess in her flight to Wolfenbüttel.
He still held the post of colonel in the Hanoverian guards, and it was
necessary that he should resign it formally, since he had accepted a
commission in the Saxon service. But, during the few days which elapsed
between his return to Hanover and July 1, he took no steps to resign his
commission, nor did he show himself in public. He went straight to his
house and lived there in retirement, occupying himself mainly with
arranging his affairs and sorting his papers. The Princess was also in
retirement in her apartments at the palace, still insubordinate, and
refusing to see any one on the plea of illness. She, too, was very busy
in much the same way. Communications passed between the lovers during
these few days, but they were not able to arrange a meeting. The
situation was dangerous, far more so than they seemed to realise. It is
true that they knew they were watched, but they hoped to evade the spies
as they had often done before. But then it had been convenient for their
enemies to turn a blind eye to the intrigue; now they were on the alert.
Every movement was observed and reported to headquarters. Königsmarck
was watched day and night, the Princess also; and had they reflected
they must have seen the danger they were running. The imprudence and
recklessness of their proceedings seem almost incredible; they rushed
right on to their doom. As the Princess had settled on flight, it would
have been wise for her to have dissembled a little; but she and
Königsmarck provoked suspicion—she by her rebellion and threats of
desperate proceedings, and he by returning to Hanover. There was really
no need for him to have come back at all. He could have met the Princess
at Wolfenbüttel, and she could have travelled there alone almost as
easily as she made the journey to Celle. But despite every warning and
the dictates of common prudence, Königsmarck came back into the very
hands of his enemies, who were seeking an opportunity to destroy him.

The opportunity was not long in coming.

On the evening of Sunday, July 1, 1694, Königsmarck received a note from
the Princess, written in a feigned hand,[221] asking him to come to her
that night without fail, and appointing the hour and mentioning the
signal. In obedience to this summons, long expected, the same night,
between ten and eleven o’clock, he stole out of his house and made his
way towards the Leine Schloss. It afterwards transpired that his
servants noticed him leave the house; they had also observed during the
day that he was restless and disturbed. But he thought he was
unobserved, and, as usual on the occasions of these stolen meetings with
the Princess, he adopted what was practically a disguise. He wore a pair
of shabby old summer trousers, a much-worn white jacket, very short, and
a brown cloak. There is a conflict of testimony as to whether he was
armed or unarmed; but the burden of the evidence goes to prove that he
was girt with a short sword, which was part of the ordinary equipment,
but for practical purposes he was unarmed. Why should he be armed? He
had had many stolen interviews with the Princess before, and had come to
no hurt.[222]

-----

Footnote 221:

  The Princess asserted later that this note was not hers at all; it was
  a forgery written by the Countess Platen as a snare, and she was
  greatly surprised when Königsmarck appeared and showed her the note.
  She gave it back to him saying that she had not written it. Knesebeck,
  on the other hand, in her statement asserts that the Princess had
  appointed to meet Königsmarck. It is therefore impossible to credit
  the poor Princess’s denial, which was natural enough under the
  circumstances, but cannot be believed. If she had not expected
  Königsmarck, how came he to be admitted to her chamber at that hour of
  the night?

Footnote 222:

  From this point to the end of the chapter a curtain of impenetrable
  darkness descends and no gleam of light can be gathered from
  historical documents. All the English envoy’s despatches which might
  contain reference to the tragedy are destroyed. The account which
  follows is built upon the _Roman Octavia_ by Duke Antony Ulrich of
  Wolfenbüttel; Cramer’s _Memoirs of Aurora von Königsmarck_, a work
  which contains many genuine documents and some spurious ones;
  Schulenburg’s _Herzogin von Ahlden_, a critical, honest and
  painstaking book, and Müller’s _Sophia Dorothea_, a work which, though
  not trustworthy, compels consideration from the fact that the author
  was private secretary to the late Duke of Cambridge when Regent of
  Hanover, and had access to the Guelph domestic papers. Moreover this
  account of the catastrophe is the one that gained acceptance at
  European courts and is supported by tradition.

-----

Arrived at the Leine Schloss, Königsmarck went round to the wing where
the Princess’s apartments were situated and gave the signal, whistling
[probably] a few bars of a well-known air. The signal was replied to
[probably] by a light in the window, and a minute later he was admitted
through the postern by Knesebeck and conducted to the Princess’s
chamber. Here La Confidente withdrew and the lovers were left alone.
They had not seen one another for more than three months, and now met
under the shadow of great peril. We may imagine their meeting—the
Princess’s tearful reproaches anent her lover’s conduct at Dresden, his
fervent denials, and her sweet forgiveness; the tears, the vows, and the
broken words. But they had other things before them than loving words
and rapturous embraces; the time was short and there was much to say and
much to do concerning the flight they had planned for the morrow. Both
were agreed that the situation was intolerable, and could last no
longer; both were ready to make the fatal plunge and brave the
consequences. There could hardly be a more favourable time than the
present, so it seemed to them: the Electoral Prince was at Berlin, the
Electress at Herrenhausen; there was no one of all the Hanoverian Royal
Family in Hanover but the old Elector, weak and ailing, in a far-off
wing of the palace; time and circumstances alike were favourable for
flight.

But they had forgotten one whose hatred, like her vengeance, never
slumbered. Countess Platen, enraged against Königsmarck by his
scandalous gossip about her at Dresden, had lost for the time the
_tendresse_ for him which had hitherto held her back from extreme
measures. The Princess she detested and despised, and would have killed
her rather than see her triumphant in Königsmarck’s affections. The
return of Königsmarck from Dresden, combined with the Princess’s sudden
revolt against all authority, made her suspicious that something unusual
was going on, and for the last week she had doubled her spies, and every
movement of both had been reported to her. No sooner, therefore, had
Königsmarck let himself out of his house that night and stolen away
disguised under cover of the darkness, than he was tracked to the palace
and seen to enter the Princess’s apartments. The quarry was run to earth
at last. Information was at once given to Countess Platen, who in hot
haste, regardless alike of the hour and place, repaired to the Elector’s
apartments, and told him, with much agitation and many gestures, that
Königsmarck was even now in the chamber of the Electoral Princess, and
she besought him to take immediate steps to arrest and punish the
offenders.

The picture of Countess Platen posing as a champion of outraged virtue
might have afforded the cynical old Elector some amusement under other
circumstances, but this came too near home. Though of easy morality, and
by no means inclined to be hard on offences of this nature, the audacity
of Königsmarck enraged him beyond measure. He was already angry with the
Princess because she had flouted his authority, and he determined to
make her feel the weight of it now. When he had relieved his feelings by
a few round oaths, he declared his resolve of going in person to the
Princess’s chamber and surprising the lovers; but Countess Platen threw
herself in his way and entreated him not to go. It would certainly, she
pleaded, lead to disturbance, and probably result in a public scandal.
The great thing was to keep an affair of this kind from being known, and
if His Highness would leave the matter to her, she would find a way to
arrest Königsmarck quietly, and then the Elector might punish the
delinquents at his leisure, and far more effectually. The first burst of
his rage being over, the easy-going Elector gave way. He hated scenes
and he hated trouble, and so he agreed to shift the disagreeable task
upon the Countess, who was only too ready to undertake it. At her
suggestion he signed a warrant to the Commandant of the palace guard,
authorising him to give the Countess Platen four halberdiers, who were
to accompany her and obey her in all things without question. That the
Elector had nothing more in his mind than the arrest of Königsmarck is
evident from the fact that he said to the Countess, with a touch of
malice, he was sure his colonel of the guards was safe in her hands, as
he was so good-looking.

Armed with the Elector’s sign-manual, the Countess went down to the
guard-room and obtained four trusty halberdiers. After she had given
them drink and sworn them to secrecy, she led the way through the dark
corridors of the great rambling palace to the wing occupied by the
Electoral Princess.

The Leine Schloss, or Royal Palace of Hanover, has been considerably
altered since that fatal night; but the walls are still standing, and it
is easy, even now, to follow the original plan of the castle. The
Electoral Princess occupied a suite of rooms overlooking the river
Leine, then spanned by a drawbridge, now by a permanent way. A wide
corridor ran from her apartments, which still remains. This corridor
touches at one end a magnificent hall, known as the rittersaal, or
knights’ hall, and there was also a vestibule, or inner hall, hard by.

By the door of the rittersaal the Countess paused, and peered down the
long corridor leading to the Princess’s apartments. There was no sound
to be heard, but a faint glimmer of light beneath the door showed her
that the Princess was still astir. The thought that Königsmarck was at
this moment in her hated rival’s arms excited Countess Platen beyond
control. She turned to the four desperadoes, and ordered them to lie in
ambush and await her signal, and then rush out and take the first man
who passed, at all hazards, dead or alive. The halberdiers concealed
themselves under the shadow of the huge projecting chimneypiece of the
rittersaal.[223] The Countess withdrew to the vestibule hard by, and
there waited for her prey.

-----

Footnote 223:

  I visited the scene of the murder in 1898. This chimneypiece still
  remains, elaborately carved and wrought, a splendid monument of
  masonry. The rittersaal, too, has little changed, except that it was
  redecorated in the early part of this century. The long corridor has
  been laid down with parquet, but the attendants show the spot where
  the murder was committed.

-----

She had some time to wait, for the lovers, unconscious of danger, had so
much to say that the hours flew by unheeded, and still they were
absorbed in one another. They discussed every detail of the escape on
the morrow, and re-discussed every precaution against discovery. They
would have talked till dawn had not Eléonore Knesebeck interrupted them
and called attention to the fact that it was high time to put an end to
the conversation. Still the lovers, perchance with the presentiment of
the coming peril, were loth to part, until at length Knesebeck almost
forced Königsmarck out of the chamber. With a last fond embrace he bade
the Princess farewell until the morrow, bidding her be of good courage,
for the hour was at hand when they would part no more. Of a truth it was
their last parting.

La Confidente conducted Königsmarck to the outer door of the Princess’s
apartments, and there left him. There was no light, but he knew his way
so well that he could find it in the dark, so he walked softly down the
long corridor, humming a tune under his breath. It was characteristic of
the man and his careless, dare-devil spirit that he treated the affair
so lightly. He was embarked on a venture which would revolutionise his
whole future life, which would set every court in Europe by the ears,
and involved the happiness of the woman he loved; yet it all weighed so
lightly with him that he left her humming a tune. Yet elopement with an
Electoral Princess was a somewhat serious undertaking even in those
days.

A few steps brought Königsmarck to the door in the left-hand corner of
the corridor by which he had been admitted, opposite the rittersaal. The
door had purposely been left unbarred for his exit; it was now locked.
The tune died on his lips, and he turned to retrace his steps. At that
moment the four desperadoes sprang from their hiding-place and rushed
upon him with their weapons. The unfortunate man realised that he was
caught in a trap; but, though taken by surprise and comparatively
unarmed, he defended himself doughtily. For a few minutes there was a
fierce conflict, during which two of his adversaries were wounded, and
though Königsmarck was fighting in the dark against four armed men, the
result seemed uncertain until his sword snapped in twain. This placed
him at the mercy of his assailants, and he fell, severely wounded in the
head by a cut from a battle-axe, and run through the body by a sword.
Even as he fell his cry was, “Spare the Princess! Spare the innocent
Princess!” and then he swooned.

The men bound and dragged him, all bleeding as he was, into the
vestibule, where Countess Platen awaited her victim. By the light of a
feeble candle she bent over him and peered fearfully into his face.
Things were worse than she had bargained for, and at first it seemed
that he was already dead. But no; he opened his eyes. At the sight of
his enemy’s malignant face Königsmarck realised that he was a victim of
her hate, and he rallied all his ebbing strength to curse her bitterly
for the foul thing she was. His lips were shut by the foot of his
murderess, who, pretending to slip on his blood, trod by design upon his
mouth. Too weak to resent the outrage, Königsmarck swooned once more. He
recovered consciousness again, only to protest with feeble tongue and
broken words the innocence of the Princess. Then his head fell back, and
he died with her name on his lips.

[Illustration:

  THE MURDER OF KÖNIGSMARCK.
  _From an old print._
]

At first Countess Platen refused to believe that he was dead, and made
every effort to restore him to life, pouring cordial down his throat,
rubbing his hands, and binding up his wounds; but when she saw it was
too late her anxiety gave place to terror and perhaps to remorse. She
cherished a sort of tigress’s passion for the murdered man, though she
would rather see him dead at her feet, as he now was, than in the arms
of her rival. When she gave the word to take him, dead or alive, she
hardly contemplated so literal an obedience to her orders, and she
bitterly upbraided the soldiers for their blunder and excess of zeal.
The assassins were no less frightened than the Countess when they
realised that the murdered man was none other than the popular Count
Königsmarck. The Countess did not fail to take advantage of their
consternation by declaring that the Elector would of a surety hang the
lot of them, if they did not swear the Count’s death was due wholly to
his own desperate resistance. This they at once vowed, and declared that
in the darkness they could not see what they were doing; they acted only
on the defensive, and he rushed blindly upon their weapons. The Countess
rehearsed them carefully in this story, and made them promise to testify
the same, separately and collectively, to the Elector.

The Countess then repaired to the Elector’s apartments, and with many
tears and much trepidation told him of the fatal mishap, which she
ascribed wholly to Königsmarck’s recklessness. The Elector was aghast at
what had occurred and greatly enraged at the way the Countess had abused
his authority. He would have punished Königsmarck for his presumption by
arrest and ignominious dismissal from the Hanoverian service, but he
never contemplated his murder. Cruelty and assassination were not among
the vices of Ernest Augustus, and throughout his reign no deed of
violence could be laid to his charge. Moreover, he foresaw that by this
wicked crime the very thing he had most desired to avoid—publicity—would
be brought about, a very painful family scandal would be dragged before
the world, and he could not hope to escape the odium which was sure to
accrue. Königsmarck was known throughout Europe; he had many powerful
friends at the courts of Saxony, Sweden, and Denmark, possibly England
and France too: some of these would certainly raise a storm when they
heard of the foul manner of his death. Ernest Augustus in his old age
did not care to burden his conscience with a crime which would only
bring harm to him, and disrepute to his house. In fact, it was worse
than a crime; it was a stupid blunder, which when known would involve
the electoral court in no end of difficulties. So the old Elector
stormed and raged at his favourite, cursing her in no measured terms,
and vowing he would never forgive her. She was astounded at his fury.
Never in all the long years of her ascendency had she seen him like
this, and, indeed, her influence over him was never the same after that
night. It was with much difficulty that she contrived to bring the
Elector to something like reason. She pointed out the uselessness of
mere denunciations, bringing to bear the unanswerable argument that the
man was dead and nothing could call him back to life.

Meanwhile the hours were slipping by and some action must be taken
unless Königsmarck’s body were to be left in the vestibule all night and
discovered in the morning. Countess Platen pointed out that the evil
consequences the Elector dreaded were dependent upon the Count’s death
being known, and they might all be avoided if it were concealed. Why
should it not be concealed? No one had seen him enter the palace except
her trusted spies, and no one had seen him inside its walls except
herself, the halberdiers, the Princess, and Knesebeck. For herself and
the soldiers she could answer, and there was an easy way of stopping the
mouths of the Princess and her waiting-woman.

The Elector listened, ever ready to avoid a difficulty, and presently
intimated that, since she had got him into the mess, she must get him
out of it. This the Countess expressed herself as ready and able to do.
The Elector then reluctantly accompanied her to the room where the
murdered man still lay, guarded by his assassins. These men[224] were
sworn, under penalty of death, not to disclose a word of their night’s
work. Königsmarck’s pockets were searched and the contents handed over
to the Elector. Then the corpse was dragged to a hole, or _treppe_, hard
by, thrust down, covered with quicklime, and the place walled up. The
blood-stains were carefully washed from the floor, and every trace of
the murder was obliterated. The men must have worked very quickly and
expeditiously. No one in the sleeping palace was aroused, and everything
was completed before the morning light, which, at that time of the year
in Hanover, began to dawn soon after three o’clock.

-----

Footnote 224:

  Of these halberdiers little is known. One was named Bushmann, and is
  said to have made a confession on his deathbed to a priest named
  Cramer of his part in the murder. He is said to have been so badly
  wounded in the struggle by Königsmarck that he could do nothing for
  six weeks, but the authority for this statement is doubtful. Local
  tradition gives the name of another of these men as Luders, who, from
  the date of the crime, became the owner of an estate given him by the
  Hanoverian government. His descendants until recently lived at
  Hanover, and may be living there still for aught I know, and are
  well-to-do people. Some information of both these men is given in
  Cramer’s book on _Aurora Königsmarck_.

-----

Thus perished miserably, with his body given the sepulture of a dog,
Philip Christopher, Count Königsmarck, the head of a noble and famous
family, and one of the most brilliant adventurers who strutted across
the stage of Europe in the seventeenth century. It may truly be said of
him that nothing in his life became him so well as the way he quitted
it. He died bravely, fighting against overwhelming odds, and he died
gallantly, defending with his last breath the honour of the woman he
loved. That he loved the Princess, as far as it was in his nature to
love any one, must be admitted; it was not the highest kind of love, but
a passion selfish in its essence, to which men of his kind are prone,
very fierce while it lasted and very real, but probably not enduring. He
made great sacrifices for her sake, refused honour, promotion, fame, all
that men hold dear; so he must have loved her after his fashion. That he
was unworthy of the love she gave back to him fourfold must be admitted
also; he was utterly unworthy. Yet to judge him fairly we must judge him
by the standards of his time. Those standards were not high ones. He
lived in an age of profligacy and in courts where laxity of manners and
morals were the order of the day, and he was lax and profligate
accordingly. But if he were no better he was no worse than his compeers,
and certainly does not deserve the censure which has been heaped upon
him; for, surrounded as he was by parasites and flatterers, the marvel
is not that he was so bad, but that he was as good as he was. The worst
part of his conduct was his intrigue with Countess Platen—conduct
impossible to palliate or excuse, and which brought its own punishment.
Otherwise he had his own rough standard of honour, and as far as we can
see he acted up to his lights, which certainly were not bright ones. He
was a brave soldier, fearless in the field; he was open-handed, generous
to a fault, and those who knew him best were greatly attached to him.
His sisters loved him, his servants were devoted to him, and these
things speak in his favour. Of him it may be said his vices were those
of his era, his virtues were all his own. He did wrong, let us admit it,
but he paid the penalty with his blood.




                             CHAPTER XXIV.

                       THE RUIN OF THE PRINCESS.

                  What if my life be all undone,
                  And all things false below the sun,
                  Yet still I have been true to one—
                      Most passionately true!
                                LADY ARABELLA ROMILLY.


After Königsmarck had left, the Princess passed most of the night in
packing up her jewels, sorting and burning papers, and completing
arrangements for her flight. It was arranged that, on receipt of a note
from Königsmarck in the morning, the Princess and her lady-in-waiting
should steal disguised to some quiet spot in the city, and thence escape
in his coach, which, it afterwards transpired, was under orders to start
for Dresden at a moment’s notice. Outside Hanover the order would have
been reversed; the coachman would have been told to drive with all speed
to Wolfenbüttel, and once across the Hanoverian frontier the fugitives
would have been safe from pursuit.

During the night Knesebeck fancied that she heard sounds, but thought
nothing of them. Königsmarck had promised to send the Princess word
early in the morning, but when the day wore on and nothing came she grew
anxious, and her anxiety increased when she learnt that he had not
returned home and his servants knew nothing of his whereabouts. His
absence did not trouble his servants, as the Count was given to
nocturnal adventures and often remained away for days together. But it
troubled the Princess greatly, and she began to fear that some evil had
befallen him. Presently some one came into the antechamber with the
rumour that Königsmarck had fought a duel with Count Lippe, and had been
run through the body. Greatly alarmed, the Princess sent to Marshal
Podevils to find out if the report were true, but the Marshal said that
it was groundless and Königsmarck was doubtless safe and well. Later,
when the Princess attempted to go out, she was informed that it was the
Elector’s pleasure she should not leave her apartments, and no reply was
vouchsafed to her remonstrance. Her children were in the habit of coming
to see her daily at a certain hour, but this day they came not, and when
she requested their presence she was told that the Elector had given
orders they were not to be admitted, and the young Prince George
Augustus was dining with the Elector alone.

By this time the Princess had no doubt that she was betrayed, and gave
herself up to a passionate agony of grief; while Knesebeck, though
greatly frightened also, vainly endeavoured to comfort her. Great though
the Princess’s fear was, and great though her peril, she gave little
thought to her own danger; all her anxiety was for Königsmarck’s safety.
She was in the same plight as she had written to him long ago: “I fear
that we are betrayed. I am trembling on the edge of a precipice, but my
own danger is the least of my anxieties. I scarcely think of the
misfortunes inevitable and unavoidable if we are discovered: you, only,
occupy my thoughts.” Then her terrors were imaginary; now they were
real. At the very moment of fruition all her hopes were dashed to the
ground, and she saw before her nothing but ruin and lifelong misery. To
all her frenzied inquiries (and it was no use sending Knesebeck for
further information, as that lady had now been ordered not to quit the
Princess’s chamber) she could elicit no reply; and the fact that she was
a prisoner in her apartments made her fear the worst. She passed the
night in a torment of anxiety.

Meantime the inquiries which Knesebeck had started set Königsmarck’s
servants on the same track, and all sorts of rumours flew around
Hanover. It was reported that the previous night Königsmarck, surrounded
by a bright light, had been seen in the palace through the windows, and
a crowd assembled outside the gates, to the manifest discomfort of the
Elector, who gave orders for them to be dispersed. So passed Monday. The
next day, Tuesday, July 3, Hildebrand, Königsmarck’s secretary, went to
Marshal Podevils to get information, if possible, of his master’s fate,
as there was now a report that he was imprisoned in the palace.
Podevils, who had always been a good friend of the Königsmarck family,
and who must have suspected that there was foul play, nevertheless stood
loyally by his master, the Elector, and said: “The Count will be found
somewhere. There is no use making a fuss. Tell the servants to keep
quiet.”

Up till now no rumour had reached Celle of the catastrophe, for we find
the English envoy, Cresset, writing on this date: “The Electoral Prince
is amusing himself in Berlin, and the Electoral Princess is always ill
at Hanover”.[225]

-----

Footnote 225:

  Cresset’s _Despatch_, Celle, July 3, 1694.

-----

The following day Hildebrand received a strong hint to keep quiet, but
nevertheless he despatched a trusty servant to Dresden to tell the
Elector of Saxony of his master’s disappearance. Hardly had he done so,
than the Elector of Hanover sent three officials to search Königsmarck’s
rooms thoroughly, and particularly his writing-table. Several papers
were seized, and the rooms and their contents were sealed up with the
official seal. The next day Hildebrand wrote a guarded letter to
Königsmarck’s sisters at Hamburg to tell them that their brother was
missing, and asking for directions as to what he was to do with his
effects. He added that he believed the Count was still alive, and asked
them to wait eight days before demanding his restoration; but so
frightened was he, lest the Hanoverian authorities might intercept this
letter, that he did not mention that the Count’s rooms had been searched
and his papers seized.

These same papers sealed the doom of the Princess. They were taken to
the Elector, who went through them carefully with the Platens. They were
found to include many letters from Sophie Dorothea to her lover from the
beginning of the year, and especially during his absence at Dresden,
detailing minutely the story of her wrongs. They showed evidence of an
extended secret correspondence, but the letters before January were
missing and some even since that date. They had passed into the hands of
Königsmarck’s sisters; they are the letters published in this book.[226]
But though these could not be found, there remained more than enough to
reveal everything. The cypher was easily made out, and though some of
the Princess’s letters were written in a disguised hand, and some
transcribed by Knesebeck, this did not conceal anything, but only served
to implicate the lady-in-waiting in the intrigue. The letters contained
convincing proofs of the Princess’s passion for Königsmarck and of her
hatred of her husband and the House of Hanover. They contained, too,
many severe reflections on her father’s harshness, especially when he
refused to grant her a separate maintenance,—words written in the heat
of anger, and perhaps forgotten as soon as written, but the writing
remained. They afforded, also, full evidence of her projected flight to
Wolfenbüttel, in which Frau von Metsch and Knesebeck were implicated—an
act of treason in itself. The old Elector was incensed at these
revelations; and though he might have overlooked the intimacy with
Königsmarck, for he was not hard on such weaknesses, he could not
forgive the intrigue with his arch-enemy of Wolfenbüttel. This
prejudiced him hopelessly against the Princess, and made him harden his
heart against any thought of mercy. It was clear that not only the
honour, but the safety of his House demanded that the Princess should be
kept in durance vile.

-----

Footnote 226:

  We have the following evidence of how a portion of them were rescued,
  even at the eleventh hour. In the _Memoirs of Countess [Aurora]
  Königsmarck_, Auditeur Rüdiger, a confidant of Königsmarck’s, states
  that Metsch, one of the intermediaries employed by the lovers in their
  secret correspondence, was with Secretary Hildebrand after
  Königsmarck’s disappearance on July 1. Hildebrand asked him if he knew
  of any letters that might incriminate the Count. “As I answered in the
  affirmative,” proceeds Rüdiger’s statement, “and added I had seen a
  packet of letters in the small box on the Dresden journey, tied
  together with a yellow ribbon, of which the Count took especial care,
  the secretary requested me to take the box with me to my room and when
  the packing up was done to send it unopened by the lackey Mickel to
  Celle.” Aurora and her sister we know were at Celle soon after, and we
  are justified in surmising that these letters reached them by the hand
  of some trustworthy person, and thus ultimately came to hand with the
  other letters.

-----

The Electress Sophia, who had now been informed of the course of events,
had no word strong enough to express her condemnation of the offender.
She at last saw a chance of ridding herself for ever of the daughter of
the d’Olbreuse, and she hailed it gladly. There was no mercy in the
heart of the Electress for her erring daughter-in-law, nor would she
hearken to any plea of extenuating circumstances. Yet if she had
reflected she might have seen that it was she who had helped to drive
the unhappy woman to these desperate steps. A little kindness, a little
forbearance, a word of advice at the right season might have saved
Sophie Dorothea: but no help ever came from the Electress Sophia.

Meantime the Princess, half-crazed with fear and suspense, implored to
see the Elector and to know whereof she was accused; but no answer was
returned to her prayers. She wrote long letters to her parents at Celle,
complaining bitterly of the indignities to which she was subjected, and
begging them to come to her succour. But at Celle she had been
forestalled by Count Platen, who, on the discovery of the secret
correspondence, posted off to Duke George William under orders of the
Elector. Count Platen laid bare to the Duke the whole miserable story,
and last, but not least, told him of the Princess’s aspersions upon her
father. He showed him the Princess’s own letters to Königsmarck,
especially those which animadverted on her father’s meanness and cruelty
in refusing her shelter from her enemies at Hanover.

The Duke of Celle was wounded to the quick when he read these letters,
and enraged beyond measure; his pride was hurt, too, by the dishonour
done to his House. His standard of morality was not a high one, but he
held that princesses of the House of Brunswick-Lüneburg should be above
reproach, as in the case of his own wife and the Electress Sophia. The
Electoral Prince’s many infidelities formed to him no excuse for his
wife going astray. He argued that however immoral a man might be, he
could not, like a woman, introduce spurious offspring into the family,
or affect the legitimacy of the succession. The old Duke prided himself
on being a blunt, straightforward man, and he had a horror of intrigue
and double-dealing. From every point of view it seemed to him that his
daughter’s conduct was as bad as it could be—a view in which Platen did
not hesitate to back him up.

With the Duchess of Celle it was different. However culpable she might
deem her daughter to be, she would not forsake her in her desperate
straits, for she believed that the Prince was far more culpable than
she. The Duchess, too, refused to believe, however imprudent her
daughter might have been, that she was actually guilty with Königsmarck.
She reminded the Duke of how alone and unprotected his daughter was, how
surrounded by enemies, whose cruelty had goaded her to these desperate
steps. She urged that her harsh expressions about her father were
written when she was beside herself, and therefore allowance was to be
made for them. Then, seeing he was still obdurate, she threw herself at
his feet, and with tears and prayers besought him not to desert his only
child in her hour of trouble. But the Duke would hear no reason. His
wife had long since lost her influence over him, and he cursed her, and
her daughter, and the day when he first brought her to his house, and
drove her from him with bitter words. The Duchess next went to
Bernstorff, who had ever shown himself her enemy, and besought his aid
in this terrible crisis, offering him a large sum of money if he would
work for the interests of the Princess and do what he could to mitigate
the Duke’s anger against her.

Bernstorff, already in the pay of Hanover, double traitor that he was,
did not reject the proffered bribe, and hypocritically promised the
Duchess that he would use his best exertions. It must have been a
triumph to his mean soul to see this proud and imperious woman humbling
herself before him as a suppliant. He knew well her day was over, that
the sun of her power had set for ever: the ruin of the daughter meant
also, comparatively speaking, the ruin of the mother. The Duchess
Eléonore had indeed to drink the cup of humiliation to the dregs. For
years she had planned and laboured until she had reached the summit of
her ambition, and now she was hurled from it by the cruellest blow that
Fate could have dealt her. Yet her mother’s heart beat true. She had no
reproaches for her erring daughter, only love; and, bitter though her
fall was, it was not half so bitter as her impotence to help.

Though the Duchess could do little, she did not cease to importune every
one concerned—the Duke, Bernstorff, and Platen—that the Princess should
be treated with leniency; and especially she pleaded against harsh and
hasty judgment. Had it not been for those unlucky letters she might have
succeeded, for the Duke’s anger was not wont to be long-lived; but
unfortunately they remained, and bore damning evidence against the
unhappy Princess. Count Platen’s mission to the court of Celle was first
to prejudice the Duke against his daughter and then to take counsel with
him as to what should be done. There were grave issues at stake, and it
was important that whatever steps were taken should be taken in concert
between the two courts. Things had come to a desperate pass; but it was
resolved not to abandon all efforts to bring about, not a
reconciliation, for that was impossible, but an arrangement which might
obviate the necessity of public scandal.

This task was very difficult, and was rendered more so by the
irreconcilable attitude of the Princess. She was still ignorant of
Königsmarck’s fate, but she refused positively to remain at Hanover of
her own free will. To keep her there as a prisoner would give occasion
for the enemy to blaspheme, and the courts of Hanover and Celle were
anxious above all things to keep the real facts of the case from leaking
out. Both courts resolved that Königsmarck’s name should not be even
mentioned in connection with the Princess, and that any course agreed
upon should be carried out as though the Count had never existed.
Pending further negotiations, it was resolved to remove the Princess to
her father’s territory—not to the castle of Celle, for that would look
as though he condoned her conduct and bring her and her mother
together—but to Ahlden, a lonely magistrate’s house in a distant
village, some twenty miles from Hanover and Celle respectively, where
she would be effectually cut off from intercourse with the world. It was
determined, if possible, to give this removal the appearance of
voluntary flight; and the imprisonment of Knesebeck was also decided
upon.

While Count Platen was at Celle the Princess had addressed another
letter to the Elector, who had always hitherto been inclined to treat
her with indulgence, asking for an interview with him, and for
permission to be allowed to retire to the territory of Celle. The
Elector merely acknowledged the letter, saying the matter was under
consideration.

The return of Count Platen to Hanover, bringing the news of how utterly
Duke George William condemned his daughter’s conduct, deprived the
unhappy woman of her last chance of protection; her own father had
turned against her, and there was now no longer any need to treat her
with consideration, or even with respect. Knesebeck was arrested
forthwith, and without any explanation was hurried off to prison. Then
the Princess knew that she must expect the worst.

As Count Platen had seen the Duke of Celle, he was deemed the fit and
proper person, despite the infamous conduct of his wife, to interview
the Princess, and conduct the difficult and delicate negotiations
necessary to bring her to reason. Armed therefore with the Elector’s
authority, he went to the Princess’s apartments, entrusted with full
power to deal with her as need required. The Princess had now been shut
up in her rooms for nearly a fortnight under strict surveillance,
without any explanation having been vouchsafed, though she had guessed
the reason but too well.

Platen went expecting to find her humble and contrite; instead he found
her angry and defiant, and most indignant that he of all people should
have been sent to her: she did not forget that she was still the
Electoral Princess and the heiress of Celle, and her first question was
why the Elector had not come to see her himself. Platen replied that His
Highness bade him say that he declined to have any further communication
with her, and had sent him to communicate to the Princess the fact that
she would no longer be permitted to remain at the court of Hanover. To
this the Princess replied that she desired nothing better than to go
away from it for ever; it had been her wish for a long time past. But
she demanded the reason of her unjustifiable detention. Platen retorted
that her detention was not unjustifiable; it was in accordance with the
orders of her father as well as of the Elector, and she had brought it
upon herself by her misconduct. The Princess haughtily asked him to what
he referred, and he replied _tout court_, to her criminal intimacy with
Königsmarck; and by way of thrusting the insult home, added that her
imprisonment was likely to be prolonged as it was suspected that she was
pregnant by Königsmarck. The Princess’s anger blazed forth at this
coarse insult, and she asked Platen if he mistook her for his shameless
wife. Platen rejoined that it was useless for the Princess to equivocate
or to deny: everything was discovered and known; they had possession of
her letters, and her lover had met with his deserts. The Princess’s face
blanched, and she exclaimed, “Where is Königsmarck?” Platen answered
that the Count was discovered leaving her chamber on the night of July
1, and had been killed in resisting his arrest.

This cruel blow completely shattered the Princess’s self-control; her
agony and despair were piteous to behold. The thought of Königsmarck’s
murder swallowed up all else, and, lost to the sense of her own peril,
she burst into weeping and lamentations, praying God to take her, since
he was dead, and vowing she would live no longer. Platen looked on
unmoved, and noted down all these cries as so many proofs of her guilt.
The Princess, beside herself with grief, denounced him in the most
passionate terms, and not him only, but the Elector and all the House of
Hanover as murderers and assassins; she refused to parley with Platen
longer, and bade him begone from her presence. He left, not without
giving orders for the Princess to be watched closely, as she threatened
to kill herself. He reported all that had passed to the Elector, saying
that the Princess was very violent, and impenitent, and more
insubordinate than ever.

It is quite possible that the Princess would have committed suicide if
she had possessed the means of doing so, for now, deprived of every
friend and help on earth, she abandoned herself to despair. Beside the
fact that Königsmarck was dead all else was nothing. She no longer cared
for her safety or heeded her interests; life had nothing left for her.
As she wrote to him long ago: “My life is bound up with yours. I would
not live a moment if you were to be killed.” And again: “Without you
life would be intolerable, and imprisonment within four walls preferable
than to go on living in the world”. The thought that her lover had been
foully murdered coming from her chamber that night, with her kisses
still warm on his lips, drove her nearly mad, and to her excited
imagination his blood seemed to be on her head. Her horror and loathing
of his assassins, among whom she included the Electoral family of
Hanover as well as the Platens, knew no bounds; compromise with them was
impossible, and her one desire was to quit this hated palace and find
some quiet spot where she might die. To this frame of mind—absolute
recklessness of the future and indifference to her own interests—must be
attributed much of the subsequent attitude of the Princess, an attitude
her enemies were not slow to take advantage of to work for her hurt.

The Princess’s defiance was reported to Celle, and reconciliation was
seen to be absolutely impossible or even an amicable settlement.
Something would have to be done forthwith, and it was resolved that
steps should be taken to procure a separation, on the ground of the
Princess’s wilful desertion of her husband and refusal to submit herself
to her consort’s connubial rights; the more drastic measure of divorce
was not yet hinted at. The first thing was to remove the Princess from
Hanover, and communications passed daily between the two courts as to
when the Princess should be sent to Ahlden and the best means of
twisting events so that the Königsmarck affair might be kept in the
background, and colour given to the theory of wilful desertion.

In accordance with this policy extraordinary care was then, and
afterwards, taken to destroy or suppress any documents containing
mention of Königsmarck’s name. But though no reference to Königsmarck
can be found in the manuscripts preserved in the Hanoverian Archives,
they contain several interesting papers which have reference to the
Princess’s case, and among them may be found a despatch bearing on this
particular crisis, a despatch of Platen to Bernstorff, dated July 13,
1694.

In it Platen replies to a letter from Bernstorff, and says that he
gathers from it the Princess may set out for Ahlden on July 15. The
Princess will hear this “with great satisfaction, as she is much annoyed
that the journey cannot be undertaken on the 14th, so anxious is she to
leave Hanover”. After discussing the journey, retinue, and luggage, he
goes on: “As to the proposition of suggesting through Monsieur Bussche
to Madame la Princesse that she may declare, in order to save
appearances, that she will not, and cannot, live with the Prince, and
therefore has begged leave to retire before his return here, we consider
it desirable to spread such a rumour abroad, but not to suggest to the
Princess that she should say it. We will speak to Her Highness to-morrow
on the matter and see what her resolve is.”

On July 15 Platen again writes to Bernstorff saying that he will put his
letter of the 14th before the Elector, and does not doubt that he will
fall in with all Bernstorff’s proposals with regard to the journey to
Ahlden. Further on it is again stated: “She [the Princess] is extremely
anxious to leave this place, so much so that she receives the news that
her journey must still be delayed a couple of days with great impatience
And finally: “The departure of Madame la Princesse Electorale cannot
possibly pass for desertion, as she wishes to take all her belongings
and attendants with her”.

It is evident from these letters that the courts of Hanover and Celle
were anxious to save appearances, even to the extent of circulating a
false report as to the Princess’s flight.

On July 17 the journey was, so to speak, put upon the stage, and the
Princess quitted Hanover for ever. On arrival at Ahlden she found
herself a state prisoner.

Despite all these elaborate precautions, the truth was beginning to leak
out. Every court in Europe was talking, and, notwithstanding persistent
denials, the imprisonment of the Princess and the disappearance of
Königsmarck were coupled together. Louis XIV. asked the Duchess of
Orleans at supper whether it was true that Königsmarck was imprisoned in
a cellar of the castle at Hanover. Stepney writes from Dresden:—

“We have whisperings as if one of Count Königsmarck’s servants was come
hither Post from Hanover to tell y^e Elector, His Master has been
missing ever since the 30th of last month, the day he designed to leave
Hanover and come hither, where he has been made lately Major Generall,
to cleare a debt of m/30 Dollars which He won of y^e Elector when he
made y^e campaign two years ago with you in Flanders. If it be true that
y^e Count is not to be found, ’tis an even lay that they have used him
little better than his Brother did Esquire Thinn, and perhaps a great
Lady likewise (with whom he is suspected to have been familiar) may have
been some cause of his misfortune. All I can say of y^e matter, the
Electorall Prince of Hanover is at Berlin, acting Comedyies, and making
merry with his sister y^e Electrice.”[227]

-----

Footnote 227:

  Stepney to Blathwayt, Dresden _Despatch_, July 10/20, 1694.

-----

[Illustration:

  THE CASTLE OF AHLDEN AS IT WAS WHEN SOPHIE DOROTHEA WAS IMPRISONED
    THERE.
  _From an old engraving in the Castle._
]

In Hanover, too, the wildest rumours flew about, and in Celle, where the
Princess was very popular, there was a great feeling of indignation at
the way she was being treated. All this was very unpleasant to the ducal
brothers, and feeling that some explanation was advisable, they drafted
a circular letter to their representatives abroad “as a declaration for
foreign courts wherever delicate points occur”.

“The Princess at first,” so runs the document, “displayed only some
coldness towards her husband, but Fräulein von Knesebeck by degrees
inspired her with such dislike to him that she begged from her father
permission to return to her parents’ home. Her father was displeased,
and warned the Princess to place confidence in her husband. After that
she paid her father a visit at Brockhausen; but when he learnt that the
Prince was intending to make a journey to Berlin to see his sister, he
sent his daughter back to Hanover with further admonitions that she
should speak with her husband before his departure. But her dislike of
her husband was so intensified by the machinations of Fräulein von
Knesebeck that she determined not to await his return from Berlin. As
soon as his arrival was imminent, she withdrew again from Hanover to her
father. He, however, sent messengers to meet her on the way to forbid
her coming to Celle, and insisted on her either returning, or
withdrawing for the present to the magistrate’s house at Ahlden, which
lay on the way. The Princess chose the latter course; but her corrupter,
Fräulein von Knesebeck, was arrested at the wish of the Duke George
William.”

This circular was duly despatched to the Brunswick-Lüneburg envoys at
the different courts. The very fact of speaking of Ahlden as if it lay
on the road between Hanover and Celle, when it was twenty miles away
from either of them in an opposite direction, shows that this report
relied on the ignorance of foreign courts to conceal the actual
circumstances. If we compare Count Platen’s two letters already quoted
with this circular, it is clear the whole policy of those in authority
at this time was to mislead. There is no mention of Königsmarck’s name,
no more than if he had never existed. Knesebeck is made the scapegoat,
and her conduct is distorted to veil the Princess’s errors.

We must now leave the Princess for a space and return to the fate of her
lover.

Though this circular to the foreign courts might explain the Princess’s
captivity, it shed no light whatever on Königsmarck’s disappearance,
with which they were much more concerned. The Hanoverian government at
this time were verily at their wits’ end to meet the inquiries which
beset them on every side, and the truth that murder will out was being
proved once more. The Count’s sisters were most untiring in their
efforts to discover their missing brother. Acting on the secretary’s
advice, the Countess Aurora and the Countess Lewenhaupt, then at
Hamburg, waited twelve days after receiving his letter, before taking
any steps, in the hope that their brother might turn up. Then they wrote
to the Elector of Hanover for information, saying that they were
credibly informed he was imprisoned in the Elector’s palace. To this
letter as to all others, from whatever quarter, the Elector replied,
saying that he had no knowledge of Königsmarck’s whereabouts, nor was he
in any way responsible for him. On receiving this unsatisfactory reply
Aurora set out for Hanover and proceeded to prosecute a vigorous search.
At Hanover she was simply ordered to leave, and given a time to quit the
town.[228] She then went to Celle, where Bernstorff told her that her
importunate demands would only have the effect, in case her brother was
in the hands of the Hanoverian government, of making them refuse to give
him up;[229] so after remaining some time at Celle without any result,
she set out for Dresden to implore the aid of the Elector of Saxony.

-----

Footnote 228:

  _The Magazine of the Historical Association for Lower Saxony_, 1879,
  p. 65.

Footnote 229:

  Communication of Bernstorff at the Conference of Engesen, August 5,
  1694.

-----

Before the arrival of Aurora the Elector of Saxony had already
instituted a search for the vanished man. On receipt of a letter from
Hildebrand he sent Bannier to Hanover on July 13 to demand the instant
restitution of Königsmarck, on the ground that he was major-general in a
cavalry regiment of the Saxon army, under orders to join the active
forces on the Rhine. Aghast at this peremptory message from his brother
of Saxony, the Elector Ernest Augustus shuffled and said that he had no
wish to detain the Count, and did not hold him in his power. Bannier
rejoined that Königsmarck had disappeared, and it was the duty of the
Elector to institute a search for him. The answer was that His Serene
Highness, “in personal remembrance of the high services as colonel
rendered by the vanished man, would not have failed to institute such an
inquiry, but the fact had been elicited from the Count’s own servants
that he had often gone away at night without leaving any message, and
remained away for days at a time, and so there was no ground for
instituting inquiries”. Bannier then pertinently asked why the Count’s
belongings had been sealed and his papers seized. This was met by the
statement that when an officer in the Hanoverian service died it was
customary to subtract his official papers; and stress was laid on the
fact that the Count was still in the Hanoverian army when he vanished,
and therefore the Elector, though willing to do all in his power, could
not rightly be expected to hand the man over if he were found.[230] But,
however much the Hanoverian ministers might evade or deny, it was firmly
believed at Dresden that Königsmarck’s disappearance was connected with
the Princess. Something of this may be gathered from the following
letter, which Stepney wrote at this time to Cresset, the English envoy
at Hanover:—

“I have great curiositie to know what piece of mischief has been brewing
at Hannover. If you dare not trust it at length, I must beg you to
satisfy me in Cypher, as likewise with y^e particulars of your
Princess’s ruine. Amours are fatall in these parts; wee have had a scene
of them here, and may hereafter have more y^e like nature. But at
present y^e Tragedy is removed to y^r Courts, and I fear Daggers and
poyson will be as familiar among you as they are in Italy. Y^r Princes
have been often there, and may have learned y^e humour of y^e country of
despatching people without Noise. A servant or two of Count Königsmarck
run frequently betwixt this place and Hannover, (as I have heard Count
Berlo’s dog did betwixt y^e Camp and Brusses after y^e Battle of
Fleuros,) seeking out their master, but have no tidings: our Elector
sent one of his Adjutants, Mr. Bannier (a Swede likewise) to Hannover, I
believe with a design to stopp y^e blow if it was not yet given. But I
suppose the Corps by this time is in y^e common shore, and our Elector
by y^e accident has cleared y^e debt m/30 R he had lost to him two years
ago at play. I have been told his sister raves like Cassandra, and will
know what is become of her brother; but at Hannover they answer, like
Cain, that they are not her brother’s keeper, and that y^e Body should
be found (which I believe as little as y^t of Moses), yet y^e
circumstances of y^e Murder will be left as much in y^e dark as y^e
manner of despatching Sir Edmonbury Godfrey has been. He was not
recommended to me by Mr. Stratford; I knew him in England, at Hamburg,
in Flanders and at Hannover for a dissolute debauchee whom I would
always have avoided. By chance I ate with him here at Count Frizews and
our new privy counsellor Haxthausen, and by chance likewise they did
suppe with me, whereas they were invited to Mr. Bomenburgh’s, who too
late remembered it was a fish-night, and so shifted off his own company
on me. This is all I have had to do with y^e spark, and if he has been
so black as we think he is, his Fate (be what it will) is not to be
pityed.”[231]

-----

Footnote 230:

  _Vide_ Article in _Magazine for Lower Saxony_, 1879.

Footnote 231:

  Stepney to Cresset, Dresden _Despatch_, July 24/August 3, 1694.

-----

To modify the somewhat cavalier treatment of Bannier at Hanover a
statement was drawn up by the Hanoverian government, and Count
Witgenstein was despatched to Dresden as an envoy extraordinary to
explain matters personally. Witgenstein was well received by the Elector
of Saxony, and the matter would probably have blown over without further
noise had it not been for the arrival at Dresden of the Countess Aurora.
This beautiful and brilliant woman, the fame of whose charms had
travelled to every court of Europe, threw herself at the Elector’s feet,
and, repeating all that she had gleaned of her brother’s disappearance
at Hanover and Celle, besought his powerful aid and protection. Augustus
the Strong could never refuse the prayer of beauty in distress. He
assured Aurora that he would do everything in his power to discover the
missing man, and force the Elector of Hanover, if need be at the point
of the sword, to give him up. Stepney writes again:—

“Connigsmark’s sister is come hither under pretence of getting y^e
Elector to interest himself more warmly than he has done hitherto with
the Dukes of Brunswick-Luneburg about her brother’s liberty, if he be
still alive: she believes he is, and wherefore y^e Elector has sent
orders to his Adjutant Bannier to demand him vigorously. Count
Witgenstein (who is here from Hannover) endeavours to mitigate y^e
Elector by alledging he ought not to concern himself for a person who
was actually in the Hannoverian service having received y^e pay three
days before he was missing, besides that it is usual before laying down
to make up accounts with the Regiment, to take leave at y^e head of it,
and so have a Congé in form signed by y^e Master. All which ceremonies
being omitted, he was lyable to be punished as a Deserter if he were yet
to be found which y^e Elector of Hannover will know nothing of, he being
a debauched rambling sparke, who kept irregular hours, and consequently
it is next to an impossibility to give an account what may become of
him. I cannot tell if y^e Elector of Saxony will be contented with these
excuses. Count Witgenstein told me yesterday his greatest misfortune is
that the Elector has not given y^e cognizance of this affaire to his
Privy Council, but has referred it as he does almost all others to his
favourite Haxthausen, and he communicates all to his cousin y^e Dane,
who, being a _boutefeu_, seeks all occasions to embroile this house with
that of Hannover, and thinks he has now got a good handle besides y^e
old dispute about Saxe-Lawenburg, which is only covered with Ashes, and
will certainly break out when time serves. If y^e Count be dead, I
suppose y^e other syde of his sister’s errand will be to try if she can
recover any part of y^e m/30 Dollars (which as I told you) y^e Elector
had lost to her brother in Flanders, and I am persuaded she will not
take his death to heart when she has once got her hand on his
inheritance. They have lodged her in y^e court.”[232]

-----

Footnote 232:

  Stepney’s _Despatch_, Dresden, August 14/24, 1694.

-----

Augustus the Strong again told Bannier to prosecute his inquiries at
Hanover with the utmost vigour; and thus it came about that, while the
Hanoverian envoy in Dresden was being cordially received, the Saxon
envoy in Hanover was pressing and threatening more than ever. Bannier
declared he was instructed by his master to demand once more the
restitution of Königsmarck sharply and energetically, and a refusal
might entail mischief, for his master had promised their brother’s
production to the Count’s sisters, and made a point of honour of
fulfilling his promise. The situation was very unpleasant for the
Hanoverian government, for it was feared that Saxony might give its
powerful support to the enemies of Hanover—Wolfenbüttel, Münster, and
Denmark.

The brothers of Hanover and Celle, driven to extremities, appealed to
the Emperor, and declared that unless Augustus the Strong took up a more
reasonable attitude they would withdraw their troops from the Allies.
This threat made a strong impression in Vienna, where the action of the
Saxon court was called preposterous. How could the Elector Augustus, the
Emperor asked, demand from the Elector of Hanover a man who had not been
given into his charge? The Emperor and the Elector of Brandenburg
brought pressure to bear on Saxony, and both these potentates used their
influence in opposition to the promptings of the Countess Aurora.
Stepney writes at this time:—

“The Danish Haxthausen pretends to be going from hence in a day or two
and y^e Countess of Königsmarck likewise. The Elector had used her with
great distinction, and has supp’d with her twice with y^e Privy
Counsellor Haxthausen at his House, some think these Curttisyes are only
to put her of with good words since there is nothing more to be done for
her Brother. However, Mr. Bannier is still soliciting at Hannover, and
Count Witgenstein making the best excuses he can here.”[233]

-----

Footnote 233:

  Stepney to Blathwayt, Dresden, August 17/27, 1694.

-----

It would seem from this that Aurora was losing ground; but still Bannier
was instructed to insist at the court of Hanover for Königsmarck’s
restitution. He therefore offered Count Platen two alternatives—either
Königsmarck was in confinement, or they had put an end to him. If the
former, and his release was not to be obtained by mild measures, His
Highness would be obliged to show his just resentment and take others;
and he let slip the remark casually that other Powers would be likely to
interest themselves in the fate of Königsmarck, and make common cause
with the Elector of Saxony if His Highness should be driven to resort to
extreme measures. He went on to say that if Königsmarck did not
reappear, “the witnesses whom they could produce would support Saxony to
the astonishment of the whole world, and matters would come to
extremities”.

But Bannier’s threats at Hanover were checkmated by Witgenstein’s
representations at Dresden, and eventually the long and violent
altercation came to an end without anything having been done. How could
it be otherwise? Königsmarck was dead, and all the princes and
potentates of the world could not bring him back to life.

Stepney thus describes the final scene of the dispute:—

“Yesterday Count Witgenstein received an express from Hannover about
Count Coningsmark, and had this morning audience of the Elector, in
which (he tells me) he made long contestations in y^e Elector of
Hannover’s name, how willing he is to cultivate his friendship by doing
all that could be desired of him, but that he protested he knows not
what has become of y^e Person for whom application was made, and to y^e
Question whether he was alive or dead no positive answer could be given,
since after y^e best enquiry that could be made they were able to make
no true discovery, which left a very strong suspicion that he is rather
dead than Living. The Elector of Saxony seemed very moderate after this
answer, as if he doubted not the truth of what had been offered and
replyed, only that he hoped as an instance of friendship that y^e
Elector of Hannover would give him notice as soon as he should learn any
tidings of Count Coningsmark, and I believe here that y^e affair will
end without causing any breach betwixt y^e two Electors. The Count’s
sister is gone hence, but I know not which course she steers.”[234]

-----

Footnote 234:

  Stepney to Blathwayt, Dresden, August 21/31, 1694.

-----

Thus ended the ineffectual search for Königsmarck. His disappearance
nearly set Europe by the ears, and shows that he was a far more
important personage than his enemies are wont to admit him to be.

If the Countess Aurora left Dresden, it was only for a time, and she
returned later to be one of the many mistresses of Augustus the Strong.
The result of their _liaison_ was the birth of the most celebrated of
all Augustus’s three hundred and fifty-four illegitimate
children—Maurice, the famous Marshal de Saxe.

Aurora soon found herself superseded in the fickle favour of the
Elector, and a quarrel ensued between her and her lover. She bitterly
reproached him, and it would seem that the Elector had also something
against Aurora, since he reminded her that Cæsar’s wife should be above
suspicion. In reply she gave utterance to the celebrated _mot_: “The
cases are not parallel: you are not Cæsar, and I am not your wife”. The
rest of Aurora’s strange career and all that she did—how she withdrew to
the Abbey of Quedlinburg, how she went on her ineffectual mission to the
King of Sweden, how she paid her son’s debts and plotted for him, and
all the other events of her most eventful life, belong not to this
history.





                              CHAPTER XXV.

                              THE DIVORCE.

           Here are full many men of counsel met;
           Not one for me.
                        SWINBURNE, _Mary Stuart._

           Hope, withering, fled, and Mercy sighed. Farewell!
                                               BYRON.


We now return to the Princess at Ahlden, where she was still kept in
rigorous imprisonment. The fiction of the Princess’s so-called desertion
was maintained even in the instructions which Duke George William gave
to his commandant for the treatment of the Princess on her arrival at
Ahlden. The commandant was Seigneur de la Fortière, Grand Falconer to
the court of Celle. And the Duke wrote:—

  “1. Since it is my intention that my daughter should remain at Ahlden,
  and have no communication, either by letter or other means, with any
  one whatsoever until she returns to her duties with the Electoral
  Prince, her consort, the Seigneur de la Fortière will make himself
  acquainted with these wishes of mine and what I have ordered, as I do
  by this present. He is not to convey, nor permit to be conveyed by
  others to my daughter, any letters except such as come with an order
  signed by my hand; and in like manner he is not to dispatch, nor allow
  to be dispatched, any letter of my daughter’s except with express
  permission from me.

  “2. In conformity with this order, the Seigneur de la Fortière will
  instruct the women, valets, and other domestics in attendance on my
  daughter and all who enter the castle, that those who have, or
  receive, letters for any one whatsoever in, or out of, the castle must
  place them in the hands of the Seigneur de la Fortière on pain of
  death.

  “3. All letters which come for any of the servants, or which are sent
  by any on their business, will likewise be given to the Seigneur de la
  Fortière, and read by him, before being allowed to pass; and those
  which are allowed to go must be stamped with his seal. If the Seigneur
  de la Fortière finds the slightest cause for suspicion in them, he
  will send them direct to me.

  “4. The Seigneur de la Fortière can have all persons searched by the
  officer or soldiers of the guard who give him the slightest cause to
  suspect them of being implicated in bringing forbidden messages or
  letters.

  “5. Except those at Ahlden in attendance on my daughter, no one else
  will enter the castle without my express permission; and the
  above-mentioned servants are to have no conversation with any
  strangers—that is to say, with any others but those of the household
  and people of Ahlden—except in the presence of the Seigneur de la
  Fortière or of some one commissioned by him for that purpose; and the
  Seigneur de la Fortière will give orders that as soon as strangers
  arrive in the said Ahlden he shall be immediately informed of the
  fact.

  “6. The women and other attendants on my daughter will not go out of
  the castle without the Seigneur de la Fortière’s permission, and the
  remainder of the servants will only enter the castle at fixed hours to
  perform their duties, and will go away again as soon as they are done.

  “7. My daughter will only leave the castle to take a walk, if she
  wishes, in the garden between the two moats, and then she must be
  accompanied by the Seigneur de la Fortière.

  “8. If my daughter wishes to take her meals in the _salon_ outside her
  rooms, she will have permission to do so, and the persons whose
  business it is to be in waiting, and the footmen will attend at these
  meals; but the Seigneur de la Fortière will always be present, and,
  after rising from table, everybody will leave my daughter except the
  lady-in-waiting and her chamber attendants.

  “9. The Seigneur de la Fortière will have the power to require the
  officer of the guard, in virtue of the orders I have given him for
  that purpose, to adopt strong measures to ensure the exact execution
  and observance of the above, as far as such may be necessary.”

It is very difficult to follow accurately the successive stages of the
proceedings that followed the Princess’s arrival at Ahlden, as most of
the official documents written at the time were published with intent to
deceive, and the greater part of the divorce proceedings have been
suppressed; but Dr. Köcher, a most eminent authority on the history of
the House of Hanover, and sometime keeper of the Hanoverian Archives,
has collected together sundry fragments of documents which remain, and
has published them with comments of his own in _Sybel’s Historische
Zeitschrift_—a valuable contribution, in which he demonstrates that the
divorce trial partook of the nature of a farce, inasmuch as everything
had been determined beforehand. Schaumann, the historian, another
eminent authority, on the other hand, maintains that the divorce
proceedings were instituted from a real desire to bring about a
reconciliation between the Princess and her husband. Here we have a
conflict of opinion. But this much at least seems certain: the court of
Celle would gladly have brought about a reconciliation had it been
possible, and the court of Hanover would probably have reluctantly
agreed to one if it had been possible for them to get rid of the
Princess and at the same time to keep her territory. But the determined
attitude of the Princess to break at all hazards with the hated House of
Hanover rendered from the first any attempt at reconciliation out of the
question; and Köcher is no doubt right in his main contention. The only
point where we differ from him in his elaborate study of the divorce
question is that he seems to treat the Princess as though she were a lay
figure, to be pulled about at will, and overlooks the fact that she was
a passionate and self-willed woman, just now driven to bay by the death
of her lover, and determined at all cost to free herself from her
husband. Under no conditions would she make terms with Königsmarck’s
murderers, or return to the life she loathed; in her present state of
mind she preferred imprisonment, or even death, to such an alternative.
The only thing therefore that remained was to bring about a separation
or divorce as expeditiously, and with as little scandal, as possible.

Meanwhile the Princess in the castle of Ahlden was alone; her mother was
not permitted to see her, and the only person suffered to approach her
was a minister of religion. Soon after her arrival at Ahlden two
ministers from the court of Celle, Bernstorff and Bülow, came to wait
upon the Princess. It must have been a bitter moment for her when she
received them, for she looked to Celle for help, and none came. The two
ministers spent some hours with her, and when they left they drew up a
report of what happened in a protocol headed, “Report of what took place
at Ahlden,” which begins as follows:—

  “The reason of our journey was to tell the Princess the true state of
  affairs, that everything was discovered, and therefore nothing could
  be denied or questioned; to tell her what would be publicly said in
  her defence, and how she ought to speak in public and conduct herself
  in the forthcoming divorce case”.

In this document Königsmarck is not mentioned, but it is easy to see
what is referred to in the expression “everything was discovered”. The
true reason was to be hidden, for the honour of the House; and the
Princess was to acquiesce in a divorce on the ostensible ground of her
wilful desertion. The ministers found her only too ready to fall in with
their suggestions, and the report goes on to say: “and she acquiesces in
the separation, and recognises that no other course could be taken....
They were to tell her what to do, and she would submit....”

The ministers found her cast down and despondent, but hardly what they
describe as penitent, for despite their statement “that everything was
known,” they failed to elicit an avowal of conjugal unfaithfulness. The
Princess admitted appearances were against her. They might think her
culpable or not as they pleased, but she denied the actual offence _in
toto_, and nothing ever made her swerve from this position. In this she
was borne out by Knesebeck, then far away from her beloved mistress and
in prison at Springe. This lady, though examined and cross-examined and
threatened with punishment unless she told the whole truth, absolutely
denied that the Princess had been guilty with Königsmarck, though she
admitted to “a few letters and indiscretions”. Later she was examined
again, on her removal to the fortress of Schartzfels, and she still
affirmed that the Princess was innocent, and no threats of imprisonment
or torture made her swerve from her loyalty. Years later, when she had
gained her liberty and petitioned Duke George William for her
confiscated property, she did not omit to bear witness again to the
innocence of the Princess.

This, of course, opens up the much-vexed question of how far the
Princess’s love for Königsmarck went. Some there are, like Duke Antony
Ulrich, who believe the Princess to be absolutely innocent, even in
thought. This theory, however, is untenable, since both the Princess and
Knesebeck admit, at least, to indiscretions. Others there are, like the
Duchess of Orleans, who considered the Princess absolutely bad; but
their bias is manifest, and they produce no evidence in support of their
contentions. Between these two classes are the more numerous company of
witnesses, who include such eminent names as Schaumann and Köcher. These
do not believe the Princess guilty of _actual_ unfaithfulness to her
husband. Köcher says, in summing up an elaborate argument: “We shall
probably therefore hit the mark aright when we say that the Princess
wandered on the edge of an abyss by vouchsafing to a man who was a
foreigner and of loose morals not a criminal intimacy, but a confidence
which was a slight on duty and propriety”.

But it must be remembered that Köcher[235] and Schaumann do not accept
the authenticity of the letters, which they had never examined and
have never seen, save for the few fragments published by Palmblad,
confused as to the cypher and the dates, and possibly a stray letter
in one or two essays. There remains another authority, Count
Schulenburg-Klosterrode, who believes firmly in the authenticity of
the letters, and yet agrees with Köcher that the love between the
Princess and Königsmarck was never consummated. With all the good-will
in the world, it is not easy to agree with this view, believing as we
do in the genuineness of the letters, and when we remember the fiery
passion breathed through them, the stolen meetings, the utter laxity
of the morals of the time, and last, but not least, the harshness of
the Princess’s father, who would surely never have refused to see his
only child and have condemned her to lifelong imprisonment if she had
only been guilty of “indiscretion”. When we remember all this, it must
be admitted that the evidence against her is so strong as to be almost
overwhelming. This much was certain: she loved one man and one man
only, she sacrificed everything for him, and she was faithful to her
love in life and in death. Whatever were her mistakes, she was more
sinned against than sinning.

-----

Footnote 235:

  Yet Köcher knew that letters did exist, for he quotes himself the
  testimony of Leibniz: “They would never have thought her so guilty at
  Celle had not her letters been produced” (_Hist. Zeitschrift_, vol.
  xlviii., p. 233).

-----

When Bülow and Bernstorff returned to Celle, after their interview with
the Princess at Ahlden, convinced that she was steadfast in her resolve
never to return to Hanover, and would agree to anything which would
bring about this result, short of an avowal of actual guilt, matters
were greatly simplified. The ministers of Celle were in favour of a
separation, the Hanoverian government demanded a divorce, and, as the
Princess’s attitude was utterly unyielding, Celle gave way and a divorce
was decided upon. We find Cresset about this time writing from Walsrode,
a little country town near Ahlden:—

“Our unlucky scene lies as it did, the divorce going forward, and we are
all to be quite shamed. I have been twice shooting with this Duke just
under the walls of the house where his daughter is confined. I hear she
is suddenly to be removed into the country of Hanover. Next post I will
write what I can learn of it to my Lord Duke. At present I know nothing
new. All things look tragical.”[236]

-----

Footnote 236:

  Cresset’s _Despatch_, August 14, 1694. The letter which Cresset
  mentions as being about to write to the Duke of Shrewsbury is not
  preserved in the State Paper Office, nor indeed are any letters of his
  at this time, save a few fragments probably overlooked, which have
  been quoted here. There is nothing bearing on the Princess or
  Königsmarck. As the English envoy’s correspondence is voluminous just
  before and just after the catastrophe, these letters have been
  doubtless suppressed purposely: it is a pity, as they would have
  thrown great light on this vexed question.

-----

[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF AHLDEN AS IT IS TO-DAY.]

The ministers of Hanover and Celle held several conferences at Engesen,
where a plan was drawn up for the divorce of the Princess. It was
resolved to form a special Consistorial Court to try the divorce case,
and care was taken that everything should be done in due order and with
an appearance of legality. Königsmarck’s name was not to be so much as
mentioned; indeed, how could it be mentioned when his avengers were
knocking so loudly at the gates? Taking it for granted that the divorce
would be decreed, the following arrangements were then made between the
Elector and the Duke of Celle for the Princess’s safe keeping and
maintenance:—

George William agreed to keep the Princess guarded at some magistrate’s
house in _his_ country, and to settle on her the magistrate’s house at
Ahlden as her permanent residence in case of his demise. The retinue and
personal attendants and guard which were to attend the Princess were
arranged, and it was agreed that no changes should be made without the
approval of both the Elector of Hanover and the Duke of Celle. The
Princess was to be allowed a sufficient establishment for her
maintenance and that of her suite. Ernest Augustus was to allow her a
yearly sum of eight thousand thalers (£1,200), and he agreed to raise
this sum to £1,800 when her father died, and yet again by another £800
when she had completed her fortieth year—a sum total of £2,600 per
annum, not a bad allowance when we consider the value of money in those
days and the circumstances of the case. The Princess, moreover, was
heiress to considerable property from her mother, which would remain
untouched. In return, Duke George William conceded certain modifications
of his daughter’s marriage settlement, whereby the freehold lands he had
bequeathed to her should pass directly to her son, Prince George
Augustus, and the administration of the same should pass into the hands
of the Electoral Prince. On only one point were the brothers unable to
agree. Duke George William proposed that the love-letters of the
Princess (the incriminating correspondence found in Königsmarck’s rooms)
should be sent to Celle, after the divorce, to be burnt, or they should
be burnt at Hanover in the presence of the ministers of Hanover and
Celle. This suggestion found no favour with Ernest Augustus, who put the
matter off for the time being. Doubtless he feared that his brother
might relent at some future time towards his daughter, and he did not
wish to lose this damning evidence against the Princess.[237]

-----

Footnote 237:

  Some of these letters are probably those now at Berlin; others
  probably at Gmünden.

-----

Thus it will be seen that everything was settled before the Divorce
Court assembled, and the verdict was treated as a foregone conclusion.
The ministers drew out instructions for the judges and attorneys, and
watched over the trial that ensued step by step.

The agreement above mentioned was signed by Duke George William and the
Elector Ernest Augustus on September 1, 1694, and a few days later the
Princess was brought over from Ahlden to the magistrate’s house at
Lauenau, in Hanoverian territory, so as to be nearer the scene of the
trial. Even this slight change was not effected without difficulty, for
the Princess viewed with terror any return to the Principality of
Hanover; but she was pacified by being told that as soon as the divorce
was decreed she would be allowed to return to the territory of Celle—she
believed as a free woman. This made her all the more impatient for a
divorce and the more ready to concede anything and everything demanded
by her enemies. The story that the Princess, shortly after her arrival
at Lauenau, took the sacrament in the presence of the Hanoverian
ministers, solemnly vowing her innocence and daring Countess Platen to
do the same, is very dramatic, but lacks confirmation. It would
contradict the evidence of the few genuine documents still remaining,
which go to show that the whole policy of the ministers of both courts
was to hush up any allusion to a criminal intrigue.

Everything having been now arranged, the tribunal of the Divorce Court
began its solemn farce. The court was composed of a president and eight
judges, four lay and four spiritual, in equal numbers from Celle and
Hanover respectively. Privy Councillor Albert Philip von Bussche was
appointed President by both Hanover and Celle. All these judges were
sworn by a special oath: “To judge in this matter uprightly and honestly
to the best of our understanding, in accordance with godly and worldly
rights and the custom of the Christian Evangelical Church, and not to
let ourselves be led away or hindered by anything, whatever its name may
be”. A goodly oath indeed; and yet it had little meaning for most of
them, though some of the judges had qualms of conscience and did not
prove quite the docile tools they were expected to be.

On September 20 the Divorce Court assembled at Hanover and received the
suit of the Electoral Prince, who prayed for a dissolution of marriage
on the ground of his wife’s wilful desertion and refusal to grant him
his connubial rights. This was duly set forth in a formal document
presented to the court by the Prince’s attorney. After considering it
for two days the court sent it to the Princess at Lauenau, and requested
a reply, leaving it to her option to decide whether she would submit her
answer in writing, or make it orally by word of mouth to a deputation of
the court. This was a fair proceeding, and guarded against the
possibility of undue influence, but it did not agree with the
ministerial programme; so the Government refused to sanction the
alternative of an oral reply, lest the Princess might express herself
too freely to the deputation. Marshal von Bülow, of Celle, and Thies,
the attorney, were therefore directed by George William to go to Lauenau
instead, and obtain a written declaration from the Princess in harmony
with the policy already decided upon. Bülow was instructed, so Duke
George William’s directions read, “to seek an opportunity to speak to
the Princess alone, and endeavour to remind her to take pains before
everything else to express her answer in such terms as to give no
possible further cause for exasperation [_aigreur_]”. Further, Thies was
to be introduced to the Princess in order to learn from her directly
“whether she was agreeable to his superseding her attorney’s functions,
which, being the case, the Princess would accede to him full powers”.
Then the Princess “would furnish him with materials out of which he was
to formulate her defence; and she was, among other matters, to declare
positively whether she would, or could, ever again prevail upon herself
to return to her consort, the Electoral Prince, and, if not, whether she
would be content to accept the verdict of the court on the matter”.

The result of this mission was exactly what might have been expected.
The Princess was quite incapable of looking after her interests,
especially in this case, where they seemed to run counter to her
inclinations, for she desired the divorce above all things, and fully
believed that when it was obtained and she had obeyed her father’s and
her uncle’s wishes she might safely trust to their indulgence and
generosity. Subsequent events proved that she was wrong, but at the time
her policy seemed the right one. She authorised the attorney to act for
her as directed, and without ado signed a written declaration, declaring
in most emphatic language she would never again cohabit with her
husband.

The Princess’s declaration was withheld from the Divorce Court until it
had been examined by the ministers. Vice-Chancellor Hugo of Hanover
expressed himself dissatisfied with the wording, and he feared the
Divorce Court would not be content. He therefore drafted another, more
formally worded, to be submitted to the Princess.

As this document was in substance the same, the ducal brothers, who were
then hunting at Göhre, professed indifference as to which should be
presented; but Bülow put in a plea for the consideration of the Princess
on the ground that she might be confused by having to sign another
declaration. Bernstorff, always the enemy of the Princess, favoured the
draft of Hugo, because it would have the effect “of inducing the court
to imagine that the Princess was the much more self-willed and not to be
overruled”; and he went on to write to Hugo in favour of his draft,
saying: “It shows a more rebellious spirit [_contumacia_], and the court
will on that account have all the more cause to give a verdict of
divorce”. The matter was referred to Hugo, who naturally decided in
favour of his own draft. Thies, the Princess’s attorney, was then
directed to go again to Lauenau and obtain the Princess’s signature to
this second document. He was instructed to exhort, “in a general way,”
the Princess to a reconciliation with her husband; but that the
admonition was regarded as a mere form may be gathered from the fact
that we find Bernstorff writing: “Although he [Thies] might bring the
most powerful arguments to bear on the Princess’s case in order to talk
her over to return to her husband, he would effect nothing whatever”.
Bernstorff’s surmise was quite right; the Princess was only too ready to
play into the hands of her enemies, and Thies found her most impatient
at the delay. She anxiously asked if the suit would result in a divorce.
Her attorney replied that a definite declaration was necessary, the
other not having been definite enough. She then took a pen and
resolutely signed the new document laid before her, which was worded as
follows:—

“Now we [Sophie Dorothea] give the circumstances mentioned by the
attorney of our Consort Louis, in the charge of desertion brought
against us, their due place; but we cannot refrain from again adding
that we adhere persistently to the resolution, once drawn up and
constantly affirmed, that we will not, and cannot, ever again live in
conjugal relations with our Consort Louis, Duke of Brunswick and
Lüneburg, Prince Electoral, and we will therefore accept the verdict of
the court on the matter”.

Thies was an honourable and conscientious man, and had his doubts as to
the wisdom of the suicidal policy the Princess was pursuing. He
therefore entered upon his task of advising the Princess without seeming
to persuade; but she would not hear him. He, however, told her frankly
that the result of her declaration would assuredly be a verdict
acquitting the Prince and allowing him to marry again, and convicting
her as the guilty party, and forbidding her to marry. The Princess
answered firmly: “In spite of this, my determination is unalterable”.
Then Thies added a clause to the Princess’s declaration stating that:—

“In spite of the fact that all suitable and urgent advice from higher
authorities has been given to the Princess, and pressed finally by
myself as her appointed attorney, yet it must, to my great regret, be
stated that nothing more could be extracted from Her Serene Highness,
except the written declaration enclosed with this”.

These documents were then sent to the Divorce Court.

Despite all these elaborate stratagems and precautions, the very thing
happened which the ministers wished to avoid. The Divorce Court refused
to be satisfied with the written declaration, and insisted on the
necessity of an oral hearing. To this end a deputation of the judges was
sent to Lauenau, that they might hear the Princess’s declaration from
her own lips and judge whether any undue influence had been brought to
bear upon her.

The ministers of both Hanover and Celle were alarmed at this hitch in
the proceedings, and immediately took steps to prevent any untoward
results. Another Conference was summoned at Engesen on November 15.

It is notoriously difficult to save those who are bent on their own
destruction, as the Princess seemed to be; but in the meantime the
Duchess of Celle was making every effort on behalf of her daughter, and
seized on the opportunity afforded by this delay to urge some
concessions. The result was that, when the Conference met at Engesen,
Bernstorff brought forward, on the part of Duke George William, a motion
to the effect that the separation should only be a judicial one (_i.e._,
_a mensâ et thoro_); but the reason alleged—namely, that a complete
separation would be prejudicial to the children—did not make the
slightest impression on the Hanoverian ministers, who saw in this the
hand of the Duchess of Celle. They replied with some logic, that if a
separation of that kind was all that had been desired, it might have
been arranged by the parties themselves without the services of the
Divorce Court; and to make such a change so late in the day would cast a
slight not only on the Electoral Prince, but on the House of Hanover.
Seeing they would not give way, Bernstorff changed his tactics, and put
in a plea that the verdict might at least not be made public. But the
Hanoverian ministers declared that such a course would lead to
prejudicial interpretations; and the Conference broke up without coming
to an agreement. The Elector of Hanover strongly supported his
ministers, and sent to Celle the following communication:—

“That because, as is well known, it was decided after careful
consideration of the facts to bring forward a suit on the charge of
desertion, that the honour and high reputation of the Electoral Prince
and the Princess herself and their children might be guarded, and also
of that of our most gracious selves, their parents, so the publication
of the verdict is all the more unavoidable, as otherwise there would be
every opportunity of interpreting the cause of the separation to the
injury and prejudice of the persons just mentioned on both sides”.

And the argument went on to say that it would be equally prejudicial to
the children. Thereupon Duke George William gave way, and the Duchess of
Celle was beaten.

This interlude also goes to prove that the verdict of the Divorce Court
was already settled by the higher powers before the deputation from the
judges went to Lauenau to admonish the Princess. The deputation
consisted of two only, Molanus and the President Bussche. Molanus
entered upon his task in an earnest and honourable spirit. Bussche, who
was in the secret confidence of the ministers, contented himself with
platitudes of the commonest order. Molanus, who was a worthy divine,
treated the Princess to a long dissertation on the duties of holy
matrimony, quoting to her the First Epistle of Saint Paul to the
Corinthians vii. 10. Coming down from these heights, he proceeded to
point out to her, as her attorney had already done, that, as the
culpable party, she would not be permitted to make a second marriage,
though the privilege would be allowed to the other side. He also
reminded her of what her children would lose when deprived of their
mother, and expatiated on the grandeur of the position which the
Princess was abandoning. He suggested that the dispute should be
reconsidered under the influence of fervent prayer, at which a minister
of religion might assist. But his admonitions and his prayers made
absolutely no impression on the Princess, who declared that she could
better serve the Almighty by remaining alone, and she was thankful to
have the opportunity of withdrawing from the world. She insisted that
under no circumstances whatever would she return to the court of
Hanover, or to the Electoral Prince, her husband. In short she
reaffirmed verbally and with emphasis the declaration she had already
made in writing. It is true that she had no alternative, for everything
had been settled beforehand; but there is no reason to suppose that she
was acting under compulsion, as all along she had retained a fixed
desire to be free of Hanover at all costs. Yet, even so, the Divorce
Court refused to be satisfied. They were conscious of the doubtful
legality of the proceedings, and they were desirous of guarding their
honour and saving appearances as far as possible. So the Princess had,
for the third time, to sign a written declaration to the effect that:—

“We adhere firmly to the resolution already expressed by us in writing,
that our attorney shall not oppose anything further that may be urged
against us, but shall adhere to our previous resolution, and strive to
bring the matter to a speedy issue”.

The Divorce Court met again on December 1, and the Princess’s reply and
the report of the deputation were formally handed in. These papers were
submitted to the Prince’s attorney, and it was asked if His Highness
persisted in his suit. Two days later the Prince’s reply was handed in.
The substance of it was as follows:—

That His Highness had given this most important matter, with all the
consequences it might entail, his most careful consideration. It was
only with painful feelings he could decide to take this extreme course,
and he had left no stone unturned to bring the Princess to a better
frame of mind, and his father and father-in-law had also given
themselves personally the greatest trouble about it. But as nothing had
been effected by this means, and the issue proved that the Princess
adhered to her resolution, and her purposed desertion had been quite
clearly proved, the Prince felt bound to maintain the petition expressed
in his suit.

The sword was now ready to fall, but at the eleventh hour the Duchess of
Celle made one more effort on behalf of her daughter. We find that Duke
George William entered a request for a lightening of the intended
verdict. He took exception to the demand of the court of Hanover that
the sentence of the court should expressly forbid the Princess to marry
again, and so threatening was his tone that the judges began to hesitate
about complying with the Hanoverian orders, and the verdict was
postponed. In order to break down this opposition of the Duke of Celle,
Vice-Chancellor Hugo, who held a brief for Hanover, drew up a long legal
opinion for the direction of the Divorce Court, and sent it to
Bernstorff at Celle for approval and return. This document is very
interesting. The first part of the “opinion” deals wholly with legal
matters; the second part, which considers the peculiar arguments of the
case from the dynastic point of view of the court of Hanover, may be
quoted in full:—

“1. The Princess has given evidence of wicked intentions, of her
purposed flight from the country in secret, thereby bringing the House
into everlasting shame and disgrace. It would not have been possible for
this to occur, unless very bitter opponents who were interested in the
ruin of the House had seized the opportunity to make use of her evil
designs in their schemes.

“The House has been thereby cast into such disorder and danger as cannot
be contemplated without a shudder. We must thank the kindness of
Providence for having prevented it, and in addition consider what is to
be expected in the future from a person who has ventured already on so
desperate a scheme, and how extremely necessary it is to place not only
practical, but legal, restraints upon her, which are best carried out by
expressly forbidding her again to marry: there will thus be the less
occasion for cavilling.

“2. The judges forming the deputation have reported how strongly the
Princess desired the sentence of separation and what joy she manifested
on learning that it might soon be passed. It may be conjectured that if
she had been of a good disposition she would have been deeply grieved at
causing her own father so much pain, and bringing such injury on those
who showered kindness and affection on her. She ought further to
consider how she will fall from her high position. She ought also to
show compassion for her children. But when a mother displays joy over
her separation from her children, we may gather what is to be expected
of her.[238]

-----

Footnote 238:

  But Sophie Dorothea thought she would be allowed to see her children
  occasionally after the divorce. She had no idea that her retirement
  involved perpetual imprisonment.

-----

“It is known, that before she conceived these evil designs, she had on
different occasions expressed a longing to be a marchioness of France
(these are people of no particular worth) rather than Princess of
Brunswick-Lüneburg, for then she would be able to amuse herself better,
whereas she was at present as good as a prisoner. Such a disposition is
easily concealed for a time, but difficult to overcome. What can we
opine from so intense a craving for a separation except that her
intention is to seek some such position as that she has already hoped
for? And such a course is all the more to be expected of her should we
not refuse her the right to marry again in the judicial verdict.”

Köcher (in whose article in _Sybel’s Historische Zeitschrift_ this is
quoted) goes on to say: “In place of the third and fourth arguments,
which are crossed out in the copy before me, the following is
interpolated in Hugo’s handwriting: ‘There are still more serious
considerations, which, however, cannot be well discussed’. The original
words, however, which can be deciphered pretty clearly under the thick
lines, are:—

  “3. She has an indulgent mother, who does not grasp the position of
  affairs, nor judge of them correctly, and who shows peculiarly little
  affection for this Electoral House.

  “4. The Princess looks forward to a very large fortune from her
  mother. Her father also is not likely to forget her.

  “5. [In short] We must be on our guard against the enemies of the
  House, and give them as little occasion as possible for gaining a hold
  on us.

  “6. [To much the same effect, with arguments _ad Deum_ thrown in.]”

  The “opinion” concludes with an apostrophe to the judges:—

  “This most lofty House has placed its safety and dignity in your
  hands, my lord judges, confiding in your prudence. Your country and
  innocent people have exposed the dangers assailing them to you, and
  demand your aid for their security,” etc., etc.

It was therefore mainly the fear of the influence of the Duchess of
Celle, as well as doubt of the vacillating spirit of Duke George
William, which made the Hanoverian government determined to bind the
heiress of Celle as tightly as possible, and this document shows how
anxious they were. For some days no answer was returned from Celle, and
Hugo wrote two or three times, begging for a reply. It was the final
duel between the Duchess of Celle and Bernstorff, with Duke George
William between; and the Duchess got the worst of it, for after
considerable hesitation, the Duke gave way.

It is not possible to follow the exact order of the proceedings; but
that the Duchess was beaten is obvious from the fact that on December 15
Thies handed in the final reply of the Princess, and as he repeated
again the Princess’s declaration we must conclude that an understanding
had been arrived at. The verdict, which was delivered immediately, shows
that the Princess’s enemies had won. It runs as follows:—

“In the matrimonial suit of the illustrious Prince George Louis,
Electoral Prince of Hanover, against his consort, the illustrious
Princess Sophie Dorothea, etc., we, constituted president and judges of
the Matrimonial Court of the Electorate and Duchy of Brunswick-Lüneburg,
declare and pronounce judgment. After attempts have been tried and have
failed to settle the matter amicably, and in accordance with the
documents and verbal declarations of the Princess and other detailed
circumstances, we agree that her continued denial of matrimonial duty
and cohabitation is well founded, and consequently that it is to be
considered as an intentional desertion. In consequence whereof we have
considered sentence, and now declare the ties of matrimony to be
entirely dissolved and annulled. Since in similar cases of desertion it
has been permitted to the innocent party to re-marry, while the other is
forbidden, the same judicial power will be exercised in the present
instance in favour of His Serene Highness the Electoral Prince.

“(Published in the Consistorial Court of Hanover, December 28, 1694.)”

This sentence was signed by the president and all the judges, and
delivered to the Princess at Lauenau on December 31. The same day—the
last day of that evil year—she formally signified her acceptance of the
verdict.

The result of the trial was duly communicated to the representatives of
Hanover and Celle at foreign courts, and from that time the Princess was
politically dead. Her name was never mentioned in the Electoral court of
Hanover; it was struck out of the Church prayers, and expunged from
official documents. Thrust out from the Hanoverian court, she found her
father’s court also closed to her, and she entered upon her long
captivity of thirty-two years—a captivity from which death alone was to
bring release.




                             CHAPTER XXVI.

                        THE PRISONER OF AHLDEN.

             Oh! give me liberty—
             For were ev’n Paradise my prison,
             Still I should long to leap the crystal walls.
                                                  DRYDEN.


For two months after the divorce the Princess was detained at Lauenau,
in the Principality of Hanover, despite the stipulation Duke George
William had made that, when the trial was ended, his daughter should be
sent back at once to his keeping in the territory of Celle. Various
reasons caused this delay, which amounted to a breach of contract, the
chief being the fear that the Duke of Celle would relent towards his
daughter.

So far, the Hanoverian government had won all along the line. They had
got rid of the Princess and had kept her property, and they were
determined that nothing should upset so admirable an arrangement for
them. It was known that the Duchess of Celle was moving heaven and earth
on behalf of the unhappy Princess (nor did she cease her efforts as long
as she lived), and it was feared that if she and Sophie Dorothea came
together the Duke might be persuaded into seeing his daughter, and then
all would be undone. Moreover, there was a strong party at Celle,
including many persons of rank and influence, who loudly declared that
their Princess had been hardly and unfairly treated, and they were ready
to promote an agitation in her favour and to question the legality of
her divorce, certainly of her imprisonment. Popular demonstrations at
Celle were things to be avoided by those who desired the union of the
Duchies, and it was determined to keep the Princess locked up in Hanover
territory until the excitement had cooled down.

The behaviour of the Elector and Electress and all the Electoral family,
throughout this unhappy affair, was callous in the extreme. It would
only have been seemly if, after a painful family scandal such as this,
the Electoral court had gone into retirement for a time; but the annual
carnival and festivities took place at Hanover as if nothing had
happened. Nor did the death of Queen Mary II. of England, though it put
the Electoral court into mourning and advanced the Electress Sophia one
step nearer the English throne, make any difference to the
pleasure-loving Hanoverians.[239]

-----

Footnote 239:

  “The Carnaval here is very provoking, but they cannot live without it;
  they are a sort of people that can rejoice even in their own
  disgraces.”—Cresset’s _Despatch_, Hanover, January 11, 1695.

-----

The solitary confinement of the Princess at Lauenau gave her ample time
for reflection, and she gradually awoke to a sense of her position. The
murder of her lover had stunned her for a time, and her passionate grief
at his loss had almost robbed her of reason. The desire to break
absolutely with Hanover, where she had suffered so much misery and
insult, amounted to a mania, and this, added to the fact that
“everything was known,” had led her into acquiescence with anything and
everything that had been proposed to her. She now began to see that she
had been betrayed into forfeiting her interests, and had consented to a
divorce, and the surrender of her property and rank, without insisting
upon adequate guarantees. She, all along, had been given to understand
by her attorney and the ministers who visited her that, when once the
divorce was accomplished, she would be free, allowed to return to the
territory of Celle, and given an establishment where she could live in
retirement, which was all she now desired. Her father’s anger, she
hoped, would be mollified by her submission; but her hope turned out to
be vain. That she would be shut out from his court, kept a strict
prisoner, and forbidden to even see her mother did not enter her mind.
Too late she saw that she had been entrapped into a false position.

There is no doubt that this harsh treatment of Sophie Dorothea was
thoroughly approved by the Electress Sophia (if, indeed, it was not in
some respects instigated by her), who in this connection appears in a
most unamiable light. Knowing what manner of man her son was, she might
have made some allowance for his unhappy young wife; but she had no
feeling for her save hatred and contempt. Her letters to her niece, the
Duchess of Orleans, at this period are missing (they have evidently been
purposely destroyed); but the letters of the Duchess to the Electress
are still extant, and have been published. They are, for the most part,
replies to her aunt’s letters, and are an echo of the hatred with which
the Electress Sophia pursued the disgraced daughter of the d’Olbreuse.
Elizabeth Charlotte calls the Princess “a miserable creature, who
deserves every misfortune”; she denounces her “wicked tongue,” and
describes her as “a person as malicious as she is frivolous,” her
frivolity being an inheritance from her French mother, whose bad
training of her daughter was the fount of all her misfortunes.

Incredible though it may seem, both the Electress and her niece took the
part of the Countess Platen, and defended her against the defamatory
rumours that were flying about. The part the Countess had played in the
murder of Königsmarck and the consequent ruin of the Princess were
matters of common gossip at every court of Europe, and her conduct
universally reprobated. King Louis questioned Elizabeth Charlotte about
it at table at Versailles; but the Duchess denied everything, and writes
to her aunt that she told the King: “So far as concerns Countess Platen,
I believe, from what I had heard of the Princess and from my own
knowledge of the Countess, that the former is a much more evil-minded
person than the latter, whom I believe to be a very good sort of
person”.

Again we find the Duchess of Orleans writing:—

“There is no likelihood that the Countess Platen would have degraded
herself with so young a man as Königsmarck. I am much more inclined to
believe that she flattered him in the hope of making a match between him
and her daughter, for he was a good catch. It may be, however, that
Königsmarck wished, from motives of vanity, to make the former think
that all women were in love with him, in order that his society might be
the more acceptable to her, for all young fellows are generally vain;
and when the Princess afterwards found herself betrayed, she imagined
that the Countess was the cause of it. I am sorry for the Countess, who
it seems has taken the matter so much to heart that she has got ill.
Such slanders, when not true, should be simply despised and laughed at,
and not taken seriously. It is miserable to see oneself so badly treated
by the very persons whom one imagined held one dear, and I am not
surprised that the Countess has taken it to heart.”

The Countess Platen was ill not only in body, but in mind. Her
reputation had suffered a severe blow, and, despite the protection of
the Elector and the ægis of the Electress, a number of personages about
the court looked coldly upon her. Both Königsmarck and the Princess were
popular, and many official people among the Hanoverian nobility shunned
the woman whom they believed to have been the cause of the death of the
one and the ruin of the other, while at Celle her name was held in
execration. All this served to enrage the Countess the more against the
imprisoned Princess, and she did all she could to prevent any mitigation
of her punishment. In this she was supported by the Electress Sophia.
Schaumann indeed holds the Electress primarily responsible for all the
Princess’s troubles, and declares that: “The presence of the Princess
Sophie Dorothea in Hanover was from the first impossible and untenable
on account of the unquenchable hatred and scorn which the Electress
Sophia, her mother-in-law, evinced towards her”. We have seen that the
Electress Sophia was capable of dissembling this hatred and of acting
with outward consideration to her daughter-in-law; but the moment she
caught her tripping, all her latent enmity blazed forth, and she
rejoiced to see the Hanoverian court rid of the daughter of her hated
rival. The Princess had fallen through her own folly, and now was the
time to trample on her. To the hatred of these two women, the wife and
the mistress of the Elector, must be attributed many of the rigours of
Sophie Dorothea’s imprisonment, and her detention at Lauenau.

At last, owing to the persistent efforts of the Duchess of Celle, who
was never tired of pointing out to her husband the breach of contract
involved in the Elector’s keeping the Princess in Hanoverian territory,
the captive was removed from Lauenau to Ahlden, where she had been
confined for some weeks prior to the divorce.[240]

-----

Footnote 240:

  “The unlucky Princess is still in this country and they talk of
  removing her suddenly into her father’s territory.”—Knatchbull’s
  (secretary to Cresset) _Despatch_, Hanover, February 22, 1695.

-----

On February 28, 1695, the Princess left Lauenau and returned under
strong escort to the castle of Ahlden, which had meantime been prepared
for her reception. According to the arrangement arrived at between the
two brothers at Engesen, on her arrival there she was formally given the
rank and title of “Duchess of Ahlden,” and was accorded a suite of
attendants, a military escort of cavalry and infantry, and a governor of
the castle. There was yielded to her an outward semblance of honour; but
in reality the title was a blind to conceal her real position from the
world, the suite were spies, the escort and the governor her jailers.

Except for one brief interlude of a few months’ duration, Ahlden was
henceforth the Princess’s residence and prison to the day of her
death—more than thirty years later. A description of the place may
therefore be of interest. With a view to writing this book, I visited
Ahlden on September 10, 1898, and made the following notes the evening
of the same day:—

  “It was not without difficulty that I discovered Schloss Ahlden was
  still in existence; many people in Hanover had never heard of it. I,
  at last, found that there was a village of Ahlden, with a magistrate’s
  house still standing, near the country town of Walsrode, some twenty
  miles from Hanover; and the nearest station was Reitlagen. Acting on
  this information, a friend and myself set out from Hanover at 7 A.M.
  by the local train to Reitlagen. At that early hour we were almost the
  only passengers, and the plain, over which the single line of railway
  ran, was enveloped in a thick mist. We travelled very slowly, stopping
  every few minutes at some little wayside station. A bell was fixed to
  the engine to warn stray cattle off the line, and as we went through
  the fog it tolled like a funeral knell. By-and-by the mist began to
  lift, and we saw we were traversing a flat, marshy country. There were
  reeds, thistles, flags and rushes in the grass fields, and a good deal
  of common land, on which nothing but scrub and brushwood seemed to
  grow. About nine o’clock the train pulled up at the little station of
  Reitlagen. Here we found a conveyance to take us to Ahlden, which was
  said to be some five miles distant; it proved to be much nearer.

  “By this time the mists had lifted, the sun was shining brilliantly.
  As we drove along the dusty road, bordered by poplars and limes, we
  passed a cottage or two with gardens full of plum-trees laden with
  purple fruit, and every now and then a patch of yellow lupin. The land
  was for the most part rough pasture, and the country reminded me of
  the fen districts of Cambridgeshire, and a windmill and a flight of
  plover served to strengthen the resemblance. We drove across the
  Aller, which shone like steel under the cloudless sky, and then
  suddenly, long before we anticipated, we saw a red roof peeping out
  among the trees on the south bank of the river, and the driver pointed
  with his whip and said, ‘There is Schloss Ahlden’. In the distance the
  castle looked like a fair-sized English manor-house, but on closer
  inspection it proved to be something different. The moat had long
  since been filled up, and the drawbridge yielded place to a short
  avenue of limes; but the square entrance-gateway still remained, and
  externally the castle was little changed.

  “Above the gateway was the date of the building of the castle—1613—and
  an elaborate coat-of-arms, carved in stone, supported by figures of
  Piety and Justice. The irony of it! There was little of either piety
  or justice in the treatment meted out to the hapless captive who gave
  the castle its sole title to fame. There was also an inscription to
  show that it was erected by Duke Christian of Brunswick-Lüneburg as
  the magistrate’s house of the district.

  “Passing under the arched gateway, rudely painted with frescoes, we
  found ourselves in a grass-grown quadrangle: one wing only, the left
  as we entered, had been inhabited by the Princess Sophie Dorothea.

  “Entering the doorway in the centre of the wing, we mounted a wooden
  staircase, traversed a corridor with a rough floor and whitewashed
  walls, and presently found ourselves in the Princess’s apartments.
  They consisted of a bedroom and sitting-room of moderate size, say
  twenty-two feet by sixteen, leading from one another, with a bare
  ceiling and wooden floor. The rooms were destitute of furniture, and
  we were told that they had never been used since the Princess died in
  them. The sleeping-room had two windows, looking over the garden
  towards the village, and an alcove for the bed. The sitting-room had
  two windows also, looking across the Aller over the marsh land. Beyond
  these apartments was a larger room, now partitioned, which had served
  as a dining-hall for the suite and attendants. The Princess was
  permitted, if she wished, to dine with her household, and sat at the
  head of the table. The rest of the wing was occupied by her suite.

  “Another side of the quadrangle was the magistrate’s house, then
  inhabited by the Governor; a third served as barracks for the military
  guard; and the fourth as out-houses and stables. In reality the
  Princess had for her own personal use only two small rooms, and the
  whole building was no larger than a moderate-sized English
  country-house. Even as we saw it on a bright September morning it was
  indescribably dreary: in the winter, with the mists and floods, it
  must be a veritable ‘House on the Marsh,’ and to the poor prisoner who
  wore her life out there, it must have seemed a ‘Castle of Despair’.

  “The castle is in tolerable repair, and is still used as the
  magistrate’s house of the district, and justice is dispensed there at
  stated times. The magistrate no longer resides there. It is in charge
  of a castellan, who is also a farmer and carpenter in the village. We
  found this official courteous and willing to give us any information
  he possessed, which unfortunately was not much.

  “There are absolutely no relics of the Princess remaining at Ahlden,
  for the Hanoverian government, after her death, did everything to
  stamp out her name and her memory. Her picture, which hung in the
  castle for many years, was sent to Herrenhausen. Only fifteen years
  ago two large boxes of papers at Ahlden, said to have belonged to her,
  were ordered to be sent to Hanover. They were put on a cart, to be
  despatched from Reitlagen by train, but on the way to the station they
  mysteriously disappeared. Whether they dropped out of the cart, or
  whether they were stolen none can say; they have not been heard of
  from that day until now. We were told this by the castellan, who
  assumed an air of mystery on this and other matters. He pointed out to
  us the window from which the unfortunate Princess was said to gaze
  with wistful eyes for hours together across the marsh, looking for the
  deliverance that never came. Year in and year out, for thirty years
  and more, she would gaze from this window, while youth went by, and
  middle age went by, and old age crept on, until one November morning
  she was seen no more.

  “From the castle we walked down the village street to the little
  Lutheran church—a plain, ugly building, part of which is ancient, but
  most of it built during Sophie Dorothea’s residence at Ahlden. We saw
  the organ which the Princess gave to the church, which bears the
  inscription,

                  PRESENTED BY H.S.H. THE DUCHESS SOPHIE
                              DOROTHEA, 1721

  and we were pointed out the place which she was said to have occupied
  when she attended divine worship, a wooden pew in the second gallery.
  Most authorities say that she was never permitted to enter the church,
  and a minister attended her in the castle; but local tradition
  contradicts this statement, the truth probably being that at first she
  was not permitted, but when the stringency of her prison rules was
  relaxed a little she was allowed to attend public worship. It is said
  that she was conducted to and from the church, only a few yards from
  the castle gate, by an escort. She was not allowed to walk about the
  village, only in the castle garden, which is very small, hardly larger
  than a prison yard, and bounded on one side by the Aller, and on the
  other by the moat and marsh. She was permitted to drive a distance of
  six miles from the castle, along a certain road to the west. There is
  a stone bridge on the way to Hayden which marked the six-mile limit of
  the drive. The Princess was never allowed to cross this bridge, nor
  could she drive along any other road but this. Thus far and no farther
  could she go; this way and none other for thirty years. How tired she
  must have got of it! When the weather was fine she drove herself in a
  cabriolet, and when it was cold, or wet, she was driven in a closed
  carriage. She was always accompanied by a lady-in-waiting and a guard
  of soldiers. She was fond of driving very fast, and would tear
  furiously up and down the road, which she would traverse many times.

  “Local tradition among the peasants of Ahlden still hands down the
  picture of the mysterious great lady of the castle, always beautifully
  dressed, and with diamonds gleaming in her dark hair, galloping up and
  down the road, followed by an escort of cavalry with drawn swords.

  “The village of Ahlden has to-day some thousand inhabitants. The
  oak-trees and red-tiled roofs give it the appearance of a Hampshire
  village, but the country around is like Norfolk at its flattest and
  dreariest. The village is made up of three or four irregular streets,
  two or three beer-houses, and a large school. The memory of the
  ‘Duchess of Ahlden’ still lingers among the village folk; they sell
  postcards with her portrait on them, and speak with pity of her fate.

  “Certain authorities at Hanover warned me that I should find
  absolutely nothing at Ahlden and my visit would be a waste of time. On
  the contrary, I found the place full of interest and rich in
  tradition. Without seeing Ahlden it is impossible to realise the utter
  loneliness of this poor lady’s thirty-two years of confinement there.”

There were three governors at Ahlden during the years of the Princess’s
captivity. The first, the Seigneur de la Fortière, a noble of Celle,
until 1702; then Charles Augustus von Bothmer, a Hanoverian noble, from
1702 to 1721; and Sigismund, Count Bergest, from 1721 to 1726, the year
of her death. A certain George von Bussche, a relative of the President
of the Divorce Court, held office in her household but not as governor;
also a Herr von Marlortie,—they were probably gentlemen-in-waiting.
Among her ladies-in-waiting we have the names of Madame von Ilten,
Madame von Marlortie, and Madame von Arenswald.

When the Princess had settled down at Ahlden certain concessions were
granted to her to support the theory of her being duchess of the place.
She was allowed, through an agent or deputy, the administration of her
property and of the Ahlden territory. This extended for several miles,
and included the towns of Retham and Walsrode and certain custom-house
stations on the Weser and Aller. She was also given the nominal
management of her household, which was fairly numerous. It consisted of
one or two ladies-in-waiting, one or two gentlemen-in-waiting, and two
pages. Among the domestics were two valets, fourteen footmen, twelve
female servants, three cooks, a confectioner and baker, and a butler.
There were also the Governor of the castle and the escort of forty
soldiers, cavalry and infantry.

As time went on the Princess grew interested in the management of her
property and household, and these things helped to pass many of her
weary hours. She also took the poor of the village under her care, and
did what she could to help them, though she was not permitted to enter
their cottages. She interested herself in the village schools, and the
children used to come to her on their _fête_ day and receive from her
hands prizes and little gifts. Her name became a household word round
the country-side for kindness and benevolence, and for works of pity and
mercy. As Duchess of Ahlden she was permitted some little state: she
held a small _levée_ on certain days, at which the local magnates,
clergy and nobility, with their wives, were wont to attend; but visitors
were limited strictly to people who lived within her territory of
Ahlden; and the Governor of the castle and the ladies- and
gentlemen-in-waiting were always present at these receptions. She was
not permitted to return these visits.

The Princess was scrupulous in the observance of religious duties; she
restored the church and enriched it by various gifts. The parish
minister acted as her chaplain, and read prayers daily to the garrison
and household in the large dining-room aforesaid. The Princess and her
ladies listened in a room adjoining, the door being left ajar. Her
titular rank was always outwardly respected, but she was subjected to
any number of petty and insulting restrictions. She was never allowed to
leave the castle at night under any circumstances whatever; her letters
were supervised, and every letter which came in and went out of the
castle was read. Despite this, she carried on an active correspondence
with her mother and acquaintances, which gradually increased in volume.
Her great grievance during these early years at Ahlden was that she was
not permitted to see her mother. The Duchess of Celle persistently
endeavoured to break through this rule, but the Hanoverian government
made such strong representations to the Duke of Celle of the evils that
would follow, that, despite her tears and entreaties, she could not gain
permission. Even if the Duke had wished to intervene, which may be
doubted, Bernstorff was always on the alert to counteract the influence
of the Duchess. It was known that Duke Antony Ulrich was in
communication with the Duchess, and warmly championed the cause of the
imprisoned Princess, and the Hanoverian government feared, or pretended
to fear, that a new intrigue would be set on foot against them, and
perhaps a new attempt at flight.

The Princess, therefore, though treated with every outward semblance of
respect, remained a prisoner. At first she was not allowed outside the
castle gates; but her health suffering from the confinement, she was
granted another concession and permitted to take her daily drives. Count
Schulenburg-Klosterrode, in his _Herzogin von Ahlden_ quotes the
following words taken from the mouth of an old woman of Ahlden named
Marie Ratze, about the year 1800. This old woman was then ninety-six
years of age, had worked in the Princess’s apartments as chambermaid,
and remembered her well. She says: “The Princess was of middle height
and rather stout, and during the first years of her sojourn at Ahlden
was exceedingly beautiful. Her hair was jet black, and the diamonds,
which she never forgot to put in her hair when she went out for her
airings, shone with great brilliancy.” Thus we see how a generation or
two spans the intervening centuries.

Sophie Dorothea had inherited from her mother the Frenchwoman’s love of
dress, and all through the years of her imprisonment she took pleasure
in devising and wearing elaborate toilettes, and in decking herself with
jewels, though there was no one to see them but her little household and
the few local magnates round about. This would go to prove that her
thoughts were not so detached from the world as some of her chroniclers
untruly assert. On the contrary, from the beginning of her imprisonment
to the day of her death, she took a keen interest in all that was going
on in the world outside, and kept herself remarkably well informed of
contemporary events not only in Hanover and Celle, but in England and
the courts of Europe. Yet all the while she was politically dead, and,
her father being set against her and her mother powerless, the only way
she could hope to recover her position was through her children; but her
piteous appeals and oft-repeated prayers to be allowed to see them were
always refused, nor was she permitted to carry on an open correspondence
with them, though later she was able to smuggle through communications
secretly.

When at last the Princess realised, in her solitary Ahlden, that though
granted an allowance and a separate establishment on her father’s
territory as stipulated, it was the intention of her enemies to keep her
a prisoner, perhaps for life, she saw too late the trap into which she
had fallen, and she continually petitioned the Elector Ernest Augustus
for her freedom; nor did she cease to struggle for liberty till the day
of her death. In the early part of her captivity she was pacified by
being told that she would probably get what she wanted by quietly
submitting to the will of the Elector for a time, and she was reminded
that he had always been as indulgent towards her as circumstances would
allow. She acted on this hint and submitted to the very letter of the
law, however much she rebelled against it in spirit. So far did she
carry this submission, that one night when a fire broke out in her wing
of the castle, which she was forbidden to leave after sunset on any
pretext whatever, she was seen pacing up and down the corridor almost
frantic with terror, her jewel-box under her arm, yet refusing to quit
the wing, in spite of the encroaching flames, without a signed order
from the Governor. She was assured that her good behaviour would bring
its reward.

Thus passed the first three years of the Princess’s captivity at
Ahlden—three years of hope deferred. Even her mother counselled
patience, and wrote that things were working in her favour, when
suddenly their hopes were dashed to the ground by the death of the
Elector Ernest Augustus, which took place in January, 1698. Ernest
Augustus had been suffering from ill-health for years, and his death was
not altogether unexpected. He was an able ruler and an astute
politician, and under his rule Hanover grew and prospered, and was
raised from the obscurity of a dukedom to the dignity of an electorate.
His failings were a lack of straightforwardness, a love of display, and
allowing himself to be ruled by mistresses, notably by the notorious
Countess Platen. But his court was brilliant, he was good-natured and
open-handed to a fault, and his subjects infinitely preferred him to the
sullen and niggardly ruler who succeeded. But George Louis, now the
Elector George, was strong where his father was weak, and from the first
he made it clear that he would have no petticoat interference in
politics. He retained Count Platen nominally as his Prime Minister, but
he took the management of affairs into his own hands. He gave the
Countess Platen to understand that her day was over, and the ex-mistress
retired in dudgeon to Monplaisir, and there, suffering torments from
disease, she dragged out the remaining years of her infamous life.

Another and more illustrious lady also found her position much impaired
by the Elector’s death. This was none other than the Electress Sophia,
who during the last few years had been steadily gaining power and
influence. The Elector George disliked his mother, who had opposed him
in the primogeniture, and would not suffer from her the slightest
interference in state affairs. He relegated her to Herrenhausen, gave
her a mean allowance, and even neglected to pay her the proper honour
and respect to which she was entitled as his mother and as
Electress-Dowager, and which her age, rank, and high character
undoubtedly demanded. The proud spirit of the old Electress felt these
slights keenly, but she was too wise to resent them openly, and she
betook herself once more to the consolations of philosophy and to
watching her prospects in England, which, since the birth of Anne’s son,
the little Duke of Gloucester, had not been of the rosiest. But one
consolation at least was hers—the daughter of “the little clot of dirt”
would never take precedence of her as Electress at the Hanoverian court,
and Sophia determined that nothing she could do should be left undone to
keep her daughter-in-law safely shut up in Ahlden.

The Elector George, though he differed from his mother in most things,
was at one with her as to this. He knew the divorce was of doubtful
legality and might any day be upset by a revision, so he confirmed it by
declaring his resolve to act strictly upon the letter of the agreement
signed by his father and the Duke of Celle: he would not permit his wife
to assume the title of Electress, and he reaffirmed the order that she
was always to be styled the Duchess of Ahlden. Thus her husband’s
accession to the Electoral dignity made no difference to the rank and
position of Sophie Dorothea, but it made a great deal of difference to
her chances of freedom. The new Elector hated his cast-off wife with
sullen vindictiveness, whereas the old Elector had only been harsh to
her from motives of policy, and because he was instigated by her
enemies. The Elector George determined from the first to maintain the
existing arrangement—a very convenient one for him, and he had no desire
to see his wife back again. He was happy in the society of his
Ermengarda Melusina, whose temper was always equable, who meddled not in
politics, and who only thought of enriching herself. He also found
variety in the society of the other mistresses whom he added from time
to time to his unattractive harem.

[Illustration:

  SOPHIE DOROTHEA’S WING OF THE CASTLE OF AHLDEN.
  _From a photograph by the Author._
]

Four years of captivity in the dreary loneliness of Ahlden, had now
brought Sophie Dorothea to a more reasonable frame of mind. She
regretted bitterly her lost freedom, and she was now as eager to return
to the world as she had once been to retire from it. So anxious was she
to see her children, that she was willing for their sake to humble
herself to her enemies. She was not always quite consistent. When the
tidings of the death of Ernest Augustus reached her, probably urged by
her mother, she wrote the following letters, which are still preserved
in the Hanoverian Archives:—

                                        “AHLDEN, _January_ 29, 1698.

  “_To the Elector George Louis._

  “MONSIEUR,—I have the honour to write to Your Highness to assure you
  that I take a real share in your grief at the death of the Elector
  your father, and I pray God that He may console you, that He may bless
  your reign with His most precious favours, and that He may console
  Your Highness with every form of prosperity. These are prayers that I
  shall make every day of my life for you, and I shall always regret
  having displeased you. I beg you to grant me pardon for my past
  faults, as I still entreat you herewith on my knees with all my heart.
  My sorrow for them is so keen and so bitter that I cannot express it.
  The sincerity of my repentance should obtain pardon from Your
  Highness; and if to crown your favour you would permit me to see and
  embrace our children, my gratitude for such longed-for favours would
  be infinite, as I desire nothing so earnestly as this, and I should be
  content to die afterwards. I send a thousand prayers for your
  preservation and good health, and am,

                       “Submissively and respectfully, Monsieur,
                  “Your Highness’s most humble and obedient servant,
                                      “SOPHIE DOROTHEA.”

                                        “AHLDEN, _January_ 29, 1698.

  “_To the Electress-Dowager._

        “MADAME,—It is my duty as well as my pleasure to assure Your
  Highness that there is no one who takes more share than I do in your
  grief at the death of the Elector your consort. I pray God with all my
  heart, Madame, that He will console you and keep you for many years to
  come in all prosperity and good health. I beg of you once again to
  pardon me for everything that I have done to incur your displeasure
  and to take some interest in me with the Elector your son. I implore
  you to grant me the pardon that I so earnestly long for and to permit
  me to embrace my children. And I long also to kiss Your Highness’s
  hands before I die. If you would grant me this favour I should be
  filled with gratitude. I beg you to do me the honour to believe that
  nothing equals the infinite respect with which I remain, Madame,

                  “Your Highness’s most humble and obedient servant,
                                                “SOPHIE DOROTHEA.”

No reply was vouchsafed to these piteous appeals. The sullen Elector
never mentioned his wife’s name, and the Electress Sophia dismissed the
prayer with angry scorn. Seeing that no hope was to be expected from
that quarter, the Princess wrote to her mother, and besought her to
seize the opportunity afforded by the change of government to effect
some amelioration of her unhappy lot, or at least to prevent it from
becoming harder. The Duchess of Celle made strong representations to the
Duke, and earnestly pleaded that their child might no longer be kept in
imprisonment. But the Duke could do nothing of himself, even if he
would, as it would involve a breach of the agreement arrived at four
years ago with the Hanoverian government; yet he relented so far as to
give his wife permission to go to see her daughter at Ahlden, and the
new Elector, who had his own reasons for wishing to be on good terms
with his uncle, did not venture to do more than protest. A good deal of
capital has been made out of the fact that the Elector George gave the
Duchess of Celle leave to visit her daughter, but in reality his
permission was not asked; the Duke of Celle granted it on his own
initiative, and the order was never afterwards revoked. All the other
mitigations of the Princess’s lot were effected before the old Elector’s
death. Backed by the Electress Sophia, the new Elector flatly refused to
grant his wife the slightest indulgence.

We may imagine with what joy the imprisoned Princess hailed her mother’s
visits. After four long years they met again, and were able to exchange
confidences and take counsel together. But it was too late to effect
much. The Duchess had lost all political power and the Princess’s
imprisonment had now become an accepted fact; nothing they could say,
and nothing they could do, availed against the vindictive hatred of the
court of Hanover.

Shortly after this concession Sophie Dorothea’s heart was rejoiced by
the news of the escape of her faithful friend, Eléonore Knesebeck, from
the fortress of Schwarzfels, where she had been confined the last four
years. Knesebeck’s escape was little short of miraculous. For a long
time no one knew where she was imprisoned, and her disappearance seemed
almost as mysterious as Königsmarck’s; but at last her sister at
Brunswick, Frau von Metsch, received intelligence that she was a
prisoner at Schwarzfels, and set on foot a plan for her release. The
poor Knesebeck had been made to suffer great hardships. She was
imprisoned in one small cell in the tumbledown fortress, which she was
never permitted to leave, given the coarsest food, and was waited on by
one old woman. At last the roof of her prison partly gave way, and a
tiler was instructed to repair it. This tiler turned out to be a friend
in disguise, and one night he let down a rope, which Knesebeck tied
round her waist; she was then pulled up through the hole in the roof and
lowered down the prison walls. She had a long drop, for the rope was too
short; but she managed to regain her feet, and fled with all speed to
Wolfenbüttel, where she received a warm welcome.

Her first steps were to petition for the restitution of her property and
bear testimony again to the innocence of herself and her mistress. The
Hanoverian government were much perturbed by the escape of their
prisoner, and gave orders that the Princess at Ahlden was to be watched
more strictly than ever. Inquiries were made at Schwarzfels to discover
how Knesebeck had escaped, and her vacant cell was carefully searched.
It was found that the unfortunate Fräulein had passed her days in
writing with charcoal on the whitewashed walls of her prison, her
blessings and curses, complaints and consolations. These writings were
copied for the Hanoverian Privy Council and form very quaint reading;
they are still preserved in the Archives at Hanover. We have first of
all inventories of the confiscated property of the imprisoned lady, for
which she afterwards put in a claim, and then a large number of
utterances as to her wrongs, and seeking to know why she was imprisoned.
“I imagine,” she says, “it is on account of the Princess. The Hanoverian
government must have committed a great wrong, as they want to stop my
mouth; for if they can be responsible to the whole world for what they
have done to the Princess, may I not speak too? If she be rightly
judged, how should I dare to speak untruthfully—I, a poor, miserable
girl—against an Elector? If he be acting justly, how could I speak
wrongfully? Is he not powerful enough to repress a thousand girls like
me? What is the meaning of the Government stopping my mouth? what are
they afraid of my saying? It is clear from this they must have committed
a great injustice, and so they choke and repress me with force that
their injustice may not be brought to light.” She repeatedly laid stress
on the fact that four crimes were laid to her charge. “I am so important
in the eyes of the Hanoverian councillors that they have broken the
Fifth, Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth Commandments on my account: the Fifth
in that they try to kill my body and soul by cruelty; the Seventh by
kidnapping me; the Eighth by laying four false crimes to my charge; and
the Ninth by stealing my property.” But neither her prayers in prison,
nor her clamourings when out of it, induced the Hanoverian government to
make her any restitution, though the Duchess of Celle helped her all in
her power, and she found a warm champion in Duke Antony Ulrich. She
lived for several years at Brunswick and Wolfenbüttel, and was later
taken into the service of Sophie Dorothea’s daughter, the Queen of
Prussia. She never married, and died as she had lived, protesting her
mistress’s innocence and her own.




                             CHAPTER XXVII.

                          THE FLIGHT OF YEARS.
                              (1698-1714.)

               The moving Finger writes, and having writ
               Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit
               Shall lure it back to cancel half a line
               Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it.
                                            OMAR KHAYYAM.


The next few years brought no further relief to the prisoner of Ahlden,
though the Duchess of Celle was regular in her visits and did everything
to carry consolation to the captive. Sophie Dorothea had frequent news
of her children, for they were often at Celle and their grandmother
Eléonore did not fail to impress them with a sense of their mother’s
wrongs. It seems their secret sympathies were with their imprisoned
mother, whom they were never permitted to see, nor at Hanover even to
mention her name. Duke George William was extravagantly fond of his
grandson, George Augustus, and often took him with him on his hunting
expeditions. The old Duke gave the boy much good advice, which young
George sometimes forgot to follow; but he always remembered his
grandfather with affection and respect.

Many years later, when he was George II. of England, babbling
reminiscences by the bedside of his dying consort Caroline, Lord Hervey
relates that “he said that the Duke of Zelle was fond of him, but had
often told him, as well as he loved him, if he ever found him guilty of
a base action, and that he should prove a liar or a coward, he would
shoot him through the head with his own hand”.[241]

-----

Footnote 241:

  _Lord Hervey’s Memoirs_, vol. ii.

-----

George Augustus must have been a lovable youth, and his early portraits
show him to have been very like his mother, especially in his large,
almond-shaped eyes. About this time he made a determined effort to see
his mother. The story goes that one day when he was hunting in the woods
near Luisburg, he stole away from the rest of the party, and, laying
spurs to his horse, rode at full speed in the direction of Ahlden. His
suite, missing the Prince and guessing his intention, gave pursuit, and
eventually caught him up in a wood near Reitlagen, some four miles from
the castle. Another version says that the Prince managed to get as far
as Ahlden, and actually beheld his mother, who waved to him from the
window. The Governor of the castle refused him admission, and he then
sought to gain an entrance by swimming across the Aller. In either case
his suite followed him, and, on his refusing to return, conducted the
Prince back to Hanover under compulsion.

His escapade was visited by the Elector’s heavy displeasure, and the
young George’s partisanship of his mother was probably the beginning of
bad blood between father and son, for they were frequently quarrelling,
and came to hate one another with an intense hatred. “_Il est fougueux,
mais il a du cœur_,” said the Elector George once of his son, and
certainly his effort to see his mother would seem to bear out his
father’s estimate of his character.

In April, 1700, events took a turn, which, under favourable
circumstances, might have resulted in the Princess’s liberty, and
actually gained her the one respite in her thirty-two years’ captivity.
The invasion of the Principality of Celle by French and Polish troops
under the command of the Danish Count Ahlefield and their nearness to
Ahlden, gave the Duchess of Celle the opportunity she was longing for,
and she implored her husband to bring the Princess to Celle, where she
would be out of danger. It was a pretext merely, for there was no real
danger, and even if there had been, Sophie Dorothea would doubtless have
been glad if the invaders had broken into her prison house and taken her
a captive of war. It would at least have varied the monotony of her
existence, and the change might have been for the better; it could
hardly have been for the worse.

Despite difficulties raised by Bernstorff and the Elector George, George
William was prevailed upon to grant his wife’s prayer; but he had to
stipulate that his daughter should be confined to one wing of the castle
of Celle, and he refused to see her. So one April day the gates of
Ahlden were thrown open, and the Princess was escorted over the moorland
to Celle. Every care was taken to prevent a popular demonstration. She
arrived in the dead of the night, and was conducted at once to her
apartments in the old part of the schloss, which she had occupied as a
child and during her unhappy married life on her visits to her parents.
Here the Princess remained for nearly a year, a prisoner in her father’s
house, studiously avoiding any breach of the rules laid down, and
seeking by good behaviour to soften the hearts of her jailers. The
possibility of any danger from the French soon passed away. Still the
Princess lingered at Celle, and though orders came from Hanover that she
was to be sent back to Ahlden they were not obeyed. The Duchess
intervened, and sometimes on the plea of ill-health and sometimes on
other pretexts she kept her daughter with her.

At last, however, the pressure from Hanover was so strong that the
Princess was forced to leave Celle without having spoken to her father,
though she had been nearly a year under his roof. She returned to
Ahlden, and her one golden chance of liberty was gone for ever. The good
folk of Celle were loud in favour of their beloved Princess, and got up
noisy demonstrations; but all to no purpose. Nothing availed against the
pitiless hatred of the Elector George and the Electress Sophia.

The following extracts from letters written by the Duchess of Orleans to
the Electress Sophia bear upon this incident:—

  _July_ 29, 1700.—“The Duchess of Celle has lost no time in having her
  daughter brought to Celle. I should think that her father must be very
  much embarrassed about the matter, for it will grieve him to send his
  daughter away again without seeing her, and yet the honour of the
  House does not permit him to let her remain at Celle, and there is the
  fear that the Elector would take it ill.”

  _August_ 8, 1700.—“I should like to know if the Elector will allow the
  Duchess of Ahlden to remain at Celle or if he will send her back to
  Ahlden again. I hear that the Princess leads a very solitary life, but
  all the same she is splendidly dressed, and when she takes a walk on
  the ramparts at Celle she always covers her face with a veil. I fancy
  she hopes to touch the heart of her husband by her decorous life, so
  that he may take her as his wife again.”

  _August 26_, 1700.—“I hear that the Duchess of Celle has received
  orders to send her daughter back to Ahlden, but they have not been
  carried out. The people of Celle are not to be blamed for lamenting on
  account of their Princess, but her father deserves praise for
  exhibiting such firmness.”

While the Princess was at Celle an event occurred in England pregnant
with consequences to the future of the House of Hanover, and it might
perhaps have contributed indirectly to the Elector’s determination to
send his wife back to Ahlden. The heir-presumptive to the throne of
England, Anne’s sickly little son, the Duke of Gloucester, died in July,
1700. Henceforth, for practical politics, the succession lay between the
direct line of the exiled and Roman Catholic House of Stuart, and the
remote line of the Protestant House of Hanover.[242] The Hanoverian
succession was viewed with little favour in England, at best it was a
last resort; but the failing health of King William, the impossibility
of Anne having any more children, and the determination not to restore a
Roman Catholic to the throne, made it imperative that, the nation should
do something to settle the succession. In the autumn of 1700 the
Electress Sophia, accompanied by her daughter the Electress of
Brandenburg, paid a visit to King William at Loo. The ostensible reason
of the Electress’s visit was to gain his aid in elevating the electorate
of Brandenburg to the kingdom of Prussia (which took place a little
later); but of course English people saw in it a move in the direction
of Sophia’s succession to the throne of England. The Electress seems to
have felt, as every one felt then, that events were working in favour of
the royal exiles at St. Germains; but King William, who hated Anne more
than all the exiled House of Stuart put together, urged the Electress
Sophia to assert herself in some way in opposition to the Princess Anne.
The wily old lady discreetly declined, and even suggested that the King
should come to terms with the expatriated Prince of Wales. She would not
stand in her own light, but short of that she was a Jacobite. Her
suggestion had the effect of enraging William. He turned his back on her
and left for England the next day. So the Electress had to return
crestfallen to Hanover.

-----

Footnote 242:

  The next in blood, after the children of James II., was the Duchess of
  Savoy, daughter of Henrietta, Duchess of Orleans (a daughter of
  Charles I.), and then the family of Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia
  (daughter of James I.); but all these, save the Electress Sophia, were
  Roman Catholics. It is interesting to note that the lineal descendant
  of Charles I., through the Duchess of Savoy, is Mary, Consort of
  Prince Ludwig of Bavaria, eldest son of the Prince Regent and
  heir-presumptive to the throne of Bavaria.

-----

Nevertheless William, on thinking the matter over, acted upon Sophia’s
hint, and, inspired by his hatred of Anne, made a formal offer to King
James to adopt the young Prince of Wales, bring him over to England, and
make him his successor. This policy was only possible if the Prince
would change his religion; but even if he had been willing to do so,
which he was not, it had no chance. The offer was rejected with scorn by
King James. He would make no terms with the usurper. Stung by this
contemptuous rejection, William once more took up the wild idea of
making the Electress Sophia his successor to the exclusion of his
detested sister-in-law Anne; but the old Electress knew that she had no
chance against Anne, and was far too astute to listen to any such
proposal. If it were only a question of Anne’s life, Sophia, or her son,
would not have long to wait, for Anne’s health was notoriously bad, and
her life was worth little more than William’s. Foiled in this direction,
the King had no alternative but to push on the Act of Parliament which
settled the succession of the crown of England on the Electress Sophia
and the heirs of her body, _being Protestants_, after the death of
himself and of Anne without heirs. This Act, known as the Bill of
Succession, was passed by both Houses without much opposition, and
became law in the summer of 1701.

As William was desirous of gaining the support of the Elector George
Louis to a grand alliance he was then meditating, he made the passing of
the Act an occasion to pay special honour to the Electoral House. He
despatched Lord Macclesfield to Hanover charged with the mission of
delivering a copy of the Act to the Electress Sophia, and of investing
her son with the Order of the Garter. The selection of Lord Macclesfield
was doubtless due to the fact that he was “some sort of a relation” of
the Electress Sophia’s mother, Elizabeth, daughter of James I., through
whom the succession came to the House of Hanover. His mission was a
curious compromise between the official and unofficial. He was not given
any appellation as plenipotentiary or envoy, yet he took with him a
numerous and splendid suite, including the Irish traveller, Toland, to
whose lively pen we are indebted for an account of this mission.

Whatever indifference the Electress Sophia and her son may have feigned
towards the splendid prospects opening out before them, it vanished when
the news came that Lord Macclesfield had actually set out from England.
He was met on the frontier of the electorate by the ministers and chief
officials of the electoral court, and escorted with great pomp to
Hanover, where a reception of unparalleled magnificence was accorded to
him. He and every member of his suite, down to the very valets, were
treated with profuse liberality, and lodged and entertained in the most
sumptuous manner. Had Macclesfield been William himself he could not
have been entertained more royally. A banquet was held over-night, and
the next day, the proudest day of the Electress Sophia’s life, Lord
Macclesfield formally presented her with the Act of Succession and
invested her son with the insignia of the Garter. The Electress Sophia
gave him her portrait, surmounted by the electoral crown in diamonds,
and the Elector George gave him a gold basin and ewer. The chaplain of
the mission, Dr. Sandys, presented many prayer-books to the Electress,
which she did not use, and she rewarded him with many books in return
and a gold snuff-box. All the suite were likewise given souvenirs, and
they returned to England with wonderful tales of the liberality of the
Hanoverian court, which they represented as a land flowing with milk and
honey.

Toland, writing later to the English minister in Holland, gave a long
description of the Electress Sophia and other personages at Hanover, but
of poor Sophie Dorothea, who had now gone back to her dreary captivity
at Ahlden, he has not a word to say, though he must have known of her
existence; nor had she, “the genuine wife,” as Horace Walpole calls her,
any share in her husband’s new and growing honours.

Soon after the delivery of the Act of Succession old King James died at
St. Germains, and his son declared himself determined to walk in his
father’s faith, which was all in favour of the Hanoverian succession and
the Electress Sophia. England and English affairs now absorbed her
wholly, and she had neither time nor inclination to think about Sophie
Dorothea. The Duchess of Celle kept up an agitation in her daughter’s
favour, but the Electoral court was inflated with its English prospects
and took no heed. Nothing was gained that affected the principle of the
agreement arranged before the divorce. We find the Duchess of Orleans
writing to her aunt:—

  _December_ 24, 1702.—“As the Duchess of Ahlden often sees her mother
  and other ladies, and can also go for drives, she is not so much to be
  pitied.”

And this was doubtless the view of the Electress Sophia, who would have
kept her even a closer prisoner if she could.

The death of William III. and the accession of Anne to the throne of
England brought the Electress Sophia one step nearer to her coveted
goal, and she became “the heiress of Great Britain,” as she loved to
describe herself. But Anne had no love for her “heiress” and kept her at
arm’s length. The Duchess of Celle, who had heard of Anne’s dislike of
her Hanoverian relatives and of her kindness of heart, seized the
opportunity to place the sad case of her daughter before the powerful
Queen of England. She wrote beseeching her to use her influence on
behalf of the imprisoned Princess.[243] After some time an answer
came—what it was history sayeth not. It is probable that Queen Anne did
not send an absolute refusal, but promised to give the matter her
consideration. This promise, it would seem, she kept, and she did what
she could, for we find the Duchess of Orleans writing two years
afterwards to the Electress Sophia:—

  _November_ 30, 1704.—“They say in Paris Lord Marlborough intends to
  travel to Hanover and do his best to bring about a reconciliation
  between the Duchess of Ahlden and the Elector, and he proposes to
  offer his daughter in marriage to the Prince [George Augustus].”

-----

Footnote 243:

  The letter dated September 20, 1702, is said to be in the State Paper
  Office, but I cannot find it, though mention is made by Cresset of a
  letter from the Duchess of Celle to Queen Anne, and he writes to the
  Foreign Minister at home for an answer.

-----

If Marlborough really undertook this delicate mission, it had little or
no effect. The Princess would not have bought her liberty at the price
of cohabiting again with her husband, and it may be doubted if the
Elector would have had her back on any terms. With two natures so
stubborn even the diplomacy of Marlborough could have effected nothing.

The following year, 1705, the Princess’s chances of liberty received
what must be considered their final blow by the death of her father. Of
late years the old Duke had manifested considerable interest in his
daughter, and had talked of going to see her; but Bernstorff had thrown
such obstacles in the way, and had drawn such a picture of the Electoral
displeasure and the difficulties which this meeting would surely create
with Hanover, that the ease-loving Duke gave way and postponed his
visit. But he returned to the subject ever and anon, and that his heart
had softened towards his only child is manifest from a codicil which he
added to his will dated January 26, 1705, which materially benefited the
Princess, and made her the residuary legatee of his large fortune. The
same day the Duchess of Celle also made a will, with the approval of her
husband, which provided that the “Duchess of Ahlden” should inherit at
her death a sum of sixty thousand thalers deposited in the banks of the
Hague and Amsterdam, also the estate of Olbreuse in Poitou, the mansion
of Wienhausen, and all her jewellery, furniture, and plate. She also
left her an income of three thousand thalers a year from another estate.

The combined effect of these wills was to make the prisoner of Ahlden
one of the richest heiresses in Europe. Both her father and her mother
must have had in mind her eventual liberty, as it would have been a mere
mockery to have left her this wealth and have kept her shut up in
Ahlden, where she could not spend it, and where her income was already
in excess of her needs. The old Duke at last seemed determined to do
what he could to repair the injustice done to his daughter, and when the
wills were signed he announced his determination of going to see her. He
was now in his seventieth year and his strength was fast failing; he
wished to be reconciled to his only child before he died. This natural
and laudable desire Bernstorff opposed as long as he dared, but seeing
the Duke’s mind was made up, he changed his tactics and merely advised
him to postpone his visit until after a shooting expedition on which he
was bent. The delay, as the minister hoped, proved fatal; the Duke
caught a chill, which he tried to remedy by taking the waters of
Wienhausen, and he followed this drastic cure even after he had taken to
his bed. Poley, who had now succeeded Cresset as English envoy, writes:—

  “That which contributed to his distemper was the taking the waters in
  bed, and, being in a sweat, he was so impatient as to rise in his
  shirt and open the windows, by which he got a great cold, which threw
  him into the colik and took away his stomach.... I forgot to mention
  y^e worse symptoms which attended y^e Duke of Zelle’s distemper in the
  beginning was a hyccop, which continues, and he vomits all he
  takes.”[244]

-----

Footnote 244:

  Poley’s _Despatch_, Hanover, August 18, 1705.

-----

The “hyccop” proved fatal. The Duke died ten days later, and was
universally mourned by his subjects. He was of a singularly upright and
straightforward character, always a true friend, generous and
kind-hearted; but he was irresolute and easily swayed, and possessed
that vein of obstinacy often found in weak characters. On this weakness
the wily Bernstorff played to the great benefit of Hanover and to the
detriment of the Duchess of Celle and her daughter. Bernstorff was now
rewarded for his breach of trust by being raised to the rank of Count,
and a little later he succeeded old Platen as confidential minister to
the Elector of Hanover.

The death of the Duke of Celle left his widow and daughter at the mercy
of their implacable foe the Elector. The Duchess Eléonore could expect
no consideration, and her daughter no justice, from their enemies at
Hanover. With indecent haste the widow was ordered to quit the Castle of
Celle and withdraw to Wienhausen, which had been provided for her under
her husband’s will. The whole of the territory of Celle now became
merged with that of Hanover under the Elector George, whose power and
dignity were greatly enhanced thereby; but the “genuine wife,” through
whom all this wealth came, was still kept a prisoner at Ahlden, and to
her prayers and entreaties for freedom her husband turned a deaf ear.
All Sophie Dorothea now asked was that she might be allowed to go to
live somewhere quietly with her widowed mother, and permission afforded
her to see her children. Both requests were refused. It has been stated
that George greatly increased the rigours of the Princess’s imprisonment
after her father’s death; there exists no proof of this, but he may have
cut her off from attending public worship in the parish church and have
limited her drives. Her mother was still allowed to visit her and did so
until her death, but no new concessions, not even the most trifling,
were accorded. The Elector took his stand on the agreement arrived at
before the divorce between his father and his uncle, and it was rigidly
maintained. The Princess might as well have pleaded to a stone.

The same year that witnessed the death of Duke George William saw also
the decease of two of the enemies of Sophie Dorothea. Sophia Charlotte,
Queen of Prussia, better known in this book as the Electress of
Brandenburg, expired suddenly when on a visit to Hanover. Some say she
passed away with an epigram on her lips, and others that she departed in
the true faith of a Christian. With such a conflict of testimony, who
shall say? She had been brought up “of no religion as yet,” and she
probably died in the same frame of mind. Her aged mother mourned her
greatly.

A month later the Countess Platen died. Her last years had been rendered
a torment by a disease which made her hideous to behold and deprived her
of sight. But, blind though she was, she nevertheless, as Thackeray
says, “constantly saw Königsmarck’s ghost by her wicked old bed”. She
suffered torments of remorse for her share in his death, and it is said
that she made a confession on her deathbed of the part she had played in
his murder. A document purporting to come from her confessor has been
published, but there is no proof of its genuineness.

The bells at Hanover had scarcely ceased tolling for the Duke of Celle’s
death, than they rang out a merry peal for the marriage of Sophie
Dorothea’s son, George Augustus, to Caroline of Ansbach, afterwards the
illustrious Queen Caroline of England. The young Princess had been
brought up at the court of Berlin under the wing of the Electress of
Brandenburg, first Queen of Prussia. She was beautiful, witty, and
clever, and early sided with her husband against his father; but there
is nothing to show that she took the part of his persecuted mother. The
marriage of her son affected in no way the fortunes of Sophie Dorothea,
nor was the event officially communicated to her. But the English envoy
Poley writes: “During the Duke of Zell’s being here [Hanover] the
Duchess of Zell goes to stay with her daughter, and probably to acquaint
her with her son’s marriage”.[245]

-----

Footnote 245:

  Poley’s _Despatch_, Hanover, July 21, 1705.

-----

About this time Poley was recalled to England, and he sent home an
interesting document,[246] in which he gives a detailed account of the
Electoral family of Hanover. It is, of course, written with a courtly
pen, with a view to possible eventualities, and the description which he
gives of the Electress Sophia and the Elector is more moderately worded
than that of Toland. Unlike Toland, he could not ignore the existence of
the prisoner of Ahlden, and this is how he mentions her:—

  “The Elector was formerly married to a daughter of the Duke of Zell,
  by whom he had one son and one daughter, but was afterwards separated
  from her; since which time she hath lived at Ahlden, of which she
  bears the title, in the country of Zell. She hath a revenue
  appropriated to her, and of which is in possession, and, as some have
  imagined, may perhaps goe live with her mother at the town of
  Lüneburg, whither it is said that the Duchess-Dowager of Zell intends
  to retire.”

-----

Footnote 246:

  Still preserved in the State Paper Office. “Called Mr. Poley’s account
  of the House of Brunswick, etc., upon his return from being Her
  Majesty’s envoy at Hanover, November 9, 1705.”

-----

The case could hardly be more diplomatically worded; the facts are
correct, yet the inference they convey is wholly false. One would gather
from this effusion that Sophie Dorothea was living in dignified and
voluntary retirement instead of being a prisoner in two small rooms,
closely guarded, and watched over by jailers and spies. The following
account of her children from the same despatch is also of interest:—

  “The Prince Electoral was born in the year 1683, and is of middle
  stature, but seems of constitution less vigorous than his father. He
  hath much witt and good humour in his conversation, and hath all the
  inclinations suitable to his quality. He was lately married to a
  Princess of the House of Brandenburg-Anspach of the same age with
  himself, and of so many good qualities and endowments as may promise
  much happiness to the Family.

  “The Princess of Hanover, daughter of the Elector, is of about
  eighteen years of age, and something about middle stature and well
  shaped. She hath much beauty and is of agreeable conversation. Her
  marriage hath been talked of with the King of Sweden, but I doe not
  know that it was ever proposed. The Prince Royall of Prussia, her
  couzen germane, is thought to have more inclination for her than for
  anybody else, but it hath been doubted if the King of Prussia would be
  willing to consent to that marriage.”

Poley’s surmise that the Crown Prince Frederick William of Prussia was
in love with his cousin, the young Sophie Dorothea, proved to be
correct, for though he had a “choice of three” he loved her above all
others, and overcame his father’s dislike to the match. They were
married in November, 1706, with much ceremony, at Hanover, and soon
after set out for Berlin. The lonely mother at Ahlden heard of her
daughter’s brilliant marriage in the same way as she had heard of her
son’s, through her mother; but she was not allowed to communicate with
her, nor was the Duchess-Dowager of Celle present at either of the
weddings. To the Electoral family Eléonore had once more become “the
d’Olbreuse,” and was treated accordingly. Her age, her grey hairs, her
bereavements, her powerlessness to do harm, made no difference to the
contempt and hatred with which the Electress Sophia and her son pursued
her. Her grandchildren, however, took her part, and, though they were
powerless to help their mother, they protected their grand-mother from
open insult. The young Crown Princess of Prussia was now far away from
her mother and the centre of a brilliant court, yet the lonely captive
at Ahlden contrived to enter into some sort of correspondence with her.

There was now a strong disposition on the part of the Hanoverian court
to hush up all mention of Sophie Dorothea. The time was certainly
favourable: her father was dead, her mother powerless, her children
married; she was without a friend on earth. Why should she not be
quietly buried in her living tomb? But family skeletons are notoriously
hard things to hide; they have a habit of popping out at inconvenient
seasons, and Sophie Dorothea was not a woman to be easily suppressed.
She had come to see that there was nothing to be gained by submission,
and henceforth she assumed more aggressive tactics, filling the air with
her cries, and beating her wings against the bars of her cage in vain
endeavour for freedom. Poor woman! it was vain to cry, and she only
bruised her bosom with her struggles; but one thing she achieved,—she
saved herself from being forgotten by the outside world. Her mother’s
old friend, Duke Antony Ulrich, was especially indignant at the way she
was treated after her father’s death and at the Elector’s refusal to
allow her to go and live quietly with her mother. Animated by hatred of
the House of Hanover, quite as much as by sympathy for Sophie Dorothea,
he resolved to give the world the story of her wrongs. He was powerless
to help her in any other way, but for this task he was peculiarly
fitted. Unlike most princes of his age, he dabbled in literature and was
a voluminous and ready writer, the author of prose romances, poems, and
plays. He determined to turn his gifts to account by elaborating the
story of his much-wronged cousin, which, indeed, would furnish material
for any romance. He had been working for some time at the _Roman
Octavia_, a series of episodes nominally taken from the Roman emperors,
into which he had incorporated many scenes and events of his own life
and times disguised by ancient names. He now devoted the sixth, or
supplementary, volume to the history of Sophie Dorothea. No doubt he was
aided in this by Eléonore von Knesebeck, who was then living at
Wolfenbüttel.

The narrative so closely resembled what had actually happened, that
every one could penetrate through the thinly veiled disguise of
fictitious names and learn the story of the injured Princess. It was
told in the form of dramatic dialogue, with due regard to stage effect.
Duke George William appears as King Polemon of Cappadocia; his Duchess
is Dinames, a Spanish Princess; Ernest Augustus is Mythridates, King of
Pontus. The Electress Sophia, whom Antony Ulrich especially hated, is
satirised under the name of Adonacris, “who, as the sister of the great
Indian king, gave herself the airs of one of the mightiest princesses in
the world”. George Louis figures as Prince Cotys, a dull and brutal
youth; while Sophie Dorothea appears as the Princess Solane, who for
beauty and riches had no rival in Asia. Königsmarck figures as Æquilius,
one of the Roman lords at the court of the incomparable Queen Adonacris.
The Princess’s story is then told from the beginning: her early marriage
to the man she loathed, the cruelty with which she was treated at the
court of Hanover, the appearance of Königsmarck, who had known her as a
child, and his passion for her. But the Princess in the play is
represented to be as virtuous as she was beautiful, and she resisted her
lover’s advances by every means in her power. The account of the
catastrophe is consequently modified to suit the theory of the innocence
of the Princess. It is stated that one of Her Highness’s ladies hid the
cavalier in her chamber, and then sent a message to the Princess saying
that she was ill. The Princess, in compassion, came to see her, and as
soon as she entered the room the lover threw himself at her feet. At
this juncture the Prince, her husband, appeared on the scene with a
drawn sword; the Princess swooned, and the lover was hurried away, never
again to see the light. The Princess’s protestations of innocence were
without avail, and as appearances were against her a divorce was
effected, and she was consigned to prison, where she bore her fate with
dignity.

Such, in rough outline, is the story of this work, which had a great
success. It was eagerly read in every court of Europe and continued to
have a large circulation far into the eighteenth century, and even in
the present century has formed the unacknowledged source of many
so-called “lives” of Sophie Dorothea. The lonely Prisoner of Ahlden was
one of the most talked-about women of her generation. The secrecy and
mystery surrounding her only served to whet the public curiosity.

The Electress Sophia early obtained a copy of the _Octavia_, and so did
her niece, the Duchess of Orleans. We find her writing to her aunt:—

  _July_ 25, 1708.—“I am going to read the _Octavia_ over again, as
  George Louis has been kind enough to send me the key to it. Duke
  Antony Ulrich makes Solane appear innocent, but that is only done to
  save the honour of the House. In all matters his truth is mixed with a
  modicum of lies. Cotys I consider cold, but not brutal. There is no
  doubt that Solane was a coquette; Lassaye has told me plenty about
  that, so much that I have not the slightest doubt about it. I was
  obliged to laugh, when Duke Christian looks on it as an improvement
  that she had at least stuck to _one_ in particular.... I, however,
  find safety in numbers: one is dangerous, as events have proved. I
  should like to know if her husband has still any wish to see her,
  particularly as they say she is still beautiful. It would be only
  right for her mother to keep her company, for her bad upbringing is
  the cause of all the daughter’s misfortunes.”

On this string, the bad upbringing, the Duchess is always harping.
Still, as the years went on, even she could not forbear some pity for
the imprisoned woman. We find the following allusions in her letters to
her aunt, and they are about the only authentic record we have of Sophie
Dorothea during these years:—

  _October_ 27, 1709.—“It must grieve the Princess deeply to know that
  her children are so near and not to be able to see them; I really feel
  sorry for her. I should like to know if her children have any desire
  to see her.”

But apparently she repents of this pity, for the next year we find
this:—

  _May_ 8, 1710.—“That the Princess always sits before her looking-glass
  may be excused her, and proves that her nature is to coquette.”

Two years later the correspondence between these two remarkable women
ceased for ever—the Electress Sophia was dead. She died within sight of
her promised land.

Sophia expired suddenly in the gardens of Herrenhausen on June 10, 1714,
Queen Anne on the following September 1, so the Electress missed being
Queen of England by a little more than two months, and died with the
desire of her heart ungratified. “I care not when I die,” said this
dauntless old woman, “if on my tomb it be recorded that I was Queen of
Great Britain.” But on her coffin in the vault at Herrenhausen it is
only written that she was “Heiress of Britain”. Perhaps this was a
retribution on her for her harshness to her unhappy daughter-in-law,
Sophie Dorothea.




                            CHAPTER XXVIII.

                            CROWN AND GRAVE.
                              (1714-1726.)

                   Dead, long dead,
                   Long dead!
                   And my heart is a handful of dust.
                                TENNYSON, _Maud_.


A few hours after Queen Anne breathed her last the Elector of Hanover
was proclaimed in London as George I. King of Great Britain and Ireland
as quietly as if he had been undisputed heir to the throne, and Lord
Berkeley was sent with a fleet to Orange Polder, in Holland, to bring
over the new King. The news was speedily conveyed to Hanover; but George
received it without enthusiasm, and showed no haste to enter upon his
inheritance. When he at last set out for his new dominion he took with
him a horde of Hanoverian parasites, and two unlovely women, one his
mistress, Ermengarda Melusina von Schulenburg, and the other Madame
Kielmansegge, a daughter of Countess Platen, but whether the King’s
mistress, or half-sister, or both, must remain a vexed question. She
herself claimed to be the daughter of Ernest Augustus, and George I.
appears to have acknowledged the kinship.[247]

-----

Footnote 247:

  He created her Countess of Darlington, and in the patent of her
  peerage, which by the courtesy of Count Kielmansegg I have been
  permitted to see at Gülzow, the words “_dilectam consanguineam
  nostram_” appear.

-----

Accompanied by these two favourites, King George set sail from Orange
Polder, where the English fleet was waiting, and landed two days later
at Greenwich. He was not left stranded on the mud this time, as in the
days of his former visit when he came a-courting the Lady Anne of York.
A servile crowd of place-hunters was now awaiting him whose fervent
expressions of loyalty he rated for what they were worth. Two days later
the King made his public entry into London. His heavy, ungainly presence
and ungracious manner did not impress the populace favourably; but their
dislike changed to derision when they saw the two hideous women by whom
he was accompanied, and they relieved their feelings by hoots and yells.
So entered into his kingdom the first of our Hanoverian Sovereigns.

In her lonely castle of Ahlden Sophie Dorothea heard of the splendid
heritage of the English crown; but she had no regrets on that score, all
she grieved for was her loss of liberty. The accession of George I. made
no difference to her lot; she was still kept in durance vile, still
styled Duchess of Ahlden, and refused the rank and title of Queen as she
had been refused the rank and title of Electress. Yet she was _de jure_,
if not _de facto_, queen consort of George I., albeit a disowned and
uncrowned one, as Caroline of Brunswick was, nearly a century later, the
uncrowned consort of George IV. There seems little authority for the
statement made by Doran and others that, previous to the King’s
departure for England, he made overtures through a confidential minister
to his imprisoned wife for a reconciliation, and on this and other
occasions he was met by her words: “If I am guilty, I am not worthy of
him; if I am innocent, he is not worthy of me”. It is also said that she
stipulated, as a preliminary, for a public apology and perfect freedom,
and as this was refused negotiations broke down. But in the face of
other evidence it seems unlikely that the King would have entered upon
such negotiations at all. He had never shown the least wish to have his
wife back again, and she had always declared her determination never to
return to conjugal relations with him on any pretext whatever; it may be
doubted if the prospect of becoming Queen Consort of England would have
been sufficiently dazzling to have tempted her to rejoin him.

Viewed as a matter of policy, it would have been a good thing if George
I. could have taken his wife to England with him. Though now well
advanced in middle life (Sophie Dorothea was nearly fifty years of age
and had been imprisoned twenty years), she was still beautiful, and her
many accomplishments, her grace and dignity, would have lent a charm to
the dull court of St. James and have helped to popularise the Hanoverian
_régime_. But Sophie Dorothea had never shown herself _une femme
complaisante_, and would most surely have objected to the harem which
accompanied her husband to England. Knowing this, George I. doubtless
thought it better to keep his wife shut up in Ahlden than to embark upon
any hazardous scheme of reconciliation. His hands were full enough of
domestic worries without being troubled with any more. His quarrels and
bickerings with the Prince of Wales were matters of common notoriety,
and reflected little credit on the dynasty; so every effort was made to
keep the other family scandal hidden from his English subjects. Some of
the Hanoverian suite who accompanied the King to England gave out that
His Majesty was a widower; others that his wife was mad; and others that
she was a Papist; but the Jacobites ferreted out the truth, and did not
scruple to make the most of it.

The harshness with which the King treated his consort formed the
favourite indictment against him, and was always brought up at popular
demonstrations, as, for instance, on the anniversary of the death of
Queen Anne, until the end of his reign. The story of Sophie Dorothea’s
hardships and misery in her mysterious castle was greatly exaggerated,
and any allusion to the subject was resented by the King, who was
especially sensitive on this score. He even thought it possible that his
wife might escape from her prison, come over to England, and proclaim
the story of her wrongs; so when he left Hanover he gave orders that she
was to be guarded more closely than ever. This espionage was accompanied
by extraordinary care for her health; the most loving husband could not
have been more solicitous. In addition to her resident doctor at Ahlden,
court physicians from Hanover visited the captive at stated intervals
and made reports. This solicitude arose, not from regard, but from
superstition. “It is known,” writes Walpole, “that in Queen Anne’s time
there was much noise about the French prophets, and it certainly was a
most superstitious age. One of this company, a prophetess Deborah, who
was much esteemed for her prophetic gifts, once came to Hanover and told
King George, who was then Elector, to take every care of his wife, as he
would certainly not survive her twelve months.”

Like all Germans, George I. was very superstitious, and Madame
Schulenburg was even more so; so orders were given that everything
should be done to keep the prisoner at Ahlden in good health. To this
she probably owed what liberty she possessed, including her daily
drives. The reports which reached her tyrant from time to time were
reassuring, for the captive enjoyed the best of health, to which her
regular life no doubt contributed.

Her one grievance now was her imprisonment, against which, during the
whole of her residence at Ahlden, she did not cease to protest and
struggle. Time only intensified her desire for freedom. Short of this
she bore her lot with fortitude and resignation, and even her enemies
gave grudging testimony to the admirable way in which she ordered her
life. The daily round, weary and monotonous though it was, brought
little duties which she never neglected. Her household and estates were
admirably managed, and in the country around the poor rose up and called
her blessed. When the village of Ahlden was burnt down in 1715 she
rebuilt it at her own expense, and widened the view from the castle. She
derived great comfort from the consolations of religion, and every
Sunday she took the sacrament in the presence of her household, and
prayed God to forgive her enemies and turn their hearts. Even against
her arch-enemy, her husband, she at this time said nothing. The only ray
of light in her gloom were the visits of her mother, who, despite her
advanced age and increasing infirmities, still came from Wienhausen to
see her beloved daughter as often as she was permitted to do so. She
also found relief in her literary labours; she was always a graceful and
ready writer, and in her later years she cultivated this faculty to her
utmost. She wrote her memoirs in the hope that they would be permitted
to see the light; but they were never given to the world, though many
spurious imitations have been foisted on the public. It is believed also
that romance and poetry flowed from her pen; reams and reams of paper
were covered by her handwriting, and boxes and boxes of manuscripts
accumulated at Ahlden during the long years of her captivity, most of
them circling around the tale of her own sad lot, and chiefly written
with a view to setting herself right with the world. All these papers
were ultimately suppressed, burned, or otherwise destroyed by order of
the Hanoverian government, and, save for a few scattered fragments of
little value, nothing has been left; her literary labours were as vain
as the labours of Sisyphus. When she first came to Ahlden she carried on
an extensive correspondence with friends and acquaintances, but it had
gradually thinned by death. She still, however, wrote and received many
letters, many of them quite openly, some in secret. Of the latter, the
most important was her correspondence with her daughter, the Queen of
Prussia.

[Illustration:

  SOPHIE DOROTHEA, SECOND QUEEN OF PRUSSIA (DAUGHTER OF SOPHIE DOROTHEA
    AND GEORGE I.).
  _From the painting by Johann L. Hirschmann._
]

Soon after the young Princess’s marriage the King of Prussia died, and
on her husband’s accession she became the second Queen of Prussia. One
of her first acts was to take into her service the faithful Eléonore
Knesebeck, who until this time had been living at Brunswick and
Wolfenbüttel. From Knesebeck the Queen learned the story of the
captive’s wrongs.[248] Her heart had always yearned to her imprisoned
mother, and, moved to fresh pity by the recital of Knesebeck, she
determined to do what she could to ameliorate her lot. Under the seal of
secrecy she opened up a correspondence with the prisoner of Ahlden. As
this was contrary to the orders of both the King of Prussia and the King
of England, it was necessary to surround it with extraordinary
precautions. For several years mother and daughter managed to keep up a
frequent correspondence, which was maintained chiefly through the Count
de Bar, who, since the death of the Duke of Celle, had acted as Sophie
Dorothea’s man of business, and looked after her money matters; Ludwig,
a privy councillor at Berlin; Frederick, one of the Queen of Prussia’s
pages, and Ludemann, a bailiff at Ahlden also assisted. Many
communications passed between mother and daughter, not only on private
matters, but on public affairs; the mother always imploring her daughter
to aid her to gain her liberty, the daughter always promising to do her
best, counselling patience, and sending from time to time little gifts
to mark her good-will. The King of Prussia soon got to know what was
going on, but he discreetly shut his eyes for reasons of his own. He
knew that his mother-in-law was possessed of a large property entirely
under her control, and was also heiress to another. At her death she
would leave her daughter a substantial share, if not the whole, and she
was therefore a person to be humoured. The Queen of Prussia knew this,
too, and subsequent events seem to show that this knowledge was not
without its influence on her display of filial affection. But the poor
lady at Ahlden believed her daughters solicitude to be all born of love,
and she gave back the love fourfold. She was of a warm-hearted,
affectionate, and impulsive disposition, a nature years of solitude and
misery had neither warped nor soured.

-----

Footnote 248:

  It is probable that the Queen of Prussia knew also of her mother’s
  mistakes, for the letters which passed between Sophie and Königsmarck,
  now in the Berlin archives, are supposed to have been sent to Berlin
  from Hanover to prejudice the Queen against the prisoner of Ahlden.

-----

King George would have been very angry if he had known of this
correspondence; but he was now chiefly in England, and he tried to
forget the very existence of his wife.

Far away from Ahlden, he was acquitting himself after his manner in his
new dominions. He loved not England; he never troubled to learn the
language, nor to make himself acquainted with the laws and customs of
the country over which he was called to reign. He left all government in
the hands of his ministers, made them responsible, and directed his
energies to plundering England for the benefit of his beloved Hanover.
His favourite ladies followed suit, and their greed and unloveliness
gave rise to the grossest lampoons.

As a reward for their complaisance in following him to England, King
George had settled on them large incomes, and lodged them in St. James’s
Palace. He created Schulenburg Duchess of Kendal, and Kielmansegge
Countess of Darlington. These were the ladies who graced the court of
St. James under George I. Never had England seen more avaricious
favourites, not even in the worst days of the Stuarts. Charles II. had
his mistresses, numerous and extravagant enough in all truth, but they
were beautiful, as Lady Castlemaine, or witty, as the Duchess of
Portsmouth, or good-natured, like Nell Gwynne. But the Georgian
favourites were not as these; they represented vice in all its ugliness.
Even in their failings the Stuarts were picturesque, and invested their
wrongdoing with a certain splendour and refinement. But what can be said
in defence of the court of our first Hanoverian Sovereign? how palliate
its utter grossness, its ugliness, meanness, and avarice? And as George
I. began his reign, so it continued to the end: the English court, if
court it could be called, had never sunk so low. The palace of St. James
became a focus of shameless immorality and sordid corruption, and to it
all was added the bitterness of a family feud. The father hated the son,
and the son hated the father; the ministers hated the mistresses, and
the mistresses hated the ministers. All was, in short, hatred,
falsehood, and intrigue; the worst passions of human nature were
fostered in this fœtid atmosphere. Such was the reign of the first
George, and such was the man who sat in judgment on his wife, and doomed
her to lifelong imprisonment because, in her youth, she had loved one
man, not wisely, but too well. Faugh! the air stifles us, let us open
the windows and away.

Back again to Ahlden, back to the lonely castle on the desolate heath,
over which the wind swept shrilly. Yet, shrill and biting though it was,
it at least had no taint of the poisonous breath of St. James’s. Back
again to the poor prisoner of nearly thirty years, eating her heart out
in loneliness and woe, praying daily for the deliverance, that never
came. Let us hasten quickly: it is our last journey.

Early in 1722 Sophie Dorothea lost the one being whom she could trust in
the world, the mother whose love had never failed her, and who, in the
darkest hour, sought to protect her interests and defend her good name
against all the world. Since her husband’s death the Duchess of Celle,
though grudgingly accorded the outward honours due to her rank, had been
subject to many petty insults and annoyances from the Hanoverian
government, which she suffered uncomplainingly.

Up to a short time of her death the Duchess Eléonore was regular in her
visits to her daughter. Her cheerful presence came as the one gleam of
sunshine in the darkness of Ahlden; she was never tired of preaching
resignation and of holding out the hope of a brighter future. One of her
last acts was to again make her will in favour of her daughter, securing
to her more firmly all the property she possessed, with the exception of
a substantial life income which she bequeathed to her old friend Duke
Antony Ulrich of Wolfenbüttel. As soon as she had settled her earthly
affairs the Duchess grew much weaker, and was warned that her end was
near; but, weak and ailing though she was, she rose from her bed and
made a supreme effort to visit her daughter once more. She journeyed to
Ahlden, and had her last interview with the unhappy captive, and gave
her her blessing. Mother and daughter parted with tears, fully persuaded
they would never meet again. Their forebodings were soon realised, for
when the Duchess reached home she returned to her bed, from which she
never rose again. She was buried in the ducal vaults of Celle next her
husband, but the vacant niche for her statue in the chancel above has
never been filled,—another instance of the meanness of George I., who
carried his vindictiveness even beyond the grave.

The courts of England, Hanover, and Berlin decreed mourning as in duty
bound, and in this the “Duchess of Ahlden” was permitted to join.
Previously she had received no official notification of the mournings
and rejoicings in her family, not even of her father’s death and her
children’s marriages.

Sophie Dorothea had reason enough to mourn, God knows: she had lost her
one true friend on earth, and there seemed no prospect for her but to
live on, uncared for, at the mercy of the relentless tyrant, her
husband. Her fortitude of years began to give way, and in despair she
meditated wild plans of escape, and set aside large sums of money to
this end. But, alas! the very people she trusted took her gold with one
hand and betrayed her with the other. For a little time she was not
without hope. Her son-in-law, King Frederick of Prussia, seemed
interested in her cause; but his interest proved purely selfish. He was
absolutely indifferent as to what became of his wife’s mother, but was
exceedingly interested in her fortune, which had been largely augmented
by the death of the Duchess of Celle. He employed an agent in Hanover to
discover exactly how matters stood and what share his wife would inherit
from her mother. These inquiries gave great umbrage to King George. But
they need not have done so, for when the King of Prussia discovered that
his Queen would possess at least half her mother’s fortune he no longer
paid the captive of Ahlden the least consideration, and ordered his wife
to discontinue her correspondence with her mother. Nevertheless,
communications continued to pass between Ahlden and Berlin, though under
greater secrecy than before. The Count de Bar, who was indeed a traitor
of the deepest dye, was suspected by the Queen of Prussia, and she
repeatedly warned her mother against him; but Sophie Dorothea clung to
him to the very last.

One fertile subject of correspondence between mother and daughter was on
what was called the “double marriage scheme” between Sophie Dorothea’s
grandchildren—namely, the marriage of Frederick, son of the Prince of
Wales, to Wilhelmina, daughter of the King and Queen of Prussia, and of
their son Fritz, afterwards Frederick the Great, to Amelia, second
daughter of the Prince of Wales. This double marriage was a darling
project of the Queen of Prussia, cherished by her almost from the time
the children were born. She was supported by her father, the King of
England, but opposed by her husband, the King of Prussia. The “Duchess
of Ahlden” opposed it, too, and instructed her agent at Berlin to work
against the scheme, though how it could have made any difference to her
passes imagination. This opposition so incensed the Queen of Prussia
that she sent word to her mother to the effect that when the marriage
scheme was an accomplished fact she would work her hardest to set her
free, but not until then. As these marriages could not come off for
years, in consequence of the youth of the Princess Amelia, this message
was disheartening, and at first Sophie Dorothea would not credit it; but
it is characteristic that it made no change in her opposition. There was
no more to be expected from the King and Queen of Prussia. Foiled in the
direction she had hoped for deliverance, she fell back again on plans of
escape. From time to time she had entrusted Count de Bar with large sums
of money, amounting altogether to some sixty thousand pounds, which he
deposited in the Bank of Amsterdam. He afterwards appropriated most of
this to his own use;—but that is to anticipate. At this time Sophie
Dorothea trusted him wholly, and her object in placing this money at
Amsterdam was that it might come in useful to her in case she escaped
from her husband’s territory; but how she thought to effect a flight
from the closely guarded castle of Ahlden it is impossible to say. In
this secret flight the Count de Bar was to assist. The Queen of Prussia
became aware of the project, and in much alarm entreated her mother to
be patient. She again promised that she would help her as soon as her
pet scheme of the double marriage was out of the way, and she asked her
mother to help her to effect it. She must have meant help with money to
bribe ministers and agents, for there was no other way save money in
which the imprisoned Princess could be of any use. She also advised a
“general amnesty,” which meant that her mother should seek a
reconciliation with King George, and express her willingness to submit
to his terms, whatever they might be. But Sophie Dorothea had a proud
spirit, which all these years of captivity could not break, and she was
a difficult woman to deal with. Much as she desired her freedom, she
would make no sacrifice of dignity or consistency.

In the following letter to the Count de Bar, then at Berlin, she thus
expresses herself on these proposals:—

                                          “[AHLDEN,] _July_ 28, 1725

  “I thank God that nothing in the world, not even the most dazzling and
  tempting prospect, would make the least impression upon me, or lead me
  into any meanness. I repeat that you are absolutely master to do as
  you please; but it is impossible for me ever to give my approval to a
  marriage scheme which would indubitably separate my daughter from my
  interests, and the consequences of which speak but too plainly for
  themselves. As to the ‘general amnesty’ which is deemed absolutely
  necessary, I told you last year what I thought on that subject. I
  merely add now that I have Christian sentiments, and am neither
  implacable nor animated with an unworthy desire of vengeance. I am far
  from wishing anything harsh or cruel. But it would be very mortifying
  to me to find myself disappointed of all satisfaction after so many
  outrages and insults; and this cannot be considered as a criminal
  revenge, but rather as a point of honour, conformable to Holy
  Scripture and the example of St. Paul. See the Acts of the Apostles,
  chap. xvi., vv. 36, 37.

                                                  “SOPHIE DOROTHEA.”

There is little doubt that Sophie Dorothea was wise in refusing to part
with money to advance the Queen of Prussia’s marriage schemes without
some adequate security that her daughter would really carry out her
promise; and she was probably wise, too, in spurning the idea of a
general amnesty if that involved submission to George I. and his
mistresses. She would sacrifice her dignity and consistency on the one
hand, and would gain nothing on the other, for it was hardly likely that
the King’s promises, supposing that he made any, were to be trusted.
This uncompromising attitude on her part furnished the Queen of Prussia
with a further pretext for doing nothing more for her mother, and she
directed her confidential agent, Frederick, to communicate, through
Ludemann, the bailiff of Ahlden, “that affairs were in so bad a state
that it was impossible to take any steps without making bad worse and
causing more unhappiness, but that time and Providence would ameliorate
everything”. She also refused to receive the Count de Bar any more at
Berlin, as she distrusted both his good faith and his ability.
Frederick, the Queen’s agent, was sent to interview Ludemann, either at
Ahlden or at some place near, and to communicate to him verbally the
Queen’s message to her mother. Ludemann drew up a report of his
conversation with Frederick, which, _inter alia_, runs as follows:—

  “The Queen sends her best regards to Her Highness with the strongest
  assurances of her entire affection, respect, and filial devotion,
  soliciting to maintain a place in the affections of her mother, for
  whom she forwards some souvenirs. She would with pleasure have
  written, but the circumstances in which she is placed render writing
  too hazardous. The least movement in Her Highness’s favour cannot be
  made without great danger.”

The Queen of Prussia’s messenger went on to say that all correspondence
and communications must cease for a time. On behalf of the Queen he
again denounced the Count de Bar as a dangerous traitor. Ludemann,
Sophie Dorothea’s agent, commented on the Queen’s dislike of the Count
as very strange, considering how long a time he had served Sophie
Dorothea and her father before her. After considerable parley the report
shows that the Queen again promises her mother that if she would only
keep quiet until the affair of the double marriage was arranged she
would do all she could to help her. It is clear from this that the Queen
of Prussia’s interest was a purely selfish one.

Sophie Dorothea was greatly dissatisfied with Ludemann’s report of his
interview with the Queen’s agent and refused to believe much of it. She
was unable to appreciate the necessity of secrecy, she refused the
presents, and expressed her confidence and trust in the Count de Bar in
the two following spirited memoranda to her daughter:—

                                         “AHLDEN, _August_ 26, 1725.

                                                   SOPHIE DOROTHEA.”

                                       “AHLDEN, _September_ 5, 1725.

  “In case there should be repeated at Hanover what has been said at
  Rhaburg concerning the Count de Bar, I declare that my firm and
  constant will is that the Count de Bar shall continue to act for me in
  my affairs as he has always done hitherto. I ought not, and I will
  not, prevent those, whom Heaven in its infinite mercy has been pleased
  to raise up to have compassion on me, from acting in my favour and for
  my interest. But in future he shall not annoy anybody in Berlin.

                                                  “SOPHIE DOROTHEA.”

In the autumn of the same year Sophie Dorothea learned that the Queen of
Prussia was coming to Hanover on a visit to her father, George I., who
had come over from England to spend a few months in his beloved
electorate. As the Queen would be so near her mother’s prison Sophie
Dorothea prayed earnestly to see her, and the daughter half promised to
come. The moral effect of a visit from the Queen of Prussia to the
neglected captive at Ahlden would have been very great, and could not
have failed to benefit the prisoner, at least in increased consideration
and respect. It would have been a sign to all the world that her
daughter was on her side. No wonder the friendless captive desired it so
ardently! When she heard that her daughter had arrived at Hanover she
dressed herself with more than usual care, and looked out from her
window day after day across the moorland. It was a different face from
that which had looked out from the casement thirty years before in the
bloom of its youthful beauty. The Princess’s hair was white now, and her
face lined and drawn, but she still retained traces of great loveliness.

The days went by and the Queen came not, though day by day, and hour by
hour, the captive strained her eyes in the direction of Hanover and her
ears for sound of the chariot wheels. When the Queen of Prussia arrived
at Hanover she was afraid to move in the matter. Her husband forbade her
to go to Ahlden, for fear of angering her father, whom he wished to
conciliate. So she abandoned the idea, and lost her one chance of seeing
her mother.

By-and-by the news came to Ahlden that the Queen of Prussia had gone
back to Berlin, and for the first time for long years Sophie Dorothea
gave up hope. She had counted so much on this visit, built so many
castles in the air upon it, made so many plans, gone over again and
again what she would say and how she would greet her daughter, that the
disappointment nearly broke her heart. Her daughter had failed her, as
all others had failed. It was a convincing proof that, despite all
protestations, the Queen of Prussia could not, or would not, make any
decisive step on her mother’s behalf.

The result of this disappointment was to make Sophie Dorothea cling more
closely to the Count de Bar and centre her hopes around him. She caught
at him as the drowning man catches at the proverbial straw. One by one
her friends had died or proved false, the last of the list of traitors
being Ludemann, the bailiff of Ahlden; but she trusted all the more
implicitly the Count de Bar, who was the greatest traitor of all. She
wrote to him when she was still smarting under the sense of her
daughter’s neglect the following letter, in which she again assures him
of her confidence:—

                                      “AHLDEN, _September_ 27, 1725.

  “Words cannot express all I think,” she writes, “all I have always
  thought without the least diminution, all I shall never cease to
  think. In the name of God, be always the same to me, as I shall be to
  you till my latest breath.”

She speaks of the “dragons and spies” by whom she was surrounded, and,
after adverting on the marriage scheme and the treachery of Ludemann,
she goes on to say:—

  “I am of opinion that the whole of this black business [the treachery
  of Ludemann] has been got up by the clique here for reasons and ends
  easy to be perceived. This affair has caused me very deep and poignant
  grief, and shows me the deplorable and dangerous condition wherein I
  am placed—a condition which is getting worse and worse. I am
  surrounded by people, without pity or justice, and their number is
  daily increasing. I am incessantly exposed to their calumnies, false
  suspicions, and ill-turns. They now have it more than ever in their
  power to invent words and actions which they attribute to me, and so
  strive to blacken my reputation. Ludemann, who was the only channel
  through which I could learn anything and make known the truth, is at
  present absolutely devoted to them.

  “If I feared poison many years ago, my present circumstances are such
  as to strengthen that fear; and as life is not now indifferent to me,
  this suspicion, added to all the rest, would surely disturb my
  tranquillity did not the Almighty grace of God preserve peace in my
  heart in spite of all storms, and give me increased strength and
  courage in proportion to the greater need I have of them: I have never
  had more need of them than now. You may rest assured that, with the
  aid of that divine grace, nothing on earth will bring about a change
  in my sentiments or conduct, nor lead me to any action in the
  slightest degree mean and unworthy. I will resolutely and steadfastly
  adhere to what I have held fast for so many years, without the
  smallest change. My honour and what I owe to myself demand it, and
  every conceivable reason strengthens me in this policy.

  “My health is good, and better than might be expected in my agitated
  state of mind. The God of mercy supports me in a marvellous way; and I
  take care of myself, since my friends have the goodness to be
  interested in my welfare. The strong expressions I made use of in my
  preceding letter on this subject were intended to convey an idea of
  the great annoyance I am suffering on all sides. Indeed, they excite
  in me an intense disgust of this place and an ardent desire to leave
  it.”

Sophie Dorothea was utterly alone in the world: her mother was dead, her
daughter had failed her, and she was at the mercy of hirelings, who,
under pretext of sympathy, were continually robbing and betraying her.
Her one idea now was to effect an escape from Ahlden. A year later we
find her writing again to the Count de Bar; in her letter she speaks of
the “unheard-of injustice and fury of my enemies,” and entreats him to
come to her. She goes on to say:—

             “AHLDEN, _August_ 19, 1726, 3 _o’clock in the morning_.

  “I must confess that the news that has come from beyond the sea
  occupies my mind. God grant there may be no obstacle to delay what I
  have at heart more than I can express! You are not ignorant, sir, what
  that is: all my sentiments are known to you. I picture myself becoming
  a monster losing its sight, but I have hardly thought about it. I
  doubt whether Heaven, in exchange, will be pleased to open certain
  eyes. I am entirely ignorant of what is passing in the world except
  what I learn from the ordinary political news. I am guarded, and more
  pains than ever are taken to prevent my learning anything.”

This was the last cry for help. The Count de Bar hastened not to her
succour, but, instead, the Pale Horseman came galloping over the heath.
Deliverance was at hand—the last deliverance, whose name is Death. Yet
before that came Sophie Dorothea had to drink the last drop in her cup
of bitterness. Convincing proof was brought her that the man in whom she
trusted was added to the long list of traitors. He had never meant to
come, he had never wished her to escape; she had henceforth no one to
whom she could turn.

This was the last betrayal the unhappy woman had to suffer. Under it
strength and fortitude gave way. She wrote one more letter (to be
delivered after her death), and gave it under seal to a trusty
messenger. Then she broke down utterly, and took to her bed with an
attack of something like brain fever. The Governor of the castle sent
hurriedly to Hanover, and the news of her serious illness was conveyed
to the King in England. Everything that medical skill could do was done
without avail: court physicians, apothecaries, and surgeons hurried from
Hanover to the lonely castle; but they could do nothing. Confidential
ministers of state came, too; but they were also helpless—they could
only listen, shuddering, to the awful ravings of the dying woman. The
seal she had set on her lips for years was broken at last, and day after
day as she fought for life she denounced the tyrant who had been her
jailer and her judge, and cried to Heaven for vengeance upon him. She
lost all rallying power, and grew weaker and weaker, until at last, one
dull November day, when the chill mists hung heavy over the marshes
around Ahlden, Sophie Dorothea breathed her last in the little room
which had been her prison for many weary years!

Sophie Dorothea died on November 13, 1726, in the sixty-first year of
her age and the thirty-third of her captivity.




                             CHAPTER XXIX.

                              RETRIBUTION.
                                (1727.)

             My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,
             And every tongue brings in a several tale,
             And every tale condemns me for a villain.
                        SHAKESPEARE, _King Richard III_.


Over in England the King heard the news of his wife’s death with
ill-concealed concern, born not of remorse, but fear. In his
superstitious soul he remembered the prophecy and trembled. His
forebodings of evil were not lessened when Prince Waldeck arrived from
Hanover with secret despatches, which gave a detailed account of the
awful deathbed at Ahlden and the dying woman’s appeal to the retribution
of Heaven. Nor did the King derive much comfort from his withered
mistresses, for the Duchess of Kendal, to whom he confided all, had a
firm faith in omens, visions, and soothsayers, and was even more
troubled than he. By way of averting the curse she became more devout
than ever, and attended church as many as four times a day,
notwithstanding the fact that the Lutheran minister at the German Chapel
Royal refused her the communion on the ground that she was living in
unrepentant adultery. King George sought to shake off his depression by
every means in his power, and the very evening that he learned the
tidings his wife was no more he sought distraction by going to see a
performance of the Italian comedians at the Haymarket, accompanied by
the Duchess of Kendal and Lady Darlington. The next day he commanded a
special performance at the King’s Theatre, which was followed by others,
though up to now the play was a pastime he had very rarely indulged in.
But all his efforts were ineffectual, for the shade of his victim
haunted him, and her dying cry for vengeance rang in his ears. Sophie
Dorothea was more powerful in death than in life.

Outwardly the court of St. James ignored the event, and, beyond a line
in the _London Gazette_ to the effect that the “Duchess of Ahlden” had
died at Ahlden on a date specified, the death of the wife of the King of
England and the mother of the King to be received no official notice
whatever. But the court of Hanover on receipt of the news from Ahlden
had very properly assumed mourning, as on the occasion of the decease of
the Duchess of Celle. When King George heard this he waxed exceeding
wroth, and sent peremptory orders to the Hanoverian officials to return
to their ordinary wear. His anger was increased when he learned that the
court of Berlin had decreed the deepest mourning, as for a Queen of
England who was also mother of the Queen of Prussia. It was a natural
mark of respect for the daughter to pay, and it showed to all the world
that she believed her mother to be an injured woman. George I. resented
the court mourning at Berlin as a personal affront, and protested; but
his protest was in vain. Thus did his mean malice pursue his victim even
in death.

Meanwhile the body of Sophie Dorothea lay in a plain leaden coffin in
the vaults of the castle of Ahlden, awaiting the King’s orders. None
dared pay the remains any honour, nor even give them a decent and
Christian burial, for fear of offending the tyrant in England. With the
new year (1727) Prince Waldeck came back from London with the royal
command that the “Duchess of Ahlden” should be buried with as little
ceremony as possible in a grave dug in the garden of the castle. But the
season was rainy and the Aller overflowed its banks, and though the
grave-diggers dug again and again in the swampy ground the waters always
rushed into the grave and rendered their labours vain. It was impossible
to communicate quickly with the King across the sea, so the coffin was
ignominiously carried back again to the cellar, covered over with a heap
of sand, and left until further orders. It would have been left there
until now, for all the King cared, had he not been a prey to
superstitious fears. He could not sleep, he could not rest, and life was
becoming a burden to him. This may have been due to advancing years and
an impaired digestion, for he was a coarse and heavy eater; but the
Duchess of Kendal declared that she was warned in a dream that it was
all the work of the unquiet spirit of Sophie Dorothea, and her ghost
would never rest, nor let the King rest, until her body was laid by the
side of her ancestors at Celle.

[Illustration: THE CHURCH AT CELLE, WHERE SOPHIE DOROTHEA IS BURIED.]

One May morning, therefore, a King’s messenger arrived at Ahlden from
England with orders, under the royal sign manual, that the remains of
the “Duchess of Ahlden” should be interred in the ducal burial-vaults in
the old church of Celle as quietly and expeditiously as possible. That
same night the body was taken from the cellar, hoisted on to a vehicle,
and conveyed across the moorland to Celle, where it arrived while the
little town was still sleeping. Three or four workmen from the castle
were waiting in the church and everything was in readiness. Without any
ceremony or religious service the coffin was hurried down to the vaults
under the chancel, where it lies until this day.

The church above is full of effigies of Sophie Dorothea’s ancestors,
whose deeds and renown are blazoned forth in brass and marble and
painted glass; but there is neither memorial nor inscription to mark the
last resting-place of the heiress of Celle, who, by virtue of her
sufferings, was the most famous of them all. In the dark vault below,
her remains could not be identified at all were it not for a small
shield on the top right-hand corner of the coffin, containing her name
and the dates of birth and death. Hard by in the “French Garden” of
Celle there stands a monument to Caroline Matilda, Princess of England
and Queen of Denmark, whose sad lot closely resembled that of her
ancestress Sophie Dorothea, and whose body was deposited in the same
vault half a century later. But of the heiress of Celle, direct
ancestress of two of the mightiest sovereigns in the modern world, there
exists no monument whatever. Now that the flight of years has
obliterated the bitterness which clung around her name it is surely time
that some memorial were raised to her memory. And where more fitting
than in the place of her birth, near the grey walls of the old castle?
She was the last princess of Celle, and in the hearts of the people the
tradition of her beauty and her woes still lingers.

The vision which appeared to the Duchess of Kendal must have been a
lying spirit, for though Sophie Dorothea slept with her forefathers, no
relief came to her oppressor. King George was overwrought, nervous, and
dispirited. His government was honeycombed with intrigues, his quarrel
with his son was intensified in bitterness; and not all his avaricious
mistresses with their ruddled cheeks could give him comfort. He was
consumed with a desire to return to Hanover. Peradventure, like certain
criminals, he felt impelled to revisit the scene of his crime.

On June 3, 1727, a month after the tardy burial of his victim, the King
set out from England for Hanover. Travelling night and day, he reached
Dalden on the far frontier of Holland at midnight on June 9th. Here he
stopped to change horses and he devoured a huge supper. Instead of
tarrying for the night, as his suite expected and his travelling
physician advised, for he had eaten heavily and was worn out with the
long journey, the King was seized with an overpowering restlessness to
reach Hanover, and started off again at three o’clock in the morning.

As the royal coach rumbled out of the courtyard a man stepped forth from
the shadow and threw a document through the window on to the King’s
knees. Neither his Majesty nor his escort thought anything of the
incident, supposing the paper to be one of those many petitions with
which George was wont to be pestered on his return to the electorate. By
the grey light of the dawn the King broke the seal and read, and as he
read his hands shook and his face grew ashen. It was a letter from his
dead wife, written when she felt the hand of death upon her. The trusty
messenger, to whom she had given the packet, had waited and waited until
the King should come from England that he might surely deliver it into
his hands. It was an awful letter for a woman to write, doubly awful for
the man to receive. It was penned evidently when Sophie Dorothea’s brain
was on fire with her wrongs—when her reason was trembling in the
balance; in it she reiterated her sufferings and his cruelty, cursed him
with her dying breath, and summoned him to meet her within a year and a
day before the judgment throne of God, there to answer for the wrong he
had done her. To the trembling tyrant it came like a voice from the
dead. He recalled again the prophecy that he would not long outlive his
wife, and now came the confirmation of his fears. He heard his victim,
like an accusing angel, calling him to his doom—a year and a day—a year
and a day,—and that was last November. The letter fell from his
nerveless hands, there was a rush of blood to his eyes, a beating in his
brain, and he fell forward in a fit.

In great alarm the equerry called a halt, and the long procession of
coaches and escort, pulled up by the wayside. But the King recovered
almost immediately, and, insisting that it was nothing, angrily
commanded them to proceed. Landen, the next stopping-place, was reached
in a few hours, and here dinner awaited the royal traveller. But the
King could not eat. His indisposition was evidently worse than he would
admit. The surgeons bled him and dosed him and advised a rest; but their
patient would hear no reason, his one desire was to push forward to his
beloved Hanover.

Quitting Landen at sunset, the royal _cortége_ thundered forward with
all speed. An hour later the King became much worse, but he hastened on
as though pursued by a legion of furies. His escort would fain have
halted; but still the King urged them on, leaning forward from the
window, and shouting “To Osnabrück! to Osnabrück!” as the horses
galloped through the gathering dusk. Osnabrück was reached at ten
o’clock; but by that time the King had again collapsed, falling forward
into the arms of his gentleman-in-waiting. They bore him into the
palace, now occupied by his youngest brother Ernest Augustus, bled him
again, chafed his clenched hands, applied restoratives; but all in vain.
George never recovered consciousness, and died at midnight in the very
room where he was born sixty-seven years before. He had obeyed the dread
summons, and had gone to meet his wife before the judgment throne of
God.

Thus died George I., the first of our Hanoverian kings, unloved and
unmourned—nay, not quite unmourned, for even this man had one who loved
him. His aged mistress, the Duchess of Kendal, had not been able to pack
up in time to travel with her liege, but was following him with all
speed. When the news of his death was brought her on the road she gave
way to the loudest demonstrations of grief, beating her breast, tearing
her hair, and filling the air with lamentations. She had lived with him
nigh on forty years, and though he had not been true to her—for it was
not his nature to be true to any one—in his way he had been fond of her;
she had become as indispensable to him as he had to her.

The new King, George II., did nothing so far as we know to clear his
mother’s memory, though Horace Walpole writes: “The second George loved
his mother as much as he hated his father, and purposed, it was said, if
she had survived, to have brought her over and declared her
Queen-Dowager. Lady Suffolk told me her surprise, on going to the new
Queen the morning after George I.’s death, at seeing hung up in the
Queen’s dressing-room the whole length of a lady in royal robes, and in
the bed-chamber a half-length of the same person, which Lady Suffolk had
never seen before.”[249] They were pictures of his mother, which the
Prince had till then kept concealed. This hardly tallies with Lord
Hervey’s testimony of George II.’s reticence concerning his mother,
“whom,” he writes, “on no occasion I ever heard him mention, not even
inadvertently or indirectly, any more than if such a person had ever had
a being”.[250] The Jacobites used to call George II. “the little
Königsmarck” (an unfounded libel if ever there was one!), and this may
have accounted for his silence. Another poetaster twitted “dapper
George” with being governed by his Queen, and advised him

          ... if you would have us fall down and adore you,
          Lock up your fat spouse, as your dad did before you,

which shows that Sophie Dorothea’s imprisonment at Ahlden was fairly
familiar to the English public.

-----

Footnote 249:

  Walpole’s _Reminiscences_.

Footnote 250:

  Lord Hervey’s _Memoirs_.

-----

That the true story of his mother’s life became known to George II. is
certain, for on his first visit to Hanover after ascending the throne of
England he ordered the secret records of the divorce proceedings, and
some of the incriminating letters to be brought to him, and read them
through carefully. Extraordinary care was taken at Hanover to suppress
any and every compromising document or paper which contained mention of
Sophie Dorothea or Königsmarck. Despite these precautions, the most
damning evidence of all came to light. Some workmen employed in
renovating the wing formerly occupied by Sophie Dorothea in the Palace
of Hanover, came across the skeleton of a man, almost unrecognisable
from quicklime, but, from a ring and fragments of clothing, was
identified as that of the missing Count Königsmarck. Orders were given
that the place should be bricked up again, and the remains were thrust
out of sight once for all—probably pulverised and cast into the river
Leine.

[Illustration: THE CASTLE OF OSNABRÜCK.]

These things go to prove that the son lacked the courage to do justice
to his mother’s memory, or he believed her guilty. In death, as in life,
Sophie Dorothea continued to be the family skeleton of the House of
Hanover.

But we can afford to be more merciful in our judgment. Whatever were the
faults of her youth, she atoned for them fourfold. Her dauntless spirit,
her fortitude, her dignified resignation through long years of
captivity, invest her memory with a halo of suffering. Her love and her
sorrows plead for her—her sorrows most of all, for it may be doubted if
either history or romance can offer a parallel to the long-drawn agony
of the life of this uncrowned queen.




                               APPENDIX.

                 LIST OF AUTHORITIES QUOTED, AND BOOKS
                   TO WHICH REFERENCE HAS BEEN MADE.

                            UNPUBLISHED MSS.

_The Correspondence of Princess Sophie Dorothea and Philip Christopher,
Count Königsmarck, 1691-1693_ (in French). Preserved in the University
Library of Lund, Sweden.

_The Despatches and Correspondence of Sir William Dutton Colt,
Envoy-Extraordinary to the Princes of Brunswick and Lüneburg,
1689-1693._ In the State Paper Office, London.

_The Despatches and Correspondence of Mr. Cresset (who succeeded Sir W.
D. Colt at Hanover) and his Secretaries, 1693-1702._ In the State Paper
Office, London.

_The Despatches of Mr. Poley (who succeeded Mr. Cresset at Hanover),
1705._ In the State Paper Office, London.

_Sundry Letters of Mr. Stepney, sometime British Envoy to the Court of
Dresden, 1694-1695._ In the State Paper Office, London.

_Sundry Letters and Papers_ (in French and German), specified elsewhere.
Preserved in the Royal Archives and Library, Hanover, and at Brunswick
and Dresden.

                         SOME PUBLISHED WORKS.

_Die Herzogin von Ahlden, Stammutter der Königlichen Häuser Hannover und
Preussen._ Leipzig, 1852. Now out of print. Written anonymously by Count
Schulenburg-Klosterrode.

_Die Prinzessin von Ahlden._ By Dr. Adolph Köcher. Two articles in
_Sybel’s Historische Zeitschrift_, 1882, vol. xlviii.

_Römischen Octavia_, 1707, vol. vi. By Duke Antony Ulrich of
Wolfenbüttel.

_The Magazine of the Historical Association of Lower Saxony_, 1879.

_Sophie Dorothea, Prinzessin von Ahlden und Kurfürstin Sophie von
Hannover._ By A. F. H. Schaumann. Hanover, 1879.

_Briefe der Herzogin von Orleans, Elizabeth Charlotte, an die Kurfürstin
Sophie von Hannover._

_Briefe der Prinzessin Elizabeth Charlotte von Orleans, 1676-1722._

_Memoiren der Herzogin Sophie, nachmals Kurfürstin von Hannover._ Dr.
Adolph Köcher. Leipzig, 1879.

_Memoires du règne de George I._ “Anon.” The Hague, 1729.

_Letters with Varied Contents._ Frankfurt and Leipzig, 1772.

_Geschichte der Herzogin von Ahlden._ Copenhagen, 1786.

_Short Narrative of My Fate and Imprisonment._ Hamburg, 1840. Edited by
“W. L. Mollor” (Major Müller).

  This purports to be an autobiography written by the Princess Sophie
  Dorothea, but it is spurious. Yet the deeds and letters quoted show
  that the author had access to genuine documents, and show the writer
  to be Major Müller, librarian to the late Duke of Cambridge, Regent of
  Hanover.

_Memoirs of Sophie Dorothea._ Two vols. London, 1845. Out of print.
Translated into the German also. Written anonymously. [By Major Müller,
sometime librarian to the late Duke of Cambridge.]

  This covers much the same ground as the _Short Narrative_, and also
  contains some authentic documents and papers. Like the _Short
  Narrative_ it is evidently based on Duke Antony Ulrich’s _Octavia_.
  But the “Diary of Conversations,” in vol. ii., purporting to be
  written by Sophie Dorothea, is undoubtedly spurious.

_Aurora Königsmarck._ By Professor W. F. Palmbald. Six vols. Translated
from the Swedish into the German. Leipzig, 1853. Out of print.

_Memoirs of Aurora von Königsmarck._ By Cramer.

An article on _Fresh Contributions to the History of the Hanoverian
Princess Sophie Dorothea_. By Edward Bodemann.

_Histoire Secrette de la Duchesse d’Hanover, Épouse de Georges Premier._
London, 1732. Ascribed to Baron von Poëllnitz (some say erroneously).

_The Electress Sophia._ Article in _The Quarterly Review_, vol. 161.

_Eléonore d’Olbreuse._ By the Baroness von Amstel. Article in
_Nineteenth Century_, 1898.




                                 INDEX.

                                   A

          Act of Settlement, 100
          Ahlden, prisoner of, 388
          — Author’s notes on, 392
          Alte Palais at Hanover, 60
          Amalie Wilhelmina, Countess Lewenhaupt, 82
          Angelica d’Olbreuse, 11
          Anne, Princess of York, 38
          — Queen of England, 411
          — death of, 420
          Antony Ulrich, Duke of Wolfenbüttel, 1
          — _Roman Octavia_, 417
          Appendix, 445
          Arenswald, Madame von, 396
          Augustus, Duke of Brunswick, 1
          — Frederick of Wolfenbüttel, 21
          — betrothed to Sophie Dorothea, 22
          — death of, 25
          — the Strong (Elector of Saxony), 89
          — and Aurora Königsmarck, 369
          Aurora Königsmarck, 82
          — and Augustus the Strong, 369
          Authorities quoted, 445
          Author’s notes on Ahlden, 392

                                   B

          Bar, Count de, 425
          Bergest, Count Sigismund, 396
          Berlin, 250
          Bernstorff, Prime Minister of Celle, 33
          Bill of Succession, 41
          Bohemia, Queen of, 7
          Books of reference, 445
          Borosky, 86
          Bothmer, Charles Augustus von, 396
          Boyne, battle of the, 109
          Brandenburg, Elector of, 69
          — Electress of, 69
          — death of, 414
          Breda, 7
          Brockhausen, the tryst at, 256
          Brunswick, 111
          Buccolini, Lucas (Bucco or Buccow), 3
          — Signora, 3
          Bull-baiting, 83
          Bülow, Minister of Celle, 374
          Bussche, Councillor, 30
          — marriage of, 31
          — Madame, Mistress of George Louis, 32
          — banished from Hanover, 59
          — George von, 396

                                   C

          Cambridge and Prince George Louis, 42
          Carlsbad, 109
          Caroline, Consort of George IV., 1
          — of Anspach, marriage of, 415
          Catherine of Braganza, 38
          Celle, Castle of, 13
          Charleroy, 39
          Charles II. of England, 4
          Charles, Prince of Brunswick-Lüneburg, 108
          — death of, 108
          Christian Louis, Duke of Celle, 1
          Christian, Duke of Celle, 9
          Coalition against Louis XIV., 98
          Colt, Sir William Dutton, 101
          Consarbrück, 39
          Correspondence between Sophie Dorothea and
             Königsmarck, 174
          — history and authenticity of the, 118
          Correspondence, theory of key to cypher, 126
          — between Knesebeck and Königsmarck, 198
          Court mistresses, 32
          Cresset, envoy at Hanover, 354
          Crossing the Rubicon, 156

                                   D

          Danes, campaign against, 277
          Darlington, Countess of, 426
          Denmark, King of, 325
          De Reuss, Comte, 11
          De Tarente, Princess, 7
          Dist, 243
          D’Olbreuse, Angelica, 11
          — Eléonore, 8
          — Marquis, 8
          Doubts and fears, 189

                                   E

          East Friesland, Princess-Dowager of, 160
          Edict of Nantes, 7
          Elector Palatine of the Rhenish Provinces, 4
          Electors of the German Empire, 99
          Eléonore d’Olbreuse, 7
          — married to George William, 10
          — Madame von Harburg, 10
          — progress of, 13
          — Countess of Wilhelmsburg, 19
          — Duchess of Celle, 23
          — will of, 412
          — death of, 428
          Elizabeth, daughter of James I., 3
          — Charlotte, Duchess of Orleans, 18
          Epsdorff, 146
          Ernest Augustus, Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg, 1
          Ernest Augustus betrothed to Sophia, 6
          — married to Sophia, 6
          — attempt to murder, 157

                                   F

          Flanders, campaign in, 150
          Fortière, Seigneur de la, 371
          Foubert’s Academy, 84
          Frankfort Fair, 233
          Frederick, Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg, 1
          Frederick, Prince Palatine, ex-King of Bohemia, 3
          — the Great of Prussia, 75
          — Augustus of Saxony, 89
          — Elector of Saxony, 329
          — William, Crown Prince of Prussia, 416

                                   G

          Gadd, J. H., assistant-librarian at Lund, 122
          Gardie, Count de la, 121
          George, Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg, 1
          — Augustus of Hanover (George II.), birth of, 65
          — reminiscences, 405
          — attempt to see Sophie Dorothea, 406
          — marriage of, 415
          — Frederick, Elector of Saxony, 329
          — Louis (George I.), birth of, 6
          — goes a-wooing, 38
          — disposition of, 39
          — at the Court of Louis XIV., 39
          — visit to England, 40
          — betrothed to Sophie Dorothea, 49
          — married to Sophie Dorothea, 58
          — illness of, 150
          — Elector of Hanover, 399
          — Knight of the Garter, 409
          — King of England, 421
          — entry into London, 422
          — death of, 441
          — William, Duke of Hanover, 1
          — betrothed to Sophia, 5
          — wooing of Eléonore, 8
          — Duke of Celle, 9
          — married to Eléonore, 10
          — fondness for George II., 405
          — death of, 412
          German Empire, Electors of, 99
          Germany, Emperor of, 14
          Ghent, 316
          Gloucester, Duke of, 400
          Glove, the embroidered, 107
          Göhre, 146
          Green, Mrs. Everett, 122

                                   H

          Hague, Congress at the, 112
          Hamelin, Castle of, 158
          Hanover, Court of, 59
          — Alte Palais, 60
          Harburg, Madame von, 10
          Heidelberg, 5
          Henry the Lion, Duke of Bavaria and Saxony, 1
          Herrenhausen, 61
          Hildebrand, Königsmarck’s secretary, 353
          Hungary, campaign in, 326

                                   I

          Ilse, Abigail, 75
          Ilten, General von, 72
          — Madame von, 72

                                   J

          James I. of England, 3
          — II. of England, 71
          John Frederick, Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg, 1

                                   K

          Kendal, Duchess of, 426
          — Countess of Darlington, 426
          Knesebeck, Eléonore von, 63
          — arrest of, 358
          — prisoner at Springe, 374
          — examination of, 374
          — removal to Schartzfels, 374
          — escape of, 403
          Köcher, Dr., 373
          Königsmarck, Amalie Wilhelmina, 82
          — Aurora, 82
          — Count Carl John, 83
          — trial of, 87
          — death of, 88
          — Count Philip Christopher, boyhood at Celle, 20
          — in England, 26
          — at Hanover, 82
          — Colonel of Hanoverian Guards, 95
          — and Countess Platen, 104
          — in the Morea, 106
          — return to Hanover, 115
          — entertainment by, 115
          — correspondence with Sophie Dorothea, 139
          — sent to Sweden as envoy, 141
          — returns from the war, 233
          — at Dresden, 332
          — murder of, 340
          — burial of, 350
          — discovery of body of, 443

                                   L

          Lambeque, camp at, 173
          Lambeth manuscripts, 38
          Lassaye, Marquis de, 72
          Leibniz, Professor, 35
          Leine Schloss at Hanover, 60
          Leopold, Emperor, 98
          Lewenhaupt, Countess of, 82
          — Count, 82
          Linden, battle of, 316
          Lockier, Dean, 34
          Loo, 408
          Louis XIV., 28
          — Defender of the Faith, 28
          — European coalition against, 98
          Ludemann, Bailiff of Ahlden, 425
          Luisburg, 217
          Lund, University of, 121
          Luxemburg, French General, 172

                                   M

          Macclesfield, Lord, 409
          Maestricht, 39
          Malortie, Marshal von, 89
          Mannheim, 98
          Marlortie, Herr and Madame, 396
          Marriage settlement and contract of Sophie Dorothea
             and George Louis, 55
          Mary, Princess of York, 38
          Matilda, daughter of Henry II., 1
          Maximilian, Prince of Hanover, 77
          — intrigues of, 78
          Meissenburg, Count Carl Philip von, 30
          — Catherine Marie von, 30
          — married to Bussche, 31
          — Clara Elizabeth von, 30
          — married to Platen, 31
          Milan, 3
          Moltke conspiracy, 156
          — execution of, 174
          Monplaisir, 67
          Mons, siege and fall of, 113
          Morea, the campaign in, 106

                                   N

          Namur, siege and fall of, 172
          Naples, 72
          Neerwinden, battle of, 316
          Northumberland, Dowager-Countess of, 84

                                   O

          Ogle, Countess of, 84
          Osnabrück, 30
          — Court of, 30
          Otho William, Count, 20
          — death of, 92

                                   P

          Palmblad, Professor, 121
          Passion, the dawn of, 139
          Phillipsburg, siege of, 25
          Platen, Countess, 31
          — marriage of, 31
          — opposed to Eléonore, 33
          — mistress of Ernest Augustus, 32
          — jealousy of, 68
          — the power of, 70
          — and Königsmarck, 90
          — illness of, 391
          — retirement to Monplaisir, 400
          — death of, 414
          Playing with fire, 94
          Podevils, Marshal, 249
          Poëllnitz (historian), 91
          Poley, envoy to Celle, 413
          Portsmouth, Duchess of, 30
          Primogeniture, establishment of, 77
          — opposition to, 78
          Prisoner of Ahlden, 388
          Prussia, Queen of, correspondence with Sophie
             Dorothea, 425
          — marriage scheme of, 429
          Pyrmont, 19

                                   Q

          Querouaille, Louise de, 30

                                   R

          Ramel, Baron Hans, 120
          Ratze, Marie, 398
          Ratzeburg, 258
          Reference, books of, 445
          Retribution, 437
          Reuss, Comte de, 11
          — Countess de, 11
          Rhine, campaign on the, 39
          _Roman Octavia_, 417
          Röohlitz, Countess von, 329
          Royal mistresses, 331
          Rudolph Augustus of Wolfenbüttel, 21
          Rupert, Prince, 36
          Ryswick, Peace of, 100

                                   S

          Sacrifice of Sophie Dorothea, 47
          Sandys, Dr., 410
          Saxe, Marshal de, 369
          Saxony, Augustus, Elector of, 329
          Schaumann, 373
          Schulenburg, Ermengarda Melusina von, 78
          — nickname of, 79
          — Duchess of Kendal, 426
          Schulenburg-Klosterrode, Count, 122
          Sophia, Princess of Bohemia, 3
          — betrothed to George William, 5
          — betrothed to Ernest Augustus, 6
          — married to Ernest Augustus, 6
          — Electress of Hanover, genealogy of, 17
          — moral character, 34
          — and Madame Platen, 34
          — and the throne of England, 36
          — at Celle, 46
          — death of, 420
          — Charlotte, Princess of Hanover, 69
          — Electress of Brandenburg, 69
          Sophie Dorothea of Celle, genealogy of, 1
          — birth of, 13
          — legitimised, 19
          — betrothed to Augustus Frederick of Wolfenbüttel,
             22
          — betrothed to George Louis of Hanover, 49
          — disposition of, 54
          — married to George Louis (George I.), 58
          — entry into Hanover, 59
          — birth of George Augustus, 65
          — and Madame Platen, 66
          — and Marquis de Lassaye, 72
          — birth of Sophie Dorothea (Queen of Prussia), 74
          — correspondence with Königsmarck, 174
          Sophie Dorothea’s arrival at Ahlden, 362
          — divorce of, 371
          — prisoner at Ahlden, 392
          — petitions of, 401
          — return to Celle, 407
          — return to Ahlden, 407
          — literary labours, 424
          — correspondence with Queen of Prussia, 425
          — death of, 436
          — burial of, 439
          — curse of, 440
          St. Denis, 39
          Steinkirk, battle of, 204
          Stepney, envoy at Dresden, 329
          Stern, Lieutenant, 86

                                   T

          Thynne, Thomas, 85
          — murder of, 86
          Toland (historian), 410
          Treves, siege of, 39

                                   V

          Venice, 70
          Verona, siege of, 88
          Victoria, Queen, 37
          Vratz, Captain, 86

                                   W

          Westphalia, Treaty of, 1
          Weyhe, General, 79
          Wienhausen, 152
          Wiesbaden, 217
          Wilhelmsburg, 19
          — Countess of, 19
          William of Orange, 40
          — and the throne of England, 100
          — and the Prince of Wales, 409
          Wisdom of serpents, 25
          Witgenstein, Count, 366

                                   Y

          York, Princess Mary of, 40
          — Princess Anne of, 38
          — Duke of, 38








                 THE ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY PRESS LIMITED.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

                           Transcriber’s Note

          Königsmarck’s name is printed several times without
          the umlaut, and has been corrected.

          Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have
          been corrected, and are noted here. The references
          are to the page and line in the original.

  2.36     But, Mons[e]igneur                             Inserted.
  11.42    Geo[gr/rg]e William was glad                   Transposed.
  79.18    To do E[r]mengarda Melusina justice            Inserted.
  124.5    K[o/ö]nigsmarck’s                              Replaced.
  124.40   Fr[aü/äu]lein Knesebeck                        Replaced.
  146.36   Epsdorff and Göhre[.]                          Added.
  162.8    K[o/ö]nigsmarck                                Replaced.
  162.17   to have sounded K[o/ö]nigsmarck                Replaced.
  162.40   K[o/ö]nigsmarck                                Replaced.
  225.20   you wrote from Eimbeck[.]                      Added.
  269.20   the end of the week for Brockhausen.[’/”]      Replaced.
  315.18   Let us taste its delights.[”/’]                Replaced.
  448.8    Crossing the [r/R]ubicon                       Replaced.
  448.39   Duke of Brunswick[-]Lüneburg                   Added.
  449.42   Meissenbu[r]g, Count Carl Philip von, 30       Inserted.



*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76394 ***