The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series)

by Jean Plaidy

  So Clara had dismissed the girl from her service because of this; moreover she had imprisoned her for a while and later had her drummed out of Hanover. Rather drastic treatment for a little speculative conversation. What was the matter with Clara? She had never before minded a little waywardness because she knew he was well aware that there was not another woman like her in Hanover – possibly not in the world. However, she had treated this girl rather badly. He wondered why? Was there something very special about her?

  He considered the plea. She was crying for help. She was penniless; at the moment she was working as a drudge in a farmhouse. Would he give her permission to return to Hanover and perhaps find her some humble position in the palace?

  He considered.

  She must have been pretty or he would not have noticed her in the first place but try as he might he could not remember what she looked like. There were many attactive girls at hand – and what would Clara say if he brought this one back? There would be trouble.

  He had no desire for trouble – nor for a girl whose face he couldn’t remember.

  He made up his mind; she should have a small gift of money.

  This he arranged to be sent to her with a warning that she would be wise not to return to Hanover.

  After the birth of the baby George Lewis grew closer to his wife. The child was a bond between them; they were both so proud of him. Ernest Augustus, too, was a frequent visitor to the nursery; and when he found his daughter-in-law there he would stop and chat to her about the child’s future.

  He was growing more and more fond of her. Her beauty was so appealing. His wife could rant as much as she liked about ‘that of piece of dirt’ as she called the Duchess Eléonore, but George William’s wife knew how to bring up a girl and, moreover, this one had inherited her mother’s beauty. As a connoisseur of female charms Ernest Augustus could not fail to be impressed by those of Sophia Dorothea; and the fact that his relationship to her put her out of range of amatory adventure enhanced rather than diminished his admiration.

  The growing respect and affection the Duke had for his daughter-in-law was noticed – and of course Clara was aware of it.

  In her daily milk baths, at her dressing table, she considered her own charms and the fear that they were diminishing did not increase her good temper; she made vicious plans for the downfall of Sophia Dorothea but was unable to put them into practice. The most infuriating aspect of the situation was not so much Ernest Augustus’s regard for the girl but George Lewis’s, and her inability to bring Marie back to court. If she could have provided George Lewis with a mistress whom she could have commanded, Sophia Dorothea could be so humiliated that she would be running back to Celle to Maman in a very short time.

  But George Lewis remained the almost faithful husband whose minor infidelities were of no importance; and with each day Ernest Augustus grew more fond of his charming daughter-in-law. She had heard though that the Ilse creature had written to him and although he had given her some small gift he had advised her not to come to Hanover. A victory, though a small one. But enough to show her that Ernest Augustus still had some regard for her, and if she were careful she could continue to hold her place. But she must be careful.

  She had done her best to poison the mind of Sophia Charlotte, George Lewis’s only sister, against Sophia Dorothea. It had not been difficult, for it was as galling for a young girl as for a woman to see herself continually compared with another to her own disadvantage. Sophia Charlotte had been prepared to be quite unpleasant to her sister-in-law since she had become so jealous of her. Sophia Dorothea, who was very impulsive, Clara noted with glee, had shown quite clearly that she disliked her sister-in-law; and the animosity between them grew.

  Another enemy, thought Clara. Very soon I shall bring Marie back and then we shall see. One by one they shall turn against her and then she will commit some indiscretion – for she is indiscreet. That was easy enough to see.

  But then Sophia Charlotte was married to the Elector of Brandenburg – a brilliant marriage which delighted her parents more than it did Sophia Charlotte; and that meant that after the brilliant festivities she left Hanover.

  One enemy the less. George Lewis went away to the army and a new pattern was set at Hanover. Sophia Dorothea spent a great deal of time with her son, living quietly, occasionally visiting Celle or receiving her parents in her home.

  Ernest Augustus, who had always loved to travel, and since the marriage with Celle when he had command of Sophia Dorothea’s large fortune was able to do so, decided that he would like to visit Italy again. The Duchess Sophia was perfectly capable of governing in his absence; and she was very pleased to have the opportunity.

  So Ernest Augustus left Hanover for Venice, accompanied by the Platens and other friends and a few ministers, while the Duchess Sophia remained behind at Herrenhausen to govern from there. Sophia Dorothea reigned supreme in the Alte Palais or, when she gave entertainments, in the Leine Schloss. Visits to Celle were more frequent than ever; and life was very tolerable indeed.

  Sophia Dorothea was in her apartments one day writing to her mother when Eléonore von Knesebeck ran into the room to tell her that messengers from Venice had arrived.

  ‘Well,’ said Sophia Dorothea placidly, ‘I doubt that will concern us.’

  ‘I believe some high personage is among them.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Sophia Dorothea anxiously.

  ‘Not the Duke … nor the Platen woman. You can be sure one would not be here without the other.’

  ‘The Duchess is receiving them?’

  ‘Yes, but she will expect you to put in an appearance.’

  At that moment there was scratching at the door and one of the pages announced that General and Madame Ilten had arrived at Hanover from Venice and the Duchess Sophia knew that the Crown Princess would wish to welcome them.

  ‘Well,’ said Sophia Dorothea, when the page had left, ‘now perhaps we shall have a little gaiety in the Leine Schloss or even at Herrenhausen.’

  And she went down to greet the General and his lady.

  When she heard what news they brought she was at first astonished and then delighted.

  Duke Ernest Augustus thought that she must be feeling a little lonely at Hanover with so much of the court absent and that she must be in need of a little holiday. He wished her to prepare at once to leave Hanover in the company of the General and his wife and come to Italy where he would be most happy to see her. There was another reason why he wished her to be there: George Lewis had arrived from the army and would naturally be eager to see his wife.

  She had never before been very far from Celle or Hanover, and the prospect of visiting a foreign city and one reputed to be as beautiful and romantic as Venice was exciting.

  She turned and hugged Eléonore von Knesebeck. ‘What are you looking so glum about? Of course you’ll come with me!’

  She threw herself into a fever of preparation. The dresses she would need! The jewels!

  But after the first excitement had worn off a little she thought of the less pleasant side of this adventure. She would leave her baby in Hanover, she would be far from her mother, and there would be reunion with George Lewis; she remembered it was almost a year since she had last seen him.

  Sophia Dorothea was discovering herself as well as Venice. She was meant to be gay. How different was this city – a group of islands rising from the sea – compared with Hanover. The weather was clement; every day she awoke to see the sun bathing the buildings in a golden light – usually at midday, for she retired late after the balls and banquets which her father-in-law gave in his palazzo on the Grand Canal.

  How excited she was by all the exotic sights! She would gaze in rapture at the marble palaces on the water’s edge, at the gondolas gliding past on the Grand Canal, at the Rialto where on more than one occasion, masked and wrapped in a concealing cloak, she and Eléonore von Knesebeck had wandered together.

  Ernest Augustus was delighted with her excit
ement.

  ‘My dear,’ he said, ‘I feel I am seeing it for the first time through fresh young eyes. I did not know how jaded I had become.’

  He would have her with him as much as possible – his honoured little guest.

  Clara was watching carefully. She would soon have to take action against Madame Sophia Dorothea. She had been enjoying Venice until the girl had come, for Venice was a city for adventure. She had had her Venetian lovers and would have others. Each day brought new promise of excitement; and now here was this girl to delight Ernest Augustus with her naïve pleasure in foreign places!

  She gleefully noticed that the resumed relationship between husband and wife was an uneasy one. It had never been one of passionate devotion, certainly, rather of compromise – and now they were both a little older (Sophia Dorothea must be nineteen) and compromise was not good enough. George Lewis had returned from the army where doubtless he had indulged in many a ribald adventure and was even more coarse than when he had been away; as for Sophia Dorothea she had had a year free from his unwanted embraces and was showing even less inclination for them than before. She had not become less fastidious – but more so.

  George Lewis often looked sullen when his eyes rested on his wife. She was undoubtedly lovely, but he was unappreciative of her sort of beauty. The beautiful paintings in the palaces here and the architecture meant little to him. They were just pictures and buildings; and the charm of the Piazza San Marco was solely the opportunity of finding a willing woman there.

  Sophia Dorothea was different. What could be expected of one brought up by the cultured Duchess of Celle? She was deeply aware of the beauty of Venice, but at the same time she was willing to throw herself, with all her newly awakened youthful zest, into the enjoyment of a life hitherto unknown to her.

  The carnival was in full progress. Sophia Dorothea blossomed in the thrill of it all. Ernest Augustus bought her a Venetian gown and Venetian jewels because he wanted everyone to appreciate the beauty of his daughter-in-law. Why not, thought Clara, it was her money he was spending, though no one would have thought it, so magnanimously did he bestow his gifts, so charmingly and gratefully did Sophia Dorothea receive them.

  Clara observed that Sophia Dorothea was something of a coquette. And why not? The Venetians were well versed in the arts of flattery – something of which George Lewis had never heard. This intricate preamble of flirtation and invitation was unknown to him, and Sophia Dorothea would naturally find it as exciting as all the novelties she was experiencing.

  Perhaps, mused Clara, it would be possible to bring about the downfall of Sophia Dorothea through a lover.

  While she was pondering this George Lewis had to leave for Naples and Ernest Augustus decided that before he himself returned to Hanover, which state matters demanded he should before long, he would like to show his daughter-in-law Rome.

  Thus while George Lewis travelled to Naples, Ernest Augustus and his party went to Rome.

  Sophia Dorothea found Rome as enthralling as Venice and it was Ernest Augustus’s great pleasure to show her this city. Clara looked on with disgust. He was like a boy, riding in his magnificent carriage through the streets with his excited daughter-in-law beside him. Of course this role was a minor one in the days of Ernest Augustus. He must entertain lavishly wherever he went – and since the Celle marriage he had money to spend. He had come to Italy on state affairs naturally and had arranged that troops of his soldiers should work for the Venetians; he had charged a high price, for the Hanoverian armies had a good reputation; and now he felt affluent and he had always been a man who, having money, liked to spend it.

  So the entertainments he gave in Rome were every bit as splendid as those he had given in Venice, and Clara had ample opportunity of trying out a little experiment she had planned for the downfall of the girl who was in her thoughts too often for her peace of mind.

  There could be no doubt that the most admired woman in the party from Hanover was the Crown Princess Sophia Dorothea, and all Clara’s splendid jewel-decked gowns and cosmetics could not alter this.

  There was a man – not particularly young for he must be approaching forty – in Rome at this time who was noted for the gay life he led; he was tremendously wealthy and spent his life going from one adventure – mostly amatory – to another. But at the same time his wit and his bravery were a legend.

  Clara, dancing with him at one of Ernest Augustus’s balls, noticed with inward anger that although he paid her delicate compliments and might be prepared to spend a few hours of the night with her if she pressed the matter, his attention was not with her. He might deceive others by his burning looks and flattering compliments but she was as skilled in this art as he was and she could not be deluded.

  There was someone else on whom attention was directed and she could guess who it was.

  ‘You have noticed out little beauty,’ she said.

  He answered: ‘How happy you must be to have such an enchanting creature at your court.’

  ‘But naturally,’ answered Clara. ‘It gives us all great pleasure merely to look at the pretty creature.’

  ‘So fresh … so vestal.’

  ‘Oh, she is a mother, so she scarcely qualifies for that description. Did you ever see anyone so abandonedly joyful?’

  ‘Rarely.’

  ‘You have not met her?’

  ‘It is a pleasure I am storing up for myself.’

  ‘You should not leave it too long. The Duke might decide that we return to Hanover.’

  ‘That would be calamitous. To be deprived of your society …’

  ‘And not having discovered the delights of that of the Princess.’

  ‘You alarm me. I have never been so conscious of the passing of time.’

  ‘Come, I will present you to her.’

  ‘Why are you so good to me?’

  His eyes, crinkled attractively with the first signs of too-good-living, smiled into hers. They understood each other. She who had been the fairest was so no longer; she could not hide from him the fact that she hated her rival. What did she want? The fresh young beauty defiled! He was sure – his infinite knowledge helping him in this deduction – that Sophia Dorothea had never had a lover before. The husband could scarcely be called that. The enchanting Princess was unawakened … physically; and when awakened she would be more enchanting than ever.

  Jealous Clara was offering him the exquisite task of bringing understanding of the ways of love to the delightful creature. He was always a man to accept a challenge.

  ‘How delightfully you dance! I could swear you learned in France.’

  ‘My mother was French.’

  ‘So you are partly French. No wonder I felt drawn towards you.’

  ‘Perhaps my mother knows you. She knew most of the noble families of her country.’

  ‘Heaven forbid.’

  He raised his eyes to the ceiling and Sophia Dorothea laughed as she danced a few steps from him, returning as the dance ordained, to put her hand into his. ‘Have you such a shocking reputation then?’

  ‘Completely shocking. If your mother knew that your hand was in mine at the moment she would send out the guards of Celle to arrest me.’

  ‘She would do no such thing. She would invite you to Celle to discover whether you were as wicked as your reputation.’

  ‘Then I should be able to tell her that having met her beautiful daughter I was set on the path to reformation.’

  ‘So I have that effect on you?’

  ‘In the subtlest of ways.’

  ‘Pray explain.’

  ‘All my life I have flitted from one adventure to another, seeking … I now know always seeking.’

  ‘Seeking what?’

  ‘What was the object of every knight’s search: the Holy Grail.’

  Again she laughed, gaily, youthfully – innocently he thought; and innocence was a quality so attractive because one longed to destroy it. ‘Monsieur de Lassaye,’ she said, ‘it surprises me that you shoul
d be in search of the Holy Grail.’

  ‘It was symbolic,’ he said. ‘It means Perfection. That is what I seek and mon Dieu, I believe I have found it. I never heard anyone laugh as you do, nor saw such beauty in a face.’

  ‘And I have heard of your adventures … in love and in war.’

  ‘They were the adventures of the seeker.’

  ‘What a dull life he will have when he reaches his goal!’

  ‘Madame la Princesse, I assure you that his life will only then begin.’

  No one had ever spoken to her thus before; she was excited; the ball, the carnivals, the admiration in the eyes of men and particularly this man who attracted her, had alarmed her a little. He had the air of having lived through a thousand adventures such as she, with her limited experience, could only guess at.

  ‘I … I don’t know how you can be sure of that,’ she said.

  ‘I could assure you … by proving to you.’

  ‘But, Monsieur le Marquis, what have I to do with this?’

  ‘Everything, Madame la Princesse, everything!’

  She was faintly alarmed; he came too close; she thought his eyes were like those of a satyr and she was conscious of a great urge to know more of him, to understand something of the world of romance and passion of which he was a habitué. Lust as practised by George Lewis had shocked her; the Marquis de Lassaye would give it a different name, a different aspect. She felt as though she were standing at the edge of an inviting lake, the waters of which were lapping about her feet. She longed to plunge in and float effortlessly, lightly supported by the exciting Marquis; but she greatly feared that one as inexperienced as she was would quickly be submerged.

  But while she stood at the edge, gently dabbling with her toes, she was safe.

  So she listened to his talk and the more she listened the more excited she became; and that night as she lay in her bed she could not sleep for thinking of him and the possibility of sharing his adventures.

  He was always at her side. His conversation was stimulating to her senses and her mind. He told her about his estates in France and life at the court of Versailles. There was nowhere else in the world like it. She should come to Paris. He was sure Louis would be delighted with her; he was addicted to beauty and such as hers would startle even the Court of France.