by Jean Plaidy
If I told dearest Maman and Papa everything they would not refuse to let me go back, Sophia Dorothea was thinking. When they know that he came near to murdering me …
‘Are you listening? Or is it too much for you to contemplate? I admit it could be quite bewildering when it is first presented to you. I am next in line of succession, for James’s boy doesn’t count. After Anne, I should be Queen of England. I can think of no greater honour. And the point is that when I die George Lewis would be King and that would make you Queen of England.’
‘Queen of England,’ repeated Sophia Dorothea, scarcely knowing what she said. That was the answer – home to Celle and once she had reached that sanctuary never to return, to stay there forever.
Ernest Augustus was sorry for his daughter-in-law. He would be sorry for anyone married to George Lewis and she was such a pretty creature. If she wanted to go home and visit her family so she should – and take the children with her.
When she heard that her daughter was coming, the Duchess of Celle made delighted preparations; but Sophia Dorothea’s attitude had betrayed her real intentions and Clara’s spies had kept her well informed, so she hastened to inform Bernstorff that he must prepare Duke William.
Clara and Bernstorff met between Hanover and Celle, and Clara explained that the haughty young Sophia Dorothea, after showing that she herself had no love for her husband, had made a disgraceful scene with him because he had taken a mistress. She was now coming home to tell Maman and Papa all about it.
‘You owe a great deal to Hanover,’ Clara reminded Bernstorff, who was ready to concede that point. He was now a landowner and could, if he wished, end his career at Celle and settle in an estate of his own. Clara had however pointed out that Ernest Augustus would frown on such an action. Bernstorff had been well paid for his part in arranging the marriage and it was his duty now to remain at his post to serve his patron for the sake of honour … and further financial reward.
So instead of living on his estates he contented himself with adding to them and making sure that Ernest Augustus’s wishes were remembered at Celle. It was Bernstorff’s task constantly to make friction between the Duke and Duchess, always to be ready to point out when the Duchess appeared to assume control. He had been successful, for George William now scarcely ever discussed state business with his wife and almost childishly insisted on having his own way even to his detriment.
Eléonore was saddened by this rift between them and turned more and more to her daughter and grandchildren whom she saw as often as possible. But of course these visits were not frequent enough. The Duchess Sophia had never liked her and she consequently never felt welcome at the Alte Palais or Herrenhausen; and although Sophia Dorothea came to Celle with the children as often as she could, naturally her duties as Crown Princess of Hanover prevented those visits being very frequent.
‘You must tell George William that his daughter is behaving in a recklessly foolish manner,’ insisted Clara. ‘She has alienated Ernest Augustus by plotting with the younger sons – even against her own husband. She shows her dislike of her husband and then becomes hysterical because he takes a mistress. It would be as well, you might tell George William, that when his daughter pays this visit he takes her to task for her behaviour.’
Bernstorff assured Clara that she need have no fear. He would prepare George William; so they parted and Bernstorff rode back to Celle, planning the complaints he would lay before his master while Clara made her way back to Hanover.
The Duchess of Celle was delighted to have her daughter with her. She waited impatiently for the trumpeter on the tower to announce the arrival and before the party from Hanover had reached the drawbridge she was running out to embrace her daughter.
‘My dearest! And how are you? You look pale! Is it just the journey?’
The Duchess knew it was not just the journey and anger momentarily choked her joy – anger against those who had dared make her darling unhappy.
‘And the children!’ Tears filled the Duchess’s eyes. ‘What a little man George Augustus is! And where is my darling little Sophia Dorothea?’
She kissed the little girl. ‘So like you, my love, when you were a baby. No, Master George Augustus, I have not forgotten you!’
The children were well. She need not concern herself with them. It was her daughter who puzzled her. The nurses took the children to the apartment prepared for them and Eléonore herself led Sophia Dorothea to that suite of rooms, so familiar to her, and watching her daughter sit on the bed in the alcove and look round the room, her eyes resting on the four cupids, Eléonore knew that Sophia Dorothea was wishing that this was not merely a visit.
She sat on the bed beside her daughter. ‘It is wonderful to have you back, dearest.’
Sophia Dorothea was crying quietly. ‘I was so happy here …’ she murmured. ‘Never so happy … anywhere else.’
‘My darling.’
‘Oh, Maman, if you had not been so good to me, if you had loved me less, if I had not had the perfect mother perhaps I should be able to bear all this more easily.’
‘Tell me everything.’
‘I want to come home,’ sobbed Dorothea. ‘I want never to go away but to stay with you for the rest of my life.’
While Eléonore rocked her daughter to and fro as though she were a child, she was making plans for the future.
The three of them were together in the room which used to be the schoolroom. There at the table Sophia Dorothea and Eléonore von Knesebeck had worked at their lessons; they had sat in the window looking out over the moat, ecstatically sniffing the scent of limes in flower or watching the branches dip and sway in the winter wind. The same schoolroom, everything so familiar, thought Sophia Dorothea but she was a lifetime away from those days of peace and pleasure.
There was her mother, bewildered as though she was wondering what could have brought the change, no longer omnipotent, or omniscient, a frightened woman, ready to plead for her daughter. It was her father who had changed from the benevolent figure of her childhood. His smile was guarded; the warmth had gone from his expression. Sometimes when he spoke it was as though he were repeating a lesson.
Her mother was saying: ‘But surely you have no wish that our daughter should submit to these insults… . And more than that! George Lewis might have killed her.’
‘You take these matters too seriously, my dear. Sophia Dorothea has only to behave with dignity … take the example of her mother-in-law.’
‘Clara von Platen has never taken precedence over the Duchess Sophia,’ put in Sophia Dorothea.
‘And has this woman over you?’
‘George Lewis ignores me and is constantly with her.’
‘You are too impulsive. Keep out of their way.’
‘But,’ said the Duchess Eléonore, ‘our daughter is being insulted by George Lewis and this woman.’
‘I tell you, you are making trouble where it does not exist. And I have not heard very good reports from Hanover of your conduct, daughter. It would appear that you have been indulging in conspiracies – dangerous conspiracies – with your brothers-in-law.’
‘That is lies … made up by my enemies.’
‘Still, it is unfortunate that you should have been suspected. You must have been indiscreet.’
‘You take their side against me!’ cried Sophia Dorothea incredulously.
‘My dear child, you have been behaving rather foolishly. You cannot leave your husband just because you decide you would rather live in your own home.’
Sophia Dorothea saw the horror in her mother’s face and she thought: I am not to stay here then. It is no longer my home.
She was frightened. She needed to be taken under their protection. She could not explain to them: I am afraid … afraid of the future when Königsmarck returns. I do not know what will happen then … but if you would let me stay here … protect me from my husband’s insults … from my own folly … I can perhaps work out a life for myself. I need my mother as neve
r before … I need you both.
‘You cannot stay here,’ went on George William. ‘This must be a short visit … nothing more. Even a long stay would result in gossip.’
Her mother had risen; there was anger in her eyes; but Sophia Dorothea caught her hand. She felt that the decision had been made. There was no going back now. Whatever was to happen in the future had been decided in this moment.
‘Do not plead for me, Maman,’ she said. ‘I should not wish to stay where I am not wanted.’
Eléonore cried: ‘George William, this is our own beloved daughter… .’
He did not look at them; he was afraid that if he did he would become weak, for he loved them, and like his daughter he would have been happy to go back to the old days of peace and contentment. But they had governed him then. He had been lazy, giving way to everything, a laughing-stock of his brother’s court and of his own. He had to play the man, the head of the house whose word was law.
‘I have told you,’ he said. ‘This is a short visit. Next week Sophia Dorothea must return to Hanover and her husband. And if he takes a mistress …’ George William shrugged his shoulders. ‘It is a common habit. And she must look to her own shortcomings and not run to Celle to complain to us.’
With that he left them.
They did not speak; they merely looked at each other. Then Sophia threw herself into her mother’s arms. Eléonore did her best to comfort her daughter. She suffered with her – the same torment and desolation.
Deserted by my own family! thought Sophia Dorothea. That was something she could never have believed possible. The familiar rooms had lost their charm. They were no longer that haven she had always believed them to be. There was a sinister atmosphere in what had once seemed so dear to her. She hated them, she told herself, even more than her apartments at Hanover. At least there she had not expected to find peace and comfort.
Her mother did her best to comfort her. She must go back to Hanover, she pointed out. She must try to be happy.
Try to be happy? How could one … married to George Lewis. Oh, it was not that her mother did not understand, only that she, like Sophia Dorothea, knew herself to be defeated.
She would have given her life for her daughter but what could she give but advice? She was no less hurt and bewildered by George William’s conduct than her daughter was.
‘We must leave here,’ Sophia Dorothea told Eléonore von Kneseback, ‘and the sooner the better. It was a mistake to come. I have only found fresh unhappiness here.’
Eléonore von Knesebeck made her preparations. Sophia Dorothea took a cool farewell of her father and a warm one of her mother and holding her head proudly high stepped into her coach with the children, Eléonore von Knesebeck and the few servants she had brought with her.
The Duchess of Celle watched the coach until she could no longer see it and then went to her apartments and remained there. In his study George William buried his face in his hands. He too was unhappy; but he was right, he insisted. The alliance with Hanover could not be broken for the whim of a spoilt child.
The distance between Hanover and Celle was not great and during it the travellers must pass Herrenhausen. As the castle came in sight the guards pulled up the carriage and told Sophia Dorothea that the Duke and Duchess were obviously in residence there and that the trumpeter was already announcing their arrival.
Sophia Dorothea lay back against the upholstered coach and closed her eyes. They would know that she had appealed to her parents to let her stay with them; and they would know that she had been refused. She pictured the sly looks of Clara von Platen, the stern ones of the Duchess Sophia, and she knew that in her present heartbroken state she could not face them.
‘Drive on,’ she cried. ‘Straight on to Hanover.’
The driver whipped up the horses. On they went. Sophia Dorothea closed her eyes and did not look at Herrenhausen as they passed.
‘It’s an insult!’ cried Clara. ‘She is deliberately flouting you.’
Ernest Augustus frowned. He had been inclined to favour the girl because she was so pretty, but his feelings had changed towards her since the Mölcke affair.
He did not in his heart believe she would be guilty of conspiracy to murder him; but she had been a friend of Mölcke and Maximilian. And now she was making trouble with George Lewis. George Lewis had all but murdered her, but she must have provoked the attack. And then she must run home to her parents and ask them to shelter her.
She was troublesome, that girl, and he did not care for trouble.
He shrugged his shoulders, but Clara, watching him closely and knowing him so well, followed his line of thought.
Rejected by her parents. Out of favour with Ernest Augustus. Disliked by her husband. Königsmarck far away. Sophia Dorothea had never been so vulnerable as she was now.
Was this the time to strike?
Given the opportunity, Clara would be ready.
Gossip in Dresden
LIFE AT HANOVER was intolerable with Königsmarck or without him. Sophia Dorothea came to this sudden decision. Previously she had been sustained by the thought that if her life with George Lewis became unendurable she could fly to Celle – now she knew that that escape was denied to her. Perhaps this was the greatest shock she had received so far. To be repudiated by her own father was something which would have seemed to her impossible. She knew that he had forced her to this marriage, but she had convinced herself that he had done so only because he had believed it would be good for her. But now he turned his back on her. Her mother was the only one in the world – with the exception of her lover – on whom she could rely; and her mother was in the power of her father.
Dearest Philip, she thought, you are the only person who can help me.
She would not stay here. She would leave Hanover; and if her parents would not have her there, there must be someone else.
She discussed her plight hourly with Eléonore von Knesebeck. She wrote passionate letters to her lover. Königsmarck replied that he understood that she could not continue in her present state. He thought that a flight to France might be possible. After all she was half French; if she became a Catholic she would be well received there; he would join her and as George Lewis would certainly divorce her, they would be married.
‘There are the children!’ cried Sophia Dorothea distractedly. ‘I should lose them for ever.’
No, she dared not cut herself off completely from the House of Brunswick-Lüneberg; in such a way would she lose her mother too. There must be another way. The answer was surely Wolfenbüttel. Why could she not throw herself at the mercy of her kinsman? Maximilian was already there. She would be among friends; she could take her children with her.
She talked constantly of this project to Eléonore von Knesebeck and letters came back and forth between herself and Königsmarck.
One of the most licentious men in Europe was Frederick Augustus the new Elector of Saxony, and, delighted to find himself in power, he very quickly began to show his subjects the sort of man he was. The court at Dresden was going to rival Versailles, not be a mere shadow of it; Dresden itself was going to have buildings to equal in splendour those of the Roi Soleil. He already had his seraglio but he was going to increase that; he intended to live like a sultan of the Arabian Nights.
He welcomed his friend Königsmarck, and when he found him melancholy, laughed at him and told him that the pleasures of Dresden would soon disperse his sadness.
Königsmarck was a compulsive talker who could never restrain a desire to amuse; it was for this reason that Frederick Augustus enjoyed his company. At the extravagant banquets he would often have him at his side and make efforts to turn him into the gay companion he had once been.
Königsmarck’s thoughts were busy. If he were going to elope with Sophia Dorothea he needed all the money he could lay his hands on. In the past Frederick Augustus had lost to him heavily at cards when they had been in the army together and these debts had never been repaid. Now if he could
get the money that was owing him he would be in a better position for a successful elopement.
This, he told himself, was the reason he stayed on at Dresden. But it was not entirely so, and in his heart he knew it. He liked the carefree reckless splendour of this court; now and then the thought entered his mind that if it were not for his involvement with Sophia Dorothea he would be enjoying life as wholeheartedly as Frederick Augustus did. Yet he loved Sophia Dorothea. He wanted only Sophia Dorothea. If he could have married her he believed he would have settled down to raise a family, throw aside his adventurous life without a regret as her father had done when he met the only woman in the world for him.
He was torn one way and another. Frederick Augustus noticed this and came to the conclusion that the best way to restore his friend to his gay old self was to separate him from the Princess of Hanover.
‘I can’t pay you what I owe you in cash,’ said Frederick Augustus. ‘Instead you shall have a post of major general in the Saxon army. That will bring you an income far exceeding my debt to you – and there’ll be little tax on your time.’
Königsmarck was nonplussed. His friend had flattered him, but he was already a Colonel in the Hanoverian army.
Frederick Augustus laughed at him.
‘Give it a trial,’ he said.
Königsmarck thought of the money he would have; and while he was in Dresden he might as well take it.
It was as though he were marking time, waiting, wondering which way to jump. He knew very well that if he returned to Hanover he would have to take some action.
Once he had made the decision Königsmarck felt relieved; he was already slipping into his old ways; and in the company of Frederick Augustus when the drinking was heavy conversation became racy and reckless.
Frederick Augustus was very interested in the rival court of Hanover and who could better satisfy his curiosity than his friend Königsmarck who had recently lived there? The Elector would gather a few of his drinking friends together and, with a mistress on either side of him, would urge his friends to regurgitate the scraps of scandal they had gathered from all over Europe.
