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SOPHIE DOROTHEA.
From a painting formerly at Ahlden.

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that I lighted by chance (while turning over old volumes in a second-hand bookshop at Leipzig) upon the fact that an unpublished correspondence between Sophie Dorothea and Königsmarck existed.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 viAuthenticity 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.

viiIt 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.

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 viiiHanoverian 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 ixthe 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 xsimilarity of style and sentiment tended to weary rather than to edify.^[2]

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 xiwhat 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]

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”....

xiiDr. 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]

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 xiiias 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.”

March, 1903.

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 2Sophie 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, MonseigneurMonseigneur, 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, 3and, 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]

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.

4The 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 5any 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 6Brunswick; 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.

Meantime George William had overcome his belated penchant for Sophia, if indeed it ever existed save in her 7imagination, 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, 8thereby 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.

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 9reduced 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.

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 10airs 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.

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 11sister 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. GeorgeGeorge William was glad to take up his abode 12at 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.

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 14of the modern world—the King of England and the German Emperor.^[11]

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 15remarked 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 16her 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.

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 17nothing should be done to prejudice the rights of her offspring.^[13]

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 18returned 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 19the 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 20holding 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 21imagined—at any rate their names were linked together even at that early period in the little court of Celle.

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.

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, 22and 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, 23the 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 24summit 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.

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 26and 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 27match. 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!”

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 28Ministers 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 29XIV.’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 30regiments 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 31no 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. 32Having 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 33made 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 34riddle 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 35they fought together, finally dismissing them with “A plague on both your houses”.^[16]

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 36as 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 37would 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.

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.

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. 39He 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 40of 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.

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 41his 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 42was 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 43was 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 44willing; 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 45communicated 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 46by 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.

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 48humour 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.

49In 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.

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 50the 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]

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 51ambition 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 52found 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 53troublesome 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 54Louis 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 55her 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 56thalers 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.

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 58castle 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.

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 60been 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 61and 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.

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 62some 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 63showing 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 64things 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, 65always 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.

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]

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 66their 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 67extravagant 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 68herself 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 69to 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.

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.

71Meantime 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 72Madame 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 73given 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 74yourself 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.”

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, 75in years to come, married her cousin, the King of Prussia, and became mother of Frederick the Great.

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 76Minister, 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 77her 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 78princes 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 79Countess 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.

To do EmengardaEmengarda 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 80Dorothea 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 81for 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.

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.

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 83no 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 84II., 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. 85Count 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 86for 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 87made 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. 88In 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]

89Though 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 90an 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.

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.

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 91manners. 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, 92and 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]

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 93his 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.

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 95carnival, Königsmarck carried all before him; he was the central and brilliant figure.

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.

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 96Prince 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 97impropriety 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 98Elector 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.

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.

99In 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 100Turks 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 101years 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 102furnishing 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]

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.

103The 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 104person 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.]

105Königsmarck 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, 106his 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.

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.

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 108magnificent 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.

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 109were 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.

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.

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. 110This 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.

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, 111Hanoverian 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]

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.

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.

112In 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]

It was magnificent, but it was not war. The great 113congress 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]

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.

114“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]

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.

The Princess Sophie Dorothea attended both parties; her sympathy with France is practically the only authenticated 115instance 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 116dress, 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 117him 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.

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 119record of the Princess’s love story. The pertinent question is, how came the many hereafter published to be preserved?^[56]

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]

This continued until the end of 1693. In the six months that followed (January to June, 1694) Königsmarck 120did 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 121to 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 122day. It is not easy to see how the history of these documents could be better authenticated.^[58]

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 123seems 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 124addressed 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’sKönigsmarck’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.

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, 125and it is only by reading them aloud that one can grasp their meaning. For instance:—

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 126and 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:—

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:—

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 129Palmblad 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.

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”.

130The 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 131close 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.

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 132extracts 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.

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.

133The 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, 134or 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.

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.

135But 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:—

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.

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]

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:—

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:—

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.

141Königsmarck 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.

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:—

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:—

143His 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.

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.

Duke Ernest Augustus was now setting out on an autumn visit to the Duke of Celle at his hunting-seats of Epsdorff and Göhre.Göhre.^[75] The Duke of Celle was much keener 147on 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.

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.

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:—

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:—

150Sophie 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:—

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 151was 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:—

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:—

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 153mother’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:—

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:—

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

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]

The story circulated by authority was that Count Moltke, who was in waiting on the Duke, had presented 157a 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 158herself 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]

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. 159To 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 160not 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:—

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]

The Duke of Hanover had an object in sending “all the 162women” 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. KönigsmarckKönigsmarck 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]

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 KönigsmarckKönigsmarck, 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.

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:—

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

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

And he wrote later the same day:—

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 167on 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.

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:—

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

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 170his 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:—

171And again:—

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.

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 173at 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.

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]

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. 174and 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.

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 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.

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:—

SOPHIE DOROTHEA.
From a painting formerly at Ahlden, now at Herrenhausen.

“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 205defeat. 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]

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 206love 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.

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.

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:—

[PHILIP CHRISTOPHER COUNT KÖNIGSMARCK.
From a painting in the possession of Count Gustav Lewenhaupt.

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.

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 234avail 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.

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’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 243the 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:—

THE COUNTESS AURORA KÖNIGSMARCK.
From the painting in the possession of Count C. G. von Rosen.

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:—

249Thus, 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.

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:—

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 254of 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]

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:—

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.

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 257with 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 258particularly 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 259noteworthy 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.

HERRENHAUSEN.

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, 278and 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.

THE ELECTOR ERNEST AUGUSTUS OF HANOVER.
From an old print in the British Museum.

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 303made 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.

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 307campaign 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.

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:—

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:—

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 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 326“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.

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 327even 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 328intended 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 329Princess, 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:—

330“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]

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 331will 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.

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 332gambled 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 333at the first opportunity to some far-off corner of the world. But perhaps in this, too, he looked to the favour of the Elector.

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 334to 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 335Electoral 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 336into 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 337ill—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.

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 338insisted 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, 339the 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.

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 341against 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 342to 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 343not 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 344usual 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]

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 345to 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 346great 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 347passed, 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.

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 348tune 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.

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 349were 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, 350and, 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 351completed before the morning light, which, at that time of the year in Hanover, began to dawn soon after three o’clock.

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.

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 353safe 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 354Königsmarck 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]

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 355though 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.

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 356these 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 357unprotected 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 358Platen’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 359her 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 360Princess’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 361much 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 362that 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]

THE CASTLE OF AHLDEN AS IT WAS WHEN SOPHIE DOROTHEA WAS IMPRISONED THERE.
From an old engraving in the Castle.

363In 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.

364Though 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.

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 365it 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 366shore, 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]

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 367believes 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]

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, 368and 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]

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 369whom 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]

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.

370Aurora 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.

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:—

It is very difficult to follow accurately the successive 373stages 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 374religion. 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:—

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 375or 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 376have 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.

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]

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 377decreed, 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]

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 378for 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 379connubial 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 380emphatic 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; 381but 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, 382Bernstorff 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. 383Molanus, 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:—

384That 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 385desperate 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]

“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:—

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 387with 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.

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 389in 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]

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 390young 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 391simply 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]

392On 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:—

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 397management 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 398Hanoverian 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 399establishment 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 400to 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 401arrangement—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.

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:—

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. 403All 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 404Fräulein 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.

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]

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 406this 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 407were 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:—

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; 409but 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.

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 410that 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 411King 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:—

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:—

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. 413He 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:—

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 414whole 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 415the 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]

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 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 416Sophie 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:—

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 417from 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.

418The 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 419was 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:—

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:—

But apparently she repents of this pity, for the next year we find this:—

420Two 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.

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]

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 422they 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 423helped 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, 424and 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 425destroyed 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.

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 426eyes 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.

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 427of 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 428of 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, 429and 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 430closely 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:—

431There 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 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 432considerable 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:—

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 433half 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 434the following letter, in which she again assures him of her confidence:—

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:—

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:—

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, 436he 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.

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 438for 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 439years 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.

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 440must 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 441wife, 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 442air 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

which shows that Sophie Dorothea’s imprisonment at Ahlden was fairly familiar to the English public.

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 443renovating 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.

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.

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.

446The 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.

• 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

• 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

• 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
• 448Correspondence, theory of key to cypher, 126
• — between Knesebeck and Königsmarck, 198
• Court mistresses, 32
• Cresset, envoy at Hanover, 354
• Crossing the RubiconRubicon, 156

• 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

• 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-LüneburgBrunswick-Lüneburg, 1
• Ernest Augustus betrothed to Sophia, 6
• — married to Sophia, 6
• — attempt to murder, 157

• 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

• 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

• 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

• Ilse, Abigail, 75
• Ilten, General von, 72
• — Madame von, 72

• James I. of England, 3
• — II. of England, 71
• John Frederick, Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg, 1

• 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

• 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

• 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
• MeissenburgMeissenburg, 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

• Namur, siege and fall of, 172
• Naples, 72
• Neerwinden, battle of, 316
• Northumberland, Dowager-Countess of, 84

• Ogle, Countess of, 84
• Osnabrück, 30
• — Court of, 30
• Otho William, Count, 20
• — death of, 92

• 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

• Querouaille, Louise de, 30

• 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

• 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
• 450Sophie 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

• Thynne, Thomas, 85
• — murder of, 86
• Toland (historian), 410
• Treves, siege of, 39

• Venice, 70
• Verona, siege of, 88
• Victoria, Queen, 37
• Vratz, Captain, 86

• 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

• York, Princess Mary of, 40
• — Princess Anne of, 38
• — Duke of, 38