The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series) (18 page)

And the trouble at Celle was that the Duke so doted on his wife that he was ready to follow her advice in all things.

What Bernstorff wanted was to acquire a fortune, become a
landowner, to be supreme in his own little world. It was not easy to build up a fortune in Celle, yet but for the Duchess it might have been. A bribe here … a bribe there … and it might have been possible to build quite a fortune out of bestowing places; the easy-going careless Duke would never have been the wiser. But the Duchess was aware of what went on – and so he hated her. If he could do her harm, if he could make the Duke swerve one little bit in his devotion to her, he would feel he was making some headway. That had seemed impossible – but now he was not so sure.

‘Very good friends,’ he said now; and cautiously added: ‘And I doubt not, my lord, that very soon there will be another bridegroom to replace the one we have lost.’

‘Which bridegroom is this?’

‘Duke Anton Ulrich has another son, my lord. I heard the Duchess say that he is nearer the age of Sophia Dorothea – so I am hourly expecting an announcement.’

‘There has been no arrangement.’

Bernstorff permitted himself a slight laugh. ‘Oh no, my lord, but since the
Duchess
has so obviously made up her mind …’

He did not finish the sentence; he had said enough. The Duke frowned slightly.

At last he was getting home the point he had been trying to make over the last months with delicate innuendoes and insinuations.

The Duke was beginning to understand that in the opinion of his minister he was a man subdued by a forceful wife. A henpecked husband. Madame gave the orders; the husband obeyed.

It was not very pleasant, and it was clear that the Duke disliked it.

That little touch of resentment should be fostered. It could grow big.

John Frederick, Duke of Hanover, was drunk. There was nothing very unusual in this; his attendants had often seen him stagger from the table and stand at the window of his palace and look out on the grounds with admiration.

‘Louis would have to admire that …’ he often muttered.

Louis XIV had no more devoted admirer throughout Germany than John Frederick of Hanover. Hanover was in truth a
petit
Versailles for he had been quite slavish in his imitation.

In his gardens he had erected statues and fountains; many foreign guests filled the court; he had even become a Catholic, which delighted Louis so much that he had given him a pension.

When he was very drunk John Frederick would talk of my friend the King of France with maudlin tenderness.

His subjects accepted this attitude with phlegm. The entertainments were amusing; and there was always plenty of beer to drink. In fact the only German characteristic John Frederick seemed to possess was his love of beer; and only when he was drunk did he revert to old habits and then he would throw off his French manners and those about him felt that he was one of them.

He sat one evening over supper drinking as usual, talking of his adventures in Italy and how such and such was done at the French Court; and suddenly he grew tired and said he would retire to bed.

His attendants sprang to help him for it was clear that he was still in a state to need their help; and as he stood up, his glass still in his hand, he fell sprawling across the table.

Before they could get him to his bed he had died.

‘So,’ said the Duchess Sophia, ‘John Frederick is dead. At least he died like a good German – with a glass in his hand. And because he is dead, Hanover is ours.’

It was true. John Frederick had left no male heirs and because George William had signed away his birthright, Hanover with all its riches fell to Ernest Augustus.

Sophia was delighted. There was no point now in staying in little Osnabrück. The court moved into the Hanover Palace with as little loss of time as possible.

‘Hanover is yours,’ said Clara, lightly running her fingers over her lover’s body. ‘Now you will have a setting worthy of your state.’

‘I’ll admit,’ Ernest Augustus told her, ‘that it is going to suit us better than Osnabrück.’

‘The Duke of Hanover!’ cooed Clara. ‘I fancy you will like that title better than Bishop of Osnabrück.’

‘I was never meant to be a Bishop.’

‘So, my dear, it would seem.’

‘Nonsense, the Popes had their ladies.’

‘They were wise men.’

‘And self indulgent.’

‘Aren’t we all?’

He was silent for a while savouring her caresses. He was becoming more and more devoted to Clara. She was different from any other woman he had known.

‘George Lewis will have to leave the army now,’ said Ernest Augustus.

‘Oh yes, he must certainly be present when you are crowned Duke of Hanover.’

‘He is growing up. Scarce a boy any longer.’

‘In a year he’ll be twenty-one.’ Clara was thoughtful. When George Lewis came home he would be a power in the land.

When Clara called at her sister’s apartments, Marie greeted her warmly; her husband was receiving many favours due to the fact that Clara had become Ernest Augustus’s mistress; and Marie who had always obeyed her sister, knew that she must do so even more zealously than ever.

‘I see all is well with you,’ said Clara, ‘and that you are enjoying the married state.’

Marie nodded, and Clara regarded her complacently. She was very pretty. Far prettier, thought Clara, than I could ever be. But I have something more useful. Brains, the ability to see ahead and grasp the advantage before it is too late and someone else has seen it and taken it.

‘John is a good husband?’ asked Clara.

‘Very good. We were lucky to go to the fête as we did and meet our husbands …’ Marie stopped, wondering what the relationship between Clara and hers could be at this time, for everyone knew she was Ernest Augustus’s mistress.

‘Very lucky,’ agreed Clara. ‘But luck is seizing opportunities, and it doesn’t stay with you because you are special favourites. Oh no. You have to work for it.’

‘You have worked very hard, Clara.’

‘There must be no complacency. Every day Ernest Augustus relies more and more on me.’

‘And Frank?’

‘Frank! Don’t be so absurd. He gets as much out of this as anyone, so of course he is content.’

Marie opened her blue eyes very wide. After all the years we were together and I tried to instil a little sense in her, thought Clara in exasperation, she is still an innocent.

‘It is your turn, now dear,’ went on Clara.

‘Mine?’

‘That’s what I said. The Crown Prince is coming to Hanover for the coronation.’

‘I expected he would.’

‘You can depend upon it that some clever woman at the court will know how to get her talons into him.’

‘He likes women, so …’

‘Yes, that’s a good point. He’ll be important. He is nearly twenty-one; and that means that he will have a say in government. He’ll be brought up to rule. Now will be the time. He must be with us. I wouldn’t want someone working against me in Hanover.’

‘You think he will?’

‘No, because he’ll be stopped.’

‘You’ll stop him?’

‘Don’t be obtuse. How can I when Ernest Augustus is my affair. George Lewis will be yours.’

‘Mine! I don’t understand.’

‘Don’t be so childish. You’re very pretty so it’ll present no difficulties … He’ll be willing enough. And it isn’t to be the affair of a night or two either. You must see to that.’

‘But Clara …!’

‘Don’t play the innocent. You knew that we came to Osnabrück to make ourselves agreeable.’

‘But there is John …’

‘He will understand as Frank does. Believe me, Frank thought he should protest at first. I soon silenced him and he saw where his own advantages lay. I’ll deal with your John if you can’t yourself. But not a word until it is a certainty. Now when the Crown Prince comes to Hanover you must be ready. You must give him no chance to stray elsewhere. He is young and therefore may be impressionable. Be prepared.’

‘Clara …’

Clara took her sister by the wrist and twisted her arm quite gently, but it was a reminder of punishments inflicted when Marie was a child, and meant that she must go on obeying Clara as she always had, for to disobey could bring unpleasant consequences.

Marie was weak and without morals. Such an adventure as was being suggested had its interest, and if she need not worry about her husband’s reactions, and if she could enjoy an intrigue and feel that she was helping her family, she was not really averse to the idea.

George Lewis was riding sullenly towards Hanover. He had no wish to return there. He knew that he would dislike court life and the court of Hanover would necessarily be so much more grand than that of Osnabrück. Dancing, mincing in and out of levies, playing the courtier!

George Lewis uttered a coarse expletive. Being so much with the army had made him coarse. But he was at home with his soldiers and popular enough with them for he was at his best in camp where men had come to respect him; he was intrepid and never asked of his soldiers what he would not do himself; in fact he was always one to take the first and biggest risk. He could be relied on, although he was so young, and he was known to be just. That was the life for him. Even his father had complimented him when he had fought at Consarbrück. And Maestricht and Charleroy were battles with which he was remembered.

On the battlefield he was a leader of men; he knew it and they knew it; and his vanity was gratified. It was only when he was at court, with people who fought each other with words,
that he was at a loss and the brave soldier became an uncouth boor.

To hell with their clever phrases, their tricky jokes. He wanted none of that. He liked to sit on a bank surrounded by men, eating sausages and black bread and talking about the battle: how it had been fought, how it might have been fought; where they had shown cunning; where they had faltered; talking too of the women they would have. That was a man’s life. No dancing in the French fashion; no titillating conversation, no hiding behind fans, showing shocked surprise as though it were not known towards what end everything was leading. A waste of time, thought George Lewis. Why indulge in that? There was the woman and the man. They both knew for what purpose they were together. Therefore get on with it without preamble. He had no doubts of
his
abilities in actual performance; it was all the stupid gyrations, all the overtures and innuendoes, all the advancing and retreating, all the pretty manners, in which he failed.

And why worry about that, for of what use were they? They were all directed towards the same end and if it could be reached without bother, why go through them like performing animals?

That was what George Lewis told himself when he rode to Hanover. There would be plenty of women and that was all that mattered.

But when his horse was taken from him and he entered the Palace and he was aware of the Frenchified atmosphere he quailed, and his expression became more sullen than ever. He tripped over a tabouret which in his annoyance he had not seen, and cursing with a soldier’s oath he kicked it across the room.

Fortunately it came to rest before his parents appeared. He shambled over to them, his face red from the exertion.

How awkward he is! thought Sophia. What will they think of him when he goes to England? Charles is so graceful.

Uncouth as ever! thought Ernest Augustus. He belongs in the camp and always will.

‘Welcome, my son,’ said Sophia.

George knelt before his parents.

Sophia was thinking: Let us get this ceremonial greeting over as soon as possible. A pity Frederick Augustus isn’t Crown Prince. He would have made a better showing. How did we get such a one as this?

George Lewis was on his feet.

‘You’ll wish to go to your apartments before dinner.’

George Lewis said he would.

‘Then I want to hear how the army is getting on.’

The young man’s face brightened.

At least, thought Ernest Augustus, he’s a good soldier.

The Duchess Sophia followed Ernest Augustus into his apartments and shut the door, signing to the Duke’s attendants that she wished to be alone with her husband.

‘Well?’ said Ernest Augustus.

‘His manners haven’t improved.’

‘Do you think anything on earth would improve his manners?’

‘I always hoped.’

‘My dear, you are over-optimistic. George Lewis will always be what he is – a bore and boor.’

‘What can we do about it?’

Ernest Augustus shrugged his shoulders. ‘He’ll be a good soldier. Let us be thankful for that. It’s a useful occupation when you have a principality to protect.’

‘How will he be in his relations with other states?’

‘Let us hope he has good advisers.’

‘At least,’ said the Duchess, ‘he is fairly safe as far as women are concerned, for no woman of culture and education would attract him. It will be serving girls for him.’

‘Don’t be too sure of that. He’ll be the Duke of Hanover one day. I fancy that will make up for his uncouth manners.’

‘What I meant is that the sort of women who will attract him will be those who are not interested in state affairs; and that is all to the good.’

The Duke looked over his wife’s head. Was this a reference to Clara? If so, he would ignore it. Sophia knew that one thing he would not endure was interference with his affairs.

‘In any case,’ went on Sophia, ‘it is time he married.’

‘I agree with you there.’

‘The King of England has no legitimate heirs and I do not believe he will ever get any. That wife of his is barren, depend upon it. All this time and not one son. And when you consider how many strong sons the King has given to other women …’

Ernest Augustus nodded in agreement.

‘And,’ went on Sophia, ‘what of James?’

‘James has children.’

‘Two daughters – Mary and Anne. He does not seem to be able to get a son that will live.’

‘Well?’

‘Mary is married to my cousin’s boy, William of Orange. And … so far, there are no sons there either.’

‘It’s early yet.’

‘Still no sons.’