The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series) (28 page)

‘This is the last birthday in Celle,’ said Sophia Dorothea sadly. ‘I suppose the others will be clebrated in Hanover.’

There was a finality in the words; she accepted her fate; from now on she knew it was useless to hope for release.

Eléonore was relieved, for she too saw the hopelessness of fighting against the inevitable.

The last birthday! Sophia Dorothea exhausted, slept; and Eléonore kissed her gently and crept away.

The Wedding

THE TRUMPETER IN
the tower sent out the welcome. There was bustle in the castle. For the first time for years Ernest Augustus, Duke of Hanover, was the guest of his brother George William of Celle.

George William forgot his remorse, so delighted was he to welcome his brother. They embraced; they patted each other on the back; they were both emotional over this reunion.

Beside his father stood that important young man, the Crown Prince of Hanover, George Lewis, the prospective bridegroom. Neither tall nor short he stood inelegantly slouching, his hands hanging at his side; his manner was as awkward as his figure; his features were heavy, his eyes dull, his mouth both sensuous and sullen.

When George William turned to him he did feel a wave of misgiving; but it was such a pleasure to see his brother that he was certain his son must have inherited some of his charm. George Lewis was young yet, a little shy, a little embarrassed. Thus it was when one was young.

‘Come into the castle,’ cried George William. ‘We are longing to show you how happy we are to have you here.’

The Duchess and her daughter did not bear this out, thought
Ernest Augustus cynically. By God, he thought, what a beautiful woman she is! And even now in her grief and bitter disappointment, gracious. It is small wonder that George William has been so dominated by her, but well that he now realizes his mistake.

And the girl – she was enchanting in spite of her despair. Ernest Augustus thought’ her the daintiest, prettiest creature he had ever seen. She reminded him of the girls who had delighted him during his travels by their delicate beauty and charming foreign ways – so different from the frauleins of his own country.

And to marry that oaf, George Lewis, poor child!

And there was Sophia, triumphant, already thinking of this plan – to which he had had to work so hard to reconcile her – as her own. Magnificent Sophia! The grandest of them, believing so firmly that her English blood set her above them all in rank that it seemed it did.

Sophia’s eyes were on her son. Cannot he even be gracious on such an occasion? she was thinking. After all the trouble to which we have gone! He is to get a girl who, though spoiled, must be one of the prettiest in Europe and with one of the biggest fortunes. He was the most pig-headed stubborn boy in the world who had surrounded his brains with such a thick crust that she defied any man or woman to find what was in them. Sometimes she thought he was quite stupid, he was so lethargic; at others he could be surprisingly shrewd. At least he had the advantage of being able to surprise. And now he was sullen, having no more wish to marry his cousin of Celle than she had to marry him. He would be wise enough though to accept the match for he realized the advantages it would bring.

It was the moment for the unhappy pair to be presented to each other.

They looked at each other squarely. George saw a child – a silly little girl. Her daintiness meant nothing to him; her beauty failed to move him; her slender grace had no charm for him. He thought of his big-busted Marie with the lewd eyes.

Sophia Dorothea saw the coarse jowls, the sullen eyes and she thought: He is all that I feared he would be.

The room seemed to tip drunkenly; the faces of those about her receded and then rushed towards her; she saw the face of her future husband distorted so that it looked like that of an ape as she swayed; had her mother not caught her in her arms she would have fallen to the floor.

Sophia Dorothea had fainted.

Platen, Clara’s husband, came to Celle to help his master work out the marriage settlement; and the two brothers – each with his chief minister – were closeted together to deal with this matter. The odds were well in favour of Hanover for Platen worked zealously with Ernest Augustus to extract the utmost advantage; and Bernstorff worked with them to advance his; as for George William, he was so delighted to be on old terms of friendship which his brother that he was happy to concede anything that was asked of him.

‘A marriage portion say of a hundred thousand thalers?’ suggested Platen.

Three pairs of eyes watched George William’s reaction to this suggestion. It was astonishing that he did not even blink.

‘It seems fair enough,’ he said.

Ernest Augustus lowered his eyes. Platen was a good fellow. He would reward him for this; and it would please Clara. A title perhaps. Baron. Clara would like to be a Baroness.

A hundred thousand thalers and the estates which were already settled on the girl. This match pleased Ernest Augustus far more than the English one would have done. He doubted the Princess Anne would have received such a dowry.

Bernstorff had to make some pretence of working for Celle. He suggested that should the Princess Sophia Dorothea become a widow she should be entitled to a dower of twelve thousand thalers.

Twelve thousand thalers. A small sum when compared with a hundred thousand; yet Bernstorff managed to make it sound a good deal.

George William in any case was eager to be, as he said, reasonable. This was a contract between relations; they had no wish to bargain sordidly with each other.

He knew that he was passing his daughter into the best possible hands.

Then, suggested Platen, there was no reason why the marriage settlement should not be drawn up without delay and the two Dukes could put their signatures to it in company with the two happy young people.

No reason at all, agreed Bernstorff, rubbing his hands together and smiling at his master as though by so doing he could delude him into believing that they had come well out of the matter.

When Eléonore heard the terms of the marriage settlement she was astounded.

‘It seems to me,’ she told George William, ‘that you are bewitched.’

‘Nonsense,’ retorted George William. ‘You have worked yourself into such a passion over this marriage that you condemn every part of it.’

‘You give away one hundred thousand thalers and all she will have if she becomes a widow is twelve!’

‘She will always live in accordance with her rank, naturally.’

‘In accordance with her rank!’ repeated Eléonore bitterly. ‘He has a mistress at Hanover. At least she should be dismissed from Hanover before Sophia Dorothea enters the palace there.’

George William was silent.

‘Well?’ said Eléonore. ‘Do you agree with me?’

‘Naturally he will not need a mistress now that he has a wife.’

‘Your brother has a wife but that does not prevent his having many mistresses, headed by that Platen woman.’

‘My dear, you are becoming hysterical.’

Eléonore stamped her foot. ‘I insist that Marie von dem Bussche be dismissed from Hanover before my daughter arrives there.’

‘I will mention the matter,’ said George William.

‘I will be present when you do, to add my voice to yours,’ she replied firmly.

The Duchess Sophia emitted a harsh laugh. ‘My dear Duchess,’
she said, ‘this woman is of no importance.’

‘She is George Lewis’s mistress and has succeeded in making a scandal of her name.’

‘You have
odd
ideas,’ replied Sophia. ‘Men will have their mistresses. As long as their wives lose nothing by it, what matter?’

‘How could their wives fail to lose love … companionship?’

‘Such strange fancies! As you know the Duke of Hanover has his mistresses but I never allow them to interfere with me.’

‘My daughter has been brought up to respect the sanctity of marriage.’

‘A strange upbringing indeed! Why, as long as she sees enough of her husband to get herself children, what complaint could she have? She should be pleased rather that there are some who can amuse him from time to time. It will give her a little respite.’

‘You have cynical ideas of marriage.’

‘Worldly ones if you like. Perhaps at Hanover we are more worldly than you are at Celle. But I assure you that your daughter will have nothing to fear from her husband’s mistresses.’

‘She has not yet signed the marriage agreement, nor given her written consent to the marriage. I have accepted much so far, but I shall stand against this. She shall not go to Hanover as George Lewis’s wife while he keeps a mistress there.’

‘I think you are a little … unreasonable.’

‘There are many matters on which we do not agree,’ replied Eléonore.

What a tiresome woman she was! said Sophia to Platen and Bernstorff. There they were with everything agreed upon and now Madame Eléonore was making difficulties over Marie von dem Bussche.

Ernest Augustus said: ‘Well, it is understandable. She is a fine woman and I admire the manner in which she is facing this. As for the girl … she’s pretty and should be enough for
George Lewis until she is with child. I think we should concede this request.’

Bernstorff added that the Duchess of Celle had spent a long time arguing with her husband on this point and that George William from sheer habit, was turning to her way of thinking.

‘Perhaps,’ suggested Bernstorff, ‘it would be wise to give way on this point.’

‘George Lewis will be furious if we do,’ put in Platen.

‘I think,’ said Ernest Augustus, ‘that George Lewis’s wishes must be ignored in this instance. If we give way, and we had better, for if we do not the Duchess may start working on her husband’s resistance, then it will seem that we have granted a great concession. We shall say that we are ready to grant any reasonable request. Moreover I agree that George Lewis should not expect his wife to accept a mistress at this time. Mistresses will be for later. At the moment he must content himself with his wife.’

‘Then,’ said Bernstorff, ‘let us give way to the Duchess’s request and the papers can go forward for signature without delay.’

So, while George Lewis fumed in his apartment against the silly little girl he must take in place of his voluptuous Marie, Sophia Dorothea was writing the letter which, now that her mother had achieved the dismissal of the bridegroom’s mistress, could be put off no longer.

It was addressed to the Duchess Sophia of Hanover and ran:

Madam,

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

Madam,

Your Highness’s very humble and Obedient servant

Sophia Dorothea

From Celle, October 21st, 1682.’

‘It is false, so false!’ cried Sophia Dorothea; but she had written and signed it.

It was taken from her and delivered; and after that there was no need to delay further. Plans for the wedding went on with all possible speed.

All through the day the trumpeter on the tower was announcing the arrival of important guests. The townsfolk ran from their houses or leaned from their windows to watch the carriages rattle by. Every distinguished family was coming to the wedding, the notable exception being the Wolfenbüttels.

In the castle there was dancing and feasting and the gaiety contrasted with the misty dampness outside. Sophia Dorothea spent a long time sitting in her apartments alone, looking out at the trees and the grey water of the moat. She kept reminding herself that there was little time left; the day was fast approaching when this dear castle would no longer be her home. Instead of a castle she would live in the Alte Palais at Hanover where everything would be different; her mother, now quiet and reconciled, had tried to learn what she could of life at the court of Hanover so that her daughter might be prepared. ‘Keep your dignity. Remember you are a Princess and none will dare treat you with anything but respect. Perhaps you will learn to be fond of your husband.’ Sophia Dorothea had nodded because she could not bear to grieve her mother by letting her know the full extent of her wretchedness. They were both acting for each other; and Sophia Dorothea knew that in the last weeks she had been sharply jolted out of childhood forever.

Eléonore von Knesebeck was with her – a great comfort, for there was one friend from whom she would not be parted. The
little Knesebeck was fiercely determined to fight her mistress’s battles.

One must begin to count the advantages. ‘I shall be the wife of the heir to Hanover,’ Sophia Dorothea told herself. ‘I shall not be far from home. The Duke smiles at me kindly. I think he will be my friend.’

It was only thus that she could live through the days.

They had made her the most beautiful gown she had ever possessed; jewels were brought for her selection. She looked over them with her mother and they pretended to be interested.

If we do not pretend, thought Sophia Dorothea, we should be tempted to go out to the moat or the river and lie down there together while the waters made a covering over our heads.

Those were thoughts which brought a queer sort of comfort; but one knew all the time in one’s heart that one would never reach that point. Life was there – and one kept a hold of it, desperately clinging to it, whatever happened.

The 21st November – two months since that nightmare day when everything had changed in the castle of Celle – was her wedding day.