Queen in waiting

The Unwilling Bridegroom

Sophia Charlotte, Electress of Brandenburg, was discussing the possibility of a marriage for her dear but sadly impoverished friend Eleanor Erdmuthe Louisa, widowed Margravine of Ansbach.

"For you see, my dear Frederick, her position is intolerable as it stands and what will become of that poor child of hers if her mother has no position in the world?"

Frederick, Elector of Brandenburg, smiled at his wife. He rarely smiled when he was not with her for his was far from a genial nature; but since their marriage he had never ceased to be delighted with her and had been a faithful husband which was something of a miracle when the way of life among German princelings was promiscuous by habit and the coarser the more natural.

But no other German prince possessed a wife like Sophia Charlotte. She was the most beautiful Princess in Germany, so he believed: as soon as he had seen her he had been struck by this unusual beauty, so outstanding among the buxom ladies of his previous acquaintance. She had a grace and charm inherited from her Stuart ancestors for her mother was Sophia, Electress of Hanover and her mother had been Elizabeth of Bohemia daughter of James I of England. The Stuart charm was very noticeable in Sophia Charlotte—tempered, thought Frederick, with good sound German common sense. Charm and good sense! What a combination !

"Well, we must bring about this marriage. It would be excellent from all points of view," he said.

"It would give me great pleasure to see her happy. Poor soul, I fear she has no easy time in Ansbach with that stepson of hers. I believe he always resented his father's second marriage and now he has a chance to express his disapproval. It's no atmosphere in which to bring up children."

"Nothing could suit us better than to see a friend of ours married into Saxony. John George has been a cause of trouble since he inherited. And I believe that woman of his is in the pay of Austria."

"Then he needs marriage with a woman like Eleanor to break the association. Though I've heard that his passion for Magdalen von Roohlitz is quite violent and she has great power over him."

"Eleanor will break that."

Sophia Charlotte was dubious. Eleanor was a dear creature but meek and although pretty enough in her way, perhaps not persuasively charming or erotically skilled enough to break the hold of a sensuous woman like von Roohlitz.

Sophia Charlotte's inclination was to turn away from unpleasantness and such relationships as that between the dissolute Elector of Saxony and his mistress was in her opinion decidedly unpleasant; but she was never one to shirk the distasteful at the expense of duty; and she was deeply concerned about her friend.

Her husband looked at her a little wistfully. He would have been delighted if she had taken more interest in politics. He had often visualized an ideal relationship. She was the only woman in the world with whom he would have shared his powers—and she did not want a share in it. If she had brought that penetrating mind of hers to the study of politics, if they had worked together, what a pair they would have made! But no! She preferred literature, music, art and discussion to statescraft. She would converse learnedly with theologians on the possibility of an after-life but had little concern for the affairs of her husband's electorate.

Yet what could he do but indulge her for his greatest desire was to please her. There she sat now—serene, almost unbelievably beautiful, gravely discussing this marriage—not because the alliance would help to break friendship between Saxony and Austria and turn it towards Brandenburg where it was needed, but because her friend and protege, poor widowed Eleanor, needed a home and settled life for her children.

Her children! That was at the root of the matter. He and Sophia Charlotte had one son, Frederick William—and the little boy was already showing signs of an ungovernable temper—and she longed for a daughter, preferably like Eleanor's who was a pretty little girl, now about eight years old, flaxen-haired, and plump with bright blue enquiring eyes. He had seen Sophia Charlotte's eyes on little Wilhelmina Caroline. And it was to provide security for the child that Sophia Charlotte wanted this match.

He went on: "When she is married into Saxony it will be easier for her to provide for her children's future."

"Poor little Caroline!" She was referring to Wilhelmina Caroline who was known by her second name. "That stepbrother who is now the Margrave resents them at Ansbach. Eleanor was delighted when I suggested she should come to us in Berlin."

"I'm not surprised, my dear. You make them very welcome and it is, as we all know, an honour to be a guest at Lutzenburg which you have made comparable, so they tell me, with the Palace of Versailles."

"That is an exaggeration. Nothing on earth could compare with Versailles. We are none of us in a position to set ourselves up as little Kings of France. Nor do we wish to. Lutzenburg is ours ... we have made it as it is and certainly we have not tried to imitate Louis."

"You have made it so, my dear, not I," he reminded her.

"But for your generosity I should never have had the opportunity." She smiled at him wishing she could feel more strongly towards him. But she felt no love for him nor for any man. Moreover he was middleaged and deformed, and when she had first seen him she had been horrified, but her mother had warned her years before that all Princesses must accept the marriages which were made for them and even if they must go to bed with a gorilla for the sake of the state they should not complain. Frederick was no gorilla—merely in her young eyes an unattractive, unshapely old man whom she had learned to tolerate; and his indulgence to her had touched her, for not only did he wish to please her by giving her gifts like the beautiful castle of Lutzenburg, not only did he allow her to invite her own circle of friends there, even though they were of no interest to him, but he was actually in awe of her. When she considered the promiscuity of her father, the Elector of Hanover, and the crudeness of her eldest brother George Lewis with his dreadful mistresses; when she considered her dignified mother's resignation and the manner in which George Lewis treated his beautiful wife, Sophia Dorothea, she must think she was very fortunate.

"I want you to be happy," he said rising and coming nearer.

She put out a hand for fear this might be an approach to some display of affection.

"You are so kind," she said coolly, and he immediately recoiled. "I have asked her to come along to see me," she went on. He saw the tender smile touch her face; she had never shown such tenderness for him. "I have asked her to bring young Caroline with her. She is such a bright little thing."

"She should be grateful to you."

"Not yet. Only if her mother marries into Saxony and through the marriage can arrange a happy future for her."

He went to her, took her hand and kissed it. As soon as he left her he was scowling, wondering why one of the most powerful Electors in Germany should be so humbly eager to please a woman who showed him little else but a kindly tolerance.

Caroline looked out of the window over the lawns to the terraces and statues and thought how much more pleasant it was here than at Ansbach. Secretly she thought how much more beautiful, how much more stately, how much more exciting was the Electress Sophia Charlotte than her own mother— although she would admit this to no one.

Poor Mamma was so often in tears. It was a sad life when you were resented and unwanted. She knew that well enough for she shared in the resentment. William Frederick did too but he, poor child, being two years younger than herself was too young to understand. At six one understood very little, whereas at eight...

Well at eight one understood that Mamma was very unhappy at Ansbach, that her stepbrother George Frederick, who had been Margrave since their father's death—although, being a minor, in name only—did not want them; and that was not a very pleasant way of living. How much better to be Electress Sophia Charlotte who was so beautiful and clever and adored by everyone. There was no question of her being unwanted.

And this goddess had time to take notice of a little eight-year-old girl, to ask her about Ansbach. Caroline was uneasy remembering that conversation. Had she said too much? Would Mamma scold in her tearful way which was almost worse than bullying? Sophia Charlotte asked about lessons, not as a governess would, but as though she were interested because learning was so exciting. Was it? Caroline had not thought so until the Electress had made her feel it was, and now she was eager to find out, for surely the Electress could not be wrong? Electress Sophia Charlotte had selected Caroline for particular notice, had talked to her as she had never been talked to before. She had made her feel that she was important', and to be made to feel important by the most important person one had ever met could only mean that one was important.

What an exciting discovery!

Caroline could scarcely wait to be once more in the presence of this goddess and yet she feared it. Suppose by some little stupidity she forfeited her regard?

"I hope," she said aloud, "that we stay at Berlin for ever and ever."

From the window she saw a man walking with other men in the gardens. She knew who he was—someone very important because he had been pointed out to her, John George, Elector of Saxony. The most important guest in the Castle—far more than the widow of Ansbach and her young daughter.

John George was gesticulating. How angry he appeared to be! thought Caroline, and wondered what those men were saying to him to make him so.

"I don't think I like him much," she said aloud.

John George of Saxony was arguing with his ministers—two of whom had accompanied him on this visit to Berlin. They had even followed him out of doors to continue the discussion and would not leave him alone so that he felt as though he were going mad. Surely an Elector should not have to obey his own ministers.

"My lord Elector, this marriage is a necessity. It is for the purpose of making it that we are here. Alliance with Brandenburg is essential to us, and this marriage is their condition."

"I have no wish to marry this woman."

"She is meek."

"Insipid!"

"All the better. She will give you no trouble."

"She had better not try to."

"She will know her place. She needs the security you can give her, and she'll be grateful for it."

"I have no desire to give her anything."

"Your Highness, Brandenburg wants this marriage and we want Brandenburg."

John George scowled. He knew what they wanted. They wanted to separate him from Magdalen. Well, they were not going to. He missed her now. There was no one like her. They could offer him other women but they couldn't satisfy him for more than an hour. He went back and back again to Magdalen. He thought of her constantly. Other women were only proxy for Magdalen. He even thought of her when making love to others. And they were offering him this dessicated widow for a wife!

State reasons! There was certainly no other reason why he would take such a creature to his bed.

The argument went on. He knew they would wear him down in the end. Ministers had great power over their rulers; and according to them Saxony needed the friendship of Brandenburg. He was prepared to let them apply themselves to matters of state if they left him in peace to apply himself to Magdalen. He smiled, remembering her. She was insatiable, that woman—and so was he. That was why they were so well matched.

The argument continued.

Nervously, Eleanor, the widowed Margravine of Ansbach, awaited her suitor. Her large blue eyes showed clearly her apprehension and now and then she would lift a hand to smooth her plentiful auburn hair. She had been considered beautiful in her youth and she was not old now; she had the buxom looks so admired in Germany and her first husband had appreciated her charms. But that was some years ago; and since then she had borne two children.

She was very fearful of the future. When her husband, the Margrave, had died the peaceful life was ended; it had not been an exciting existence, but she had never been one to look for adventure; she had been well satisfied with her marriage and would have been contented to spend the rest of her days in the grand old palace which had delighted her from the moment she saw it.

As the daughter of the Duke of Saxe-Eisenach, marriage with the Margrave of Ansbach had been considered a worthy one, even though Ansbach was a very small principality when compared with those like Hanover and Celle. But the palace was as grand as anything to be found in either of those territories and Eleanor had loved it from the moment she first saw it. She liked the Bavarian countryside and the little town of Ansbach, nestling cosily close to the castle and the Hofgarten with its parterres and plantations. She had thought of it as home as soon as she had stepped into the great hall and glanced up at that magnificent ceiling, on which was depicted the glorification of the Margrave Karl the Wild, and seen the enormous statue in the centre of the hall of the Margrave embracing Venus. And later she had grown accustomed to the flamboyant designs in the rooms, the gilded minstrels gallery in the dining hall, the marble statues and the crystal chandeliers.

She had enjoyed riding through the streets of Ansbach, the capital city of her husband's little domain. She had received the loyal cheers of the citizens for the Margrave was deeply loved and respected, largely because he, a Hohenzollern, and connected with the Brandenburgs, had not scorned to concern himself with trade, and as a result he had made a thriving community. He had brought skilled weavers from abroad; nor had that been all. He had set up metal workers in his town; and all his officials and servants were commanded to buy articles which had been produced locally. This foresight had brought prosperity to Ansbach; and the citizens made their approval of his methods known when he rode through their streets with his family.

"Long live the Margrave! Long live the Margravine!" She had basked contentedly in his popularity.

There had been minor irritations. It was often difficult for a stepmother to win the love of her predecessor's children; and George Frederick, the elder of her stepchildren, his father's heir, actively disliked and resented her. This had seemed unfortunate but not disastrous when her husband had been alive; but when on his death George Frederick had become the Margrave of Ansbach, it was a different matter.

He did not exactly tell her to go, but when he took over the apartments with their brilliant frescoes and porcelain galleries which she had inhabited with her husband he made it clear that she was not welcome in his palace.

She was a proud woman and had no wish to remain where she was not wanted, so she decided that she would leave Ansbach with her children—Caroline who was then only three years old and William Frederick who was two years younger. Her old home was in Eisenach on the border of the Thuringian Forest and here she went with the children, although she knew it would only be a temporary refuge.

Often she thought of her kindly plump husband prematurely killed by the smallpox, and longed for the old days. There was little pleasure in spending one's life visiting other people who, kind as they were, would not wish her to stay forever.

Sometimes she asked herself if she had been headstrong in leaving Ansbach. George Frederick was a minor, and not allowed to govern; and until he married and had a son, the heir presumptive to Ansbach was her own son William Frederick.

Her greatest friends in her misfortune were the Branden-burgs and at their suggestion she had sent William Frederick back to Ansbach—for after all it was his home—and had travelled to Berlin with young Caroline.

Here she had made the acquaintance of the Elector John George of Saxony, and both the Elector and Electress of Brandenburg had persuaded her that it was her duty to accept the proposal of marriage he would make to her.

It was for this reason that she was waiting for him now.

He was coming towards her—a young man with wild eyes, full sensuous lips, and an ungraciousness about his manner which was disturbing.

He bowed stiffly and she fancied avoided meeting her eyes.

He was thinking angrily: She's older than I thought. Already a matron and a mother of two !

"Madam," he said, "I believe you have some notion why I have asked for this ... er ... pleasure."

His voice was cold; he scarcely bothered to hide his dislike.

She looked alarmed and that angered him still further. There was no need for her to play the coy maiden. She knew very well what his purpose was; and she doubtless knew how vehemently he had had to be persuaded. He was not going to pretend to her now or at any time. He would make no secret to her or to anyone that if he was forced into this marriage it was under protest.

She inclined her head slightly, conveying that she was aware of the reason for his visit.

"I understand you are prepared to marry me."

Eleanor wanted to cry out: No! I must have time to think. I have allowed them to persuade me. I have been carried away by their arguments. She thought of herself growing older, Caroline becoming marriageable. What hope would she have of finding a suitable husband for her daughter if she were a wandering exile? But if Caroline's stepfather was the Elector of Saxony...

She said quietly: "Your Highness does me much honour."

Much honour indeed! He wondered what Magdalen would say when he returned to Dresden. Her mother would be furious because he knew that Madam von Roohlitz dearly desired her daughter to be his wife. An exciting project! He would be willing to marry Magdalen but his ministers would never agree of course, and he had to take this poor creature instead.

He looked at her with fresh distaste but reassured himself that a wife and a mistress need not interfere with each other.

"Then you will take me as your husband?"

"I ... I will, Your Highness."

"Then that matter is settled."

He bowed turned on his heel and went to the door. The natural sequence to such a question and answer should have been an embrace, a confessing of admiration, a promise of enduring affection. But he had no intention of letting her think he cared sufficiently for her to pretend to hold her in any regard. She would have to understand that this was an arranged marriage. He might have to attempt to get an heir; she had two children already so was no doubt fertile, and once she was pregnant he need not see her unless it was necessary to get another child.

Left alone Eleanor stood staring at the door. She was trembling. He had seemed so strange. He was younger than she was —in his twenties and not without good looks. Uneasily she remembered having heard a rumour that he behaved oddly at times since he had had a blow on the head. She had heard too that he was dissolute, extravagant—in fact a libertine.

What will this marriage be like? she asked herself.

It will be like many other marriages of state, she told herself. Arranged. The surprising aspect was that she should have something to offer. If he had not been infatuated with a woman who was reputed to be a spy for the Austrians would the Brandenburgs have arranged this marriage? It was scarcely likely. Her duty was to influence him when she was married; she had to keep him aware that alliance with Brandenburg was preferable to that with Austria. How could she persuade him when he seemed to regard her with such distaste?

She could have wept with humiliation and frustration. With the passing of the years tears had come with increasing ease.

It was a bitter choice—to wander from one friend's hospitality to that of another, becoming more and more of an encumbrance as the years passed; or marriage with a man of wealth and some power who could, if he were so inclined, make a good match for her daughter.

There can be no choice, she thought. Besides, it is the wish of the Brandenburgs. But how I wish it need not be, how I wish my dear John Frederick had lived. Never had the palace of the Margraves of Ansbach seemed so inviting; never before had she longed so fervently to be back in those baroque rooms with their porcelain galleries.

Trying to hold back her tears she went to find her daughter.

Caroline curtsied before the Electress Sophia Charlotte.

"Well, my dear," said the Electress. "We have some good news for you. Have you told her yet?"

"Not yet," answered Eleanor. "I thought I would consult you first."

"Come here, my child."

Sophia Charlotte stroked the auburn hair and smiled into the pink rather plump little face with the bright blue, very intelligent eyes.

"You will soon be going to a new home, my dear. I think that will please you."

"Are we coming here?" asked Caroline eagerly.

Sophia Charlotte shook her head but she looked pleased because Caroline had betrayed her desire to stay in Berlin.

"No, my dear. You are to have a father."

Caroline looked bewildered; then she saw that her mother although pretending to smile was really very frightened; but as the Electress was pleased she supposed it was a good thing.

"You will be going to live in Saxony and you will find it very agreeable to have a settled home."

"When are we going?" asked Caroline.

"You are impatient, my dear, but when you are at Dresden we must see you often. You shall visit us and we shall visit you."

"Then," said Caroline, *I am glad we are going to Dresden."

Sophia Charlotte smiled over the girl's head.

I wish, thought Eleanor, that I could feel as pleased.

It was arranged that the wedding should take place at Leipzig and neither the Brandenburgs nor John George's ministers saw any reason why it should be delayed. It was only the bride and groom who wished for that.

Both had considerable misgivings. Eleanor, who had gone back to Ansbach to make preparations, spent a great deal of the time on her knees praying for a miracle, by which she meant some occurrence which would make the marriage unnecessary. Blankly she faced the future trying hard to convince herself that it was all for the best and that marriages which were made as this had been, often turned out to be the most successful.

John George in Dresden had no such illusions. The more he thought of marriage with Eleanor the more he loathed the idea; he was beginning to hate the woman they had chosen for him.

His ministers had suggested that while he was waiting for his wedding day he should not see his mistress. It would not be considered good taste and it was impossible to keep such meetings secret. If news reached the bride-elect that her husband was spending his nights with a mistress she might decide not to marry him after all.

That made John George laugh aloud. "Then for the love of God tell her."

"Your Highness is not serious."

"Never more. Never more," he cried.

But he dared not oppose his ministers. His position was too precarious. Harried on one side by them and by Magdalen's letters on the other he was frantic and when he was frantic he was furious.

"I won't go through with it! " he declared a hundred times a day.

But his ministers assured him that he must.

Magdalen's letters were smuggled in to him every day. He had betrayed her, she wrote. He had promised her marriage. He had taken her virtue ... and so on.

He laughed reading them. All written by her mother, he knew. Magdalen was too lazy to write; all Magdalen wanted to do was make love. "Very creditable, my darling," he said fondly; and he wanted her with him, no matter if she did say what her mother had taught her to; he didn't care if the old woman was taking bribes from Austria. Magdalen was worth it. With her masses of dark hair, her willowy body which was at the same time the most voluptuous in the world, how different she was from the flaxen German women he had known before! She was a perfect animal; she cared nothing for politics; she cared nothing for anything but sensual pleasure.

He wanted to be with her. He would marry her if he could— to please her mother and her too, for that ambitious woman had convinced her daughter that what she wanted was to be the Electress of Saxony.

He might defy his ministers and the Brandenburgs yet. What if he married Magdalen ... secretly? What if he summoned them all to his presence chamber and told them they could stop the preparations for the wedding in Leipzig for he was already married?

He shivered. They were powerful old men. They had the experience which he lacked and had deposed their leaders for less.

No, he must do as they wished. He must marry that woman. He would prove to them that she was a spy ... a spy for the Brandenburgs. What was the difference between spying for the Brandenburgs and spying for Austria?

To hell with the agreement they had made with the Brandenburgs and which they fondly called The Golden Bracelet!

But a pretty princeling who is young and uncertain cannot say to hell with his ministers or his ministers may say to hell with him.

He must do as they wished but it should not always be so. One day they would have to obey him. In the meantime there was nothing he could do but depart for Leipzig.

Leaving Caroline in Ansbach with her brother, Eleanor travelled to Leipzig with her friends the Elector and Electress of Brandenburg, and with each stage of the journey grew more and more uneasy; and when she met her future husband her fears were increased. She had heard rumours of his passionate attachment to Magdalen von Roohlitz whom he had made a Countess and on whom he had bestowed rich lands, but she had not thought he would be so inconsiderate as to allow the woman to accompany him to Leipzig and attend his wedding.

In fact John George had not known it either but his satisfaction was immense when he discovered that Magdalen had been smuggled into his entourage. That was her mother's doing. He believed that indefatigable woman never gave up and had some idea that even at this late hour he might be persuaded to substitute his brides.

They were together during the journey. His ministers pretended not to see. They doubtless said to each other: Let him have a little sweetmeat before he takes his medicine.

He was determined to enjoy his sweetmeat. She railed against him at first in a half-hearted way, repeating the phrases her mother had taught her. "If you wanted a wife why should you choose her? Have you forgotten you promised me...?" No, he hadn't forgotten he soothed her, and he wished with all his might that it could be different. If it were possible he would marry his Magdalen and send that woman back to Ansbach or to the Brandenburgs wherever she belonged. All he wanted was his Magdalen. Nothing would be changed. She would see.

Magdalen was ready to be placated. In her opinion any time not spent in love-making was wasted time.

The days were filled with tension. It was feared that at the last moment the bridegroom would rebel. His ministers wrangled together. It had been a great mistake to allow Magdalen von Roohlitz to come. Who had been responsible for that? They blamed each other but they all realized that they would not feel safe until after the ceremony.

There had been that shocking episode when he had received his future wife with his mistress beside him. Coldly he had greeted her, plainly showing his dislike and then during the ensuing banquet had given his attention to his mistress. Fortunately the bride was of a meek disposition; fortunately the Brandenburgs were too eager for the marriage to take offence.

And to the great relief of all except the bride and groom the wedding day arrived and the marriage was solemnized without a hitch.

But at the banquet and ball which followed the bridegroom said not a word to his bride; and made it clear that he had no intention of consummating the marriage by brazenly spending the night with his mistress.