The Princess of Celle

Schulenburg Selected

ELÉONORE, DUCHESS OF CELLE, was writing to her daughter when one of her servants came to tell her that a woman had come to the castle and begged an interview.

‘Madame, she is so persistent and refuses to be sent away.’

‘In any case she should not be sent away,’ said the Duchess. ‘Bring her to me.’

The young woman was brought to her and Eléonore saw at once that although she appeared thin and was clearly wretched, she had at one time been good-looking.

As soon as she was brought to Eléonore, she fell to her knees and remained there.

‘You are in need?’ asked Eléonore gently.

‘Dire need, Madame.’

‘Well, they shall give you food.’

‘Madame, I want more than food. I want a chance to tell you how I came to be in these circumstances. I could tell you so much about … Hanover and the Princess and …’

‘What are you saying?’ asked the Duchess.

‘That I was in the service of the Baroness von Platen and there I knew something of the intrigues which went on around the Crown Princess, your daughter.’

‘Your name?’ asked Eléonore.

‘It is Ilse, Madame. I was falsely imprisoned by the Baroness because the Duke of Hanover noticed me. Since then I have been persecuted.’

‘First you shall eat,’ said Eléonore. ‘Then you may tell me your story.’

So it was that Eléonore learned how Ilse was imprisoned and drummed out of Hanover through the wickedness of the Baroness von Platen. But what interested her more was Ilse’s certainty that the Baroness was working against her daughter and was jealous of the Duke’s friendship for her.

Sophia Dorothea was so innocent she might not recognize wickedness when she saw it. She must be warned against this woman.

Eléonore gleaned all she could from Ilse and offered the girl a place in her household which Ilse gratefully accepted.

News travelled quickly between Celle and Hanover and Clara had her spies planted in every branch of the Celle household; so she soon knew that Ilse was installed there and was moreover betraying to the Duchess of Celle details of the private life of Clara von Platen.

From Herrenhausen, the Duchess Sophia looked on world affairs and the centre of these for her was England. Ever since as a child she had listened to her mother talk of England she had dreamed of herself as Queen of that country. Although she had never seen it she could picture it all so clearly. Whitehall in sunshine or the steamy mist of the nearby river; Hampton which Wolsey had first made sumptuous and then passed over to his King; Kensington; crowded streets which had been made merry during Charles’s reign with milkmaids and maypoles and ladies and gallants. She read in English in order to keep herself fluent; she talked with the English ambassadors; and visitors from that country were made especially welcome.

During the last years her excitement had increased because Charles had died and James his brother had been turned from the throne by William of Orange and James’s own daughter Mary, because the people of England refused to have a Catholic monarch. Sophia herself was thankful that she was a Protestant. For religion itself she had little feeling. It was useful to keep those less intelligent than herself in order; therefore it served a good purpose. But she would have been like Elizabeth of England ready to adjust herself, or Henri Quatre of France who had declared Paris to be worth a Mass. They were the wise ones. And what ruler had served England better than Elizabeth? What King had served France better than Henri Quatre? Louis – le Roi Soleil – could not compare with his great ancestor for all his magnificence and grandiose schemes of conquests.

England, that mecca, had become less remote in the last years. Sophia felt that she was approaching that moment when she might reach out her hand and take it. For William and Mary seemed unable to produce an heir. Neither was healthy and the Princess Anne was almost an invalid. All that was needed was for these people to die without heirs and since the English would not tolerate a Catholic monarch the Duchess Sophia would be the next in succession.

One day messengers might come to Hanover, kneel before her and say: ‘Your Majesty …’

Queen of England. Ruler of that island which had filled her dreams since she was a small child!

But there was one fear: encroaching age. How ironical if that call came when she was too old and infirm to leave Hanover! Then the honour would go to one who would have no appreciation of it: George Lewis.

And how would George Lewis fare in England? He had already given some indication when he had gone to woo the Princess Anne and had returned so ignobly.

This German custom of making the eldest son sole heir was sometimes an infuriating one. It would be impossible of course to give to any of her other sons the honour of the English throne if it ever came to that. The line of succession could not be tampered with. But how she wished that George Lewis was not the eldest. Frederick Augustus was more attractive; Maximilian was charming and amusing, though mischievous; and Charles Philip the next in age was a delightful boy. He had more of a sense of duty; his manners were good. She loved her children – with the exception of George Lewis, and Heaven knew she had tried enough to love him but he made it difficult – but of them all Charles Philip was the favourite. He was now in his mid-teens, a handsome boy who could be grave as well as gay.

Why, oh why had not Charles been the first-born! She believed that she could have faced with serenity the prospect of seeing herself too old to ascend the throne of England if she could have contemplated Charles taking her place.

When the boys talked to her contemptuously of their eldest brother, when they deplored the fact that the bulk of their father’s possessions would go to him, they were very dissatisfied, and how could she help but commiserate with them?

If Sophia Dorothea found her husband growing more and more uncongenial, at least she found pleasure in the society of his brothers. Her two special friends were Charles, who was the most charming, and Max, who was amusing; and she enjoyed entertaining these two in her apartments.

It was no use trying to hide from them that she suffered from the boorish treatment of her husband. They knew and condemned his behaviour.

‘Where he picked up his manners I can’t imagine,’ said Charles.

‘In the army,’ answered Maximilian, springing to his feet, saluting and marching round the apartment managing to look so much like George Lewis they were all helpless with laughter.

‘Max … you shouldn’t!’ reproved Sophia Dorothea, for of course they were not entirely alone; they never were, and in the antechamber some of her women and the Prince’s servants would be together. Eléonore von Knesebeck was with them too although very often she sat with her mistress, being no ordinary attendant, but, as Sophia Dorothea called her, ‘the confidante’. No one was more indignant about the behaviour of George Lewis than Fraulein von Knesebeck and she was apt to complain – not always with discretion – about it to people who would delight in carrying tales either to the spies of Clara von Platen or to the friends of George Lewis.

‘I made you laugh at least,’ retorted Maximilian, settling himself on a stool and looking up at her. ‘And to think that he will one day be the ruler of us all. We will be nothing and be forced to obey him … George Lewis!’

‘You talk too much, Max,’ Charles warned him.

‘It’s my open nature. There are intrigues going on all about us. Why shouldn’t we talk of them? Grievances should be brought out of the dark places and examined. How otherwise can we have the remotest chance of rectifying them?’

‘How can you rectify the law of the land?’ asked Sophia Dorothea.

‘Sweet sister,’ cried Maximilian, kissing her hand, ‘it has been done.’

‘My mother would be with us, I believe,’ said Charles.

‘Depend upon it!’ replied Maximilian. ‘Whither her sweet Charles goes there would she be.’

‘Indeed she would not – if she felt him to be in the wrong.’

‘Would she fight for her rights?’ asked Maximilian. ‘She accepts die böse Platen almost as a friend.’

‘She is watchful,’ suggested Charles.

‘Yes, but to see the way that woman leads our father would infuriate most wives.’

‘Our mother is not merely our father’s wife.’

‘No, no! Whisper it. She may be the future Queen of England!’

‘Hush. Indeed you talk too much, Max.’

‘Very well, we will leave our mother and talk of Platen. I would like to see her put away. Who would not? She is clever. Sometimes I think that there are women who far exceed our sex in cleverness. My mother, cultured, shrewd, aloof. I am sure she rarely fails to get her way. And Platen, that painted whore of Babylon … that …’

‘Hush!’

‘I will not hush, brother. Is she not painted? Is she not a whore? And has she not made a Babylon of Hanover? It is not even that she is our father’s faithful mistress. She is the one to watch. She blooms most youthfully. Have you noticed how her complexion grows ruddier and ruddier … and more like a rose every day.’

‘She becomes raddled,’ said Charles.

‘Yet she would have us believe it is just the glory of youth. They say though that a good test of whether a lady be rouged or not is to apply water in which peas have been boiled to her cheeks. The water is squirted into the victim’s face and the rouge immediately turns to green or some such shade.’

‘What nonsense!’ cried Sophia Dorothea laughing. ‘And why put to the test what we well know to be truth.’

‘To discountenance a fiend who has done her best to harm a sweet princess,’ cried Max, bowing low and kissing the hand of his sister-in-law.

‘I advise you not to incur the anger of Madame Platen. Have you never heard what happened to a serving girl of hers named Ilse?’

‘Sweet sister, I am no serving girl. I am a Prince of Hanover who is about to be robbed of his rights because of some old custom of our land. Now if I were passing over my inheritance to our handsome Charles here perhaps I should not be so enraged . . or should I? Who shall know because I am not. I am passing it to George Lewis … who, Madam, although he be your husband, an honour which he has done nothing to deserve, I find the most loathsome toad in Hanover.’

‘Stop making speeches, Max,’ commanded Charles. ‘I will call some of them to make up a card party.’

There was a large assembly in the great hall. Supper was over and there would be some dancing and games of ombre or quadrille. Clara was magnificently gowned and behaved as though she were the Duchess, for neither Ernest Augustus nor the Duchess Sophia were present. As for the Crown Prince and Princess, Clara had little regard for them, and since everyone knew by now that if they wished for any concessions it was well to obtain them through the Platens – which meant through the Baroness naturally – they were all prepared to pay her homage.

Her velvet and satin gown was of a deep scarlet shade which made her dark hair look magnificent; she was certainly the most colourful woman in the room, her cheeks aflame, her eyes blackened, her lips scarlet.

George Lewis had arrived with his wife, but he was soon slouching in a corner having no desire either to dance or play cards.

Sophia Dorothea had decided to play and was settling down with Fraulein von Knesebeck and Charles Philip when Maximilian approached Clara. Clara was unsure of Maximilian. She suspected him of being an enemy and tales of his disrespectful comments concerning herself had been brought to her.

He bowed over her hand, and lifting eyes which were full of mischief cried: ‘How beautiful you are tonight, Baroness!’

‘Thank you,’ she answered cautiously.

‘Such blooming health. Tell me how do you acquire it? I should dearly love to know.’

Then lifting his right hand in which he was holding a bottle he squirted what she believed to be water into her face.

There was a tense silence through the hall. Sophia Dorothea had half risen in her chair and murmured: ‘Oh no, Max …’

‘A little test,’ Maximilian was saying. ‘Pea water, Madam, which I found in the kitchen.’

Clara put her hand to her face and hurriedly left. As she went she heard the irrepressible titters; she ran to her apartment eager to shut out the roar of laughter which she knew must be filling the hall.

She faced Ernest Augustus.

‘I have been insulted by that boy. I’ll not endure it. Pea water! And right in my face! My dress is ruined. He must be severely punished for this.’

‘Max is a problem,’ murmured Ernest Augustus.

‘He is, and I am learning quite a lot about that young man. But in the meantime I want the whole court to know that no one insults me and escapes punishment.’

‘What can one do with such a boy?’

‘Boy indeed! He is old enough to know better. But let him be treated like a child. That will wound his dignity more than anything. Shut him in his room and let him live like a prisoner on bread and water. It should help to curb his spirits.’

Ernest Augustus as usual agreed with his irate mistress and as a result Maximilian found himself locked in his room for three days, there to brood on the folly of making public attacks on the dignity of his father’s mistress.

His servants were fond of him and eager to show their devotion, and even at the risk of being betrayed to the Baroness von Platen they smuggled his two brothers to his room. Frederick Augustus, being the eldest, felt much more strongly than the others about being passed over in favour of George Lewis and he believed that the rest of them should band together to protest against this.

‘See how we are treated!’ he cried. ‘You play a small joke on our father’s mistress and you are locked in your room on bread and water. Are you a child to be treated so?’

‘I am not and I’ll not endure it. Tell me, what should we do?’

‘We should make plans,’ suggested Frederick Augustus. ‘After all I am but a year younger than George Lewis. Are we going to give up everything for that boor?’

‘Never!’ cried Max.

‘Then let us put our heads together.’

The schemes were scarcely serious, but they discussed them zestfully, for it soothed their wounded vanity to plan. They did not know that they were being spied on; that almost every damning word they uttered was carried to Clara.

Clara had been receiving mournful letters from Marie who had now become a widow. She was bored. Hadn’t Clara promised her that she would bring her back to court to give her an opportunity of being George Lewis’s dear friend once more?

Clara was ruminating on the desirability of this and cursing the fact that a promise had been given to ban Marie from court at the time of Sophia Dorothea’s marriage to George Lewis, when she heard that the young men had been plotting together.

She considered how best this could be used to advantage, and when she considered the friendship between Sophia Dorothea and her brothers-in-law, she had an idea. She could scarcely wait to see Ernest Augustus, but decided to choose the best time of all for secret conversations which were destined to end in the extraction of a favour.

So it was at night that she talked to him.

‘Your sons are growing troublesome,’ she told him.

‘That affair of Maximilian,’ he began.

‘Oh that … that was a childish folly not meant to be taken seriously.’

She put her face close to his and with a sensuous movement let her fingers stroke his back.

‘I fear they are banding against you.’

‘What … the boys!’

‘Well, you see why. They think George Lewis gets too much and they too little.’

‘He is the eldest. Don’t they understand that?’

‘They understand the customs but that doesn’t mean they like it.’

‘Their likes and dislikes are not important.’

‘To them they are.’

‘What have you discovered?’

‘That their plots are a little more than boyish pranks.’

‘They will be watched.’

‘You may trust me to do that. But there is someone else involved. She is very friendly with them and they are constantly in her apartments. It is there they meet to hatch their little plots. You know to whom I refer?’

‘Not Sophia Dorothea?’

‘Yes, your angelic little daughter-in-law is not averse to plotting against you.’

‘Oh … she is incapable of that.’

‘Is she? She is quite capable of luring your sons on. She’s a deep one, that little bird of ours. I have never been deluded by all the dainty charm … as you have.’

‘So she has been planning against me?’

‘She has brought a fortune to Hanover and doesn’t forget it. Perhaps she feels she should have some say in how that fortune is spent.’

‘My dear, you exaggerate.’

‘I don’t think so. She hates George Lewis but is very fond of her brothers-in-law. It would be a sort of revenge on him for being what he is – the biggest boor in Christendom – and on you for spending the money which she looks on as hers.’

‘I can’t believe she is vindictive.’

‘You have always thought so highly of her, but you’ll learn. My dear, there is one thing I want to ask of you, and I do beg of you to grant this small request.’

‘Well?’

‘It’s Marie … my sister. She is bereaved and so sad and lonely. Is it still necessary to banish her?’

‘It was the promise given …’

‘So long ago. And did not your daughter-in-law promise to be dutiful? And she has been plotting with your sons. If they were not so young and flighty that could be dangerous. Let Marie return. I ask it.’

Ernest Augustus grunted and rolled on to his back. He was staring into the darkness thinking of his sons, growing up plotting against him. And Sophia Dorothea – the lovely girl whom he had begun to think of as his daughter – working with them! Clara exaggerated, of course, because she was jealous of Sophia Dorothea’s youth. But, by God, if the girl was ungrateful to him why should be bother to protect her from the possibility of her husband’s giving up his casual mistresses for a permanent and clever woman who would attempt to rule him?

‘Let her return then,’ he said. ‘She has been banished for a long time … and she is a widow now.’

Clara exulted in the darkness. Victory! Now she could go into action against her enemy, and Ernest Augustus, piqued by her lack of affection for him, would shrug his shoulders and let his dainty daughter-in-law take care of herself.

There was a brilliant assembly in the great hall. Clara was there, so were the Crown Prince and Princess. The Princess was seated at the card tables; and the Crown Prince, surrounded by a group of his friends, young men as crude as himself, was yawning and idly surveying the women.

The Princess was intent on her cards and Clara noticed that Charles Philip was at her table.

Now was the moment. She signed to a plump young woman who had come into the hall and taking her by the hand approached George Lewis.

‘I wonder,’ said Clara smiling gaily, ‘whether Your Highness remembers my sister, Madame von dem Bussche?’

George Lewis looked startled.

‘Oh yes, I remember her.’

Marie curtsied, leaning forward to show her half-exposed bosom to better advantage and lifted her big and beautiful eyes to his face.

‘I thought perhaps Your Highness would wish to know that she is back at court.’

‘I’m glad,’ he said.

Clara took Marie by the hand and made her advance a few paces to stand beside George Lewis. Then she left them together.

‘The court has changed a little since I left.’

‘It’s a long time,’ mumbled George Lewis.

‘To me it has seemed a lifetime. But I solaced myself with memories of Hanover … and Your Highness.’

‘Yes,’ said George Lewis. Erotic images came and went in his mind. He had grown up since those days. His sexual education would never stand still. And here was Marie back again – the woman whom he had remembered during those first weeks of marriage when he had been sullen and angry with his wife because she was not his mistress, when he had tried to impose Marie’s physical presence on that of his wife in order to make love to her – and failed because his imagination was not strong enough to be of much use to him. But there had been many others since Marie.

‘I was wondering how much everything had changed. I haven’t seen the gardens yet. They must be very pleasant. I hear that His Highness the Duke has had many changes made since your marriage enabled him to.’

It was a mistake. George Lewis did not like references to the great affluence which Sophia Dorothea had brought to Hanover. He frowned and looked at Marie; she had grown older and she did not stir him as she once had.

‘I was wondering if Your Highness would be so gracious as to show me the gardens …’

It was an invitation – a reminder of alfresco meetings.

He hesitated; he was not quite sure whether he wanted Marie to be his partner for the night. In fact he had had his eye on another young woman and she was only waiting for the summons.

Clumsily he agreed to escort her but the cool evening air was not conducive to passion and in his crude way George Lewis made it clear during that garden walk that he had no intention of returning to the relationship which he had once enjoyed with Marie.

In the apartments assigned to her in the Hanover Palace Marie lay on her bed and gave way to her passionate rage.

‘So I have been kept away too long! Why did I ever come back? They are all laughing at me. They know what’s happened. And at the moment he’s doubtless sniggering about me with that low German whore …’

‘Be silent,’ said Clara. ‘It’s a bitter disappointment, I admit. I can’t see that you’ve become less attractive while you’ve been away.’

‘He’s changed. He’s more of a boor than ever. There’s only one thing I’m thankful for. I don’t have to submit to him and his soldier’s lust.’

‘Don’t be an idiot, Marie. You came here to continue as his mistress, and if you had been able to get back in favour we should have had him on leading strings. That was what we wanted, for now that he’s getting older he’s beginning to become more important in Hanover. Has it ever occurred to you what would happen if Ernest Augustus died! We should be where we were when we first came to Osnabrück. Do you remember? The poor Meisenburg girls … looking for a place?’

‘We should never go back to that … with all you have managed to put away.’

‘No, but there are many people here who would like to see me lose my power. It’s a great blow that George Lewis doesn’t want you now.’

‘What am I going to do? Stay here … and hope?’

‘It’s too undignified. I’ll have to find a worthy husband for you and you can settle down to be a virtuous wife.’

‘Well, providing he’s rich enough …’

‘He will be.’

‘And what of George Lewis?’

‘He’s a problem. Imagine if one of my enemies became his mistress. Then there would be trouble.’

‘It mustn’t happen.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll see that it doesn’t. But it’s a blow, my dear sister. I had counted on you.’

Clara was delighted to discover Ermengarda Melusina von Schulenburg, the daughter of a poor nobleman, who believed that it might be possible to make her way at court. She had been presented to the Baroness at Monplaisir and as soon as Clara saw the girl she was interested in her.

She welcomed her to her house and suggested a visit, and while Ermengarda was with her Clara devoted a great deal of time to her, which was very flattering.

Clara would give the girl tasks which brought her to the bed-chamber but she was always careful that she did not appear on those occasions when Ernest Augustus called at her house.

It seemed to Clara, who since Marie’s failure had been desperately seeking the right girl, that she had found her. She thought a great deal about Ermengarda. In the first place she was outstandingly beautiful and just a little stupid. No, perhaps not stupid but … malleable. She was the soft clay which Clara could mould, and would therefore be the perfect tool. And she had more than the prettiness that had been Marie’s when she was nineteen. Ermengarda was a beauty – statuesque and beautifully curved, a goddess. She was entirely German – a Valkyrie without the fire and spirit – a docile Brynhild. Her hair was long, abundant and fell to her waist in rippling waves – vital strong hair; her features were large but regular, her eyes a vivid blue and enormous.

Although she was a startling beauty she was yet retiring, though not too much so. She was even modest, and in spite of her physical perfection she would make George Lewis feel powerful. She was the perfect woman.

But she must be trained. No quick in and out of bed for Ermengarda. She had a position to hold and Clara was determined that she should hold it – never forgetting who had groomed her for greatness, always remaining grateful to her benefactress.

There were conversations in the bedchamber.

‘Ermengarda, my dear, how graceful you are! Your beauty should take you a long way.’

‘Oh thank you, Baroness.’

‘Thank rather Providence which gave you such power.’

‘Power, Baroness?’

‘There is power for you if you know how to use your beauty, my child. I knew how to use mine and you see what has happened to me.’

‘But you are so clever. I am rather stupid, I fear.’

‘Men frequently prefer stupidity to cleverness, particularly if they are rather stupid themselves. I think that if you allowed yourself to be guided …’

‘Guided, Baroness?’ Even the way she frequently repeated what was said had a charm of its own. It made her seem more docile, or more stupid. Clara was pleased with her.

‘I am fond of you. I would always help you if you came to me. Ermengarda, promise me that you will always come to me to tell me of your troubles … and of your successes. I look upon you as my child.’

‘How kind you are to me, Baroness, and I thought …’

‘That I was not kind. It is my enemies who say that and I grant you I am not kind to them. But we shall remain friends, Ermengarda. Now promise me that we shall.’

‘I promise.’

‘And I know you are one who, having given your promise, would never break it. Tell me would you like to be like me … rich and powerful?’

‘Oh yes. Baroness.’

Clara laughed.

‘Sit down, my dear. Now I will tell you something. You can be, you know.’

‘I would not be clever enough.’

‘Didn’t I say I should always be at hand to help you and didn’t you promise to bring all your troubles to me?’

‘Yes, but that wouldn’t make me like you, Baroness.’

‘Bah! Nonsense, child. How would you like to have a lover?’

‘I think I should like it.’

Clara closed her eyes and whispered: ‘A great Prince … the first in the land. How would you like that?’

‘A Prince!’ murmured Ermengarda. Repetition of course, but ecstatic. This is my woman, thought Clara.

‘The Crown Prince of Hanover would adore you.’

She waited in trepidation. George Lewis was such a boor. Was the girl going to shrink in horror?

But now she was looking expectantly at the Baroness. Clara sat up in bed and smiled at her protégée.

‘I should love to see his eyes when they discover you.’

‘You think …’

‘I think he’ll want to make you his mistress.’

‘And, Baroness, what should I do?’

Clara leaped out of bed and caught the girl by the wrist. ‘You, my dear child will do exactly as I tell you.’

Everyone was talking about the beautiful Fraulein von Schulenburg whom the Baroness von Platen had brought to court. She was one of the loveliest girls seen there for a long time. Sophia Dorothea might be more beautiful in some eyes but the little Schulenburg or rather the big Schulenburg, was the typical German beauty.

Morever there was nothing arrogant about her; she was becomingly modest, even shy; there were many men at court who would have made approaches to her but from the first it was seen that George Lewis had his eye on her.

George Lewis was enchanted with her; and she seemed so with him, in a bewildered way as though she could not believe such good fortune as to attract him could possibly be hers.

He was at her side during the evening of dancing and card playing or listening to music, and often was seen riding with her.

The Princess Sophia Dorothea had never interested herself in her husband’s women; her attitude towards them had been one of cool indifference which perhaps she had learned from Duchess Sophia; so she refused to see in Fraulein von Schulenburg anything different from the scores of other women who had caught her husband’s fancy temporarily.

But George Lewis’s feeling for Ermengarda was different from that which he had felt for any other woman – even Marie von dem Bussche. Ermengarda to him was the perfect woman; since he had first met her he had scarcely been aware of any others. Although she was so beautiful she was so humble – what a perfect combination! She made no attempt to hide her pleasure in the attentions of the Crown Prince; she made no demands; she was taller than he was but as a man of slightly less than medium size he liked big women. In her company he became less clumsy, even tender.

Clara was as delighted with her as George Lewis was; and Ermengarda remained as humble towards the Baroness as she had been in the days when she first came to Monplaisir. It could not have been better if Marie had stepped into her old place.

Now George Lewis was provided with a mistress who had come to stay and this must necessarily mean the diminution of Sophia Dorothea’s power. But Clara wanted more than this; she wanted to humiliate Sophia Dorothea publicly – she wanted to force her to accept Ermengarda; and she set about planning to do this.

First she must keep her promise to Marie who must have a husband found for her without delay. It was, in a way, an insult to the family to have Marie the neglected mistress even though she had been supplanted by the woman Clara had chosen.

General Weyhe was a man of great wealth and great ambition, with a large estate a few miles from Hanover. He would know that marriage into the Meisenburg family could bring him all sorts of opportunities and as soon as Clara suggested this would be the case, he was ready to discuss terms with her. It was simple: marriage with Marie. She was a beautiful woman and sister to the Baroness Platen; all wise men knew that Clara was at the right hand of Ernest Augustus when honours were handed out at Hanover.

General Weyhe did not take long to consider. He was present at several entertainments at Monplaisir and at court; and he was seen to be constantly in the company of the widowed Marie von dem Bussche.

No one was surprised when it was announced that they should marry.

It was Clara who helped Marie plan for the wedding. It should be one of the grandest weddings of the year, she decided.

‘You do not wish people to think that you are mourning because George Lewis prefers Fraulein von Schulenburg.’

‘They won’t think that. Marriage with a rich general is more rewarding than being mistress even to a Prince.’

Clara smiled complacently. She had marriage to a rich man and was the mistress of a Prince; moreover she had the satisfaction of knowing that she had made her husband rich.

‘That is a sensible way to look at things,’ she said. ‘The wedding should be celebrated at the General’s house which is so suitable for a grand occasion. The whole court shall attend and the guests of honour shall be the Crown Prince and Ermengarda von Schulenburg.’

Marie looked in astonishment at her sister. ‘And … the Crown Princess?’

Clara laughed with satisfaction. ‘Oh, I had thought of her. She must be there. But if Ermengarda is the guest of honour how can she be?’

‘But George Lewis will have to come with Sophia Dorothea.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it will be what is expected … etiquette and …’

Clara’s laugh brayed out again. ‘It is not what I expect,’ she said. ‘George Lewis is so enamoured that naturally he will be with his Ermengarda all the evening. They’ll be seated together at table; they will lead the dancing… . After all it is what George Lewis would wish.’

‘But the Princess … Why Clara, you have planned this!’

‘Of course I have planned it. On your wedding day our pretty little Sophia Dorothea who is always implying how much better they arrange everything in France will see this little French custom in Hanover. The maîtresse en titre is more important than the wife in France. At your wedding, my dear, this will be the case in Hanover. And the whole court shall know it.’

Clara’s eyes blazed with vindictive delight. Here was the opportunity at last. Revenge on the woman whose fresh young charms had called attention to her own waning ones. Sophia Dorothea would begin to learn what it meant at Hanover to humiliate the Baroness von Platen.

Sophia Dorothea was aware of George Lewis’s infatuation for Ermengarda. It was the talk of the court, and Eléonore von Knesebeck was always the first to pick up such gossip.

‘Well, he has had mistresses ever since I married him,’ said Sophia Dorothea.

‘This one is different,’ pointed out Eléonore. ‘He is different. He’s devoted to her. They go everywhere together. Everyone is talking about it.’

Sophia Dorothea shrugged her shoulders. ‘As if I cared what he does. As long as he keeps away from me that’s all I ask.’

But it was a different matter when the invitations to the wedding of Marie von dem Bussche and General Weyhe were issued. Sophia Dorothea received hers and pondered on it. Should she attend the wedding of a woman who had been her husband’s mistress – although it was before her marriage? She remembered the day when she arrived at Hanover – the frightened bride – and how she had looked up at the window and seen Marie von dem Bussche watching her with such a malevolent expression that she had felt a shiver of fear. Marie had been ordered to leave at once but obviously she had been furious that she should have to do so – as was her powerful sister, the Baroness von Platen.

‘They don’t want me at the wedding,’ she said, ‘any more than I want to go.’

‘But I suppose you will go, as all the court will be there.’

‘I suppose so,’ answered Sophia Dorothea. But she changed her mind when Eléonore von Knesebeck discovered that the guests of honour were to be George Lewis and Ermengarda von Schulenburg.

‘How dare she do this!’ cried Sophia Dorothea. ‘There has never been anything like it!’

Eléonore pointed out that in France a century ago Diane de Poitiers, the King’s mistress, had been given the place of honour frequently over Queen Catherine de’ Medici.

Sophia Dorothea was white with anger. ‘That girl is not Diane de Poitiers.’

‘But George Lewis dotes on her and everybody wants to please him particularly now he is taking over more and more from his father.’

‘I think I see what is intended here,’ said Sophia Dorothea. ‘Clara von Platen wants to insult me, and she wants to do it publicly. I am to be invited with George Lewis and his mistress and they are to be given the honours while I am treated as a guest of minor importance.’

‘What are you going to do?’

Sophia Dorothea was silent for a while and then she said: ‘Of course I cannot go to this wedding. I shall decline the invitation.’ She frowned. ‘But I cannot believe that they will dare to treat this Schulenburg girl as though she is more important than George Lewis’s wife.’

Eléonore lifted her shoulders. ‘It is what is intended. Platen has always hated you.’

Sophia Dorothea turned to her friend. ‘Eléonore, you must go. You must tell me all that happens.’

Sophia Dorothea was alone in her apartments. How desolate the palace seemed. It was because there were so few people in it, most of them being at General Weyhe’s mansion for the wedding celebrations.

She sat at the window looking out into the darkness. She could picture the scene – the splendour of a rich man’s mansion, in which he was entertaining the court. Ernest Augustus would be there. The Duchess Sophia had declined the invitation and was at Herrenhausen. Clara would have arranged everything. She could picture the elegant gowns, the glitter of jewellery; the feasting, the toasting and dancing. George Lewis, flushed, his lust written on his face for all to see and that girl whom one could not hate because she was so amiable and foolish, just smiling at him as though he were Sigmund or Sigurd or one of the great heroes of legend.

And Clara would be watching slyly, thinking of the absent guest for whose benefit this had been arranged, and although she were not there, she would be in everybody’s mind. She had denied Clara the supreme triumph, but she could not prevent her plot succeeding. At the wedding they would be talking of the Crown Princess. They would know why she had stayed away, and would understand that from now on she was of no importance at the court; for George Lewis had publicly proclaimed his preference for Fraulein von Schulenburg; and Ernest Augustus allowed this to happen.

Clearly Sophia Dorothea would be of little consequence in future at Hanover.

Peering through the window she thought of Celle and the happy days of childhood. How different it would have been had she married the man her mother had intended her to! They would have been kinder to her at Wolfenbüttel. If only she could go home and be with her mother. What bliss it would be to take the children and go right away from all this conflict. She would never be happy while Clara von Platen ruled at Hanover; she would never be happy while she was married to George Lewis.

She went to the nursery where the children were sleeping – George Augustus and Sophia Dorothea; when she was sad she could go to them and then everything that had happened seemed worth while – even marriage to George Lewis.

When the court party returned to Hanover Eléonore von Knesebeck came straight to her mistress to give her account of the wedding.

Eléonore was indignant. George Lewis had been so blatant in his fondness for Ermengarda; and as for the host and hostess they had made them the guests of the occasion, so that it was like celebrating a wedding between George Lewis and Ermengarda von Schulenburg rather than Marie von dem Bussche and General Weyhe.

Eléonore had to admit that the Big Schulenburg had looked magnificent. Her gown! Eléonore had rarely seen such a gown. Sophia Dorothea might have considered it somewhat vulgar but everyone had been commenting on it. And there were diamonds about her neck – a present from George Lewis. ‘It is rarely he gives presents. But he had made it quite clear to everyone that there never had been a woman in his life to take his fancy as this one does. Everyone was flattering her, complimenting her. They are saying that she will be another Clara von Platen – only a more pleasant one. She just sits and simpers and looks at George Lewis as though he is some sort of god. It seemed to me that the whole purpose of this wedding was to show everyone how your husband dotes on this woman.’

‘I will not endure this humiliation.’

‘What can you do?’

‘I shall do something. I did not come here to be insulted.’

Eléonore shrugged her shoulders. ‘Others have had to accept this sort of thing. Look at the Duchess Sophia.’

‘The Duchess Sophia is an unusual woman. Although Clara von Platen rules my father-in-law the Duchess Sophia is still the first lady of the court. Perhaps it is because she is the daughter of a queen and has connections with the royal family of England. I have not these assets.’

‘You can live your own life.’

‘At Hanover! To be insulted at every turn. I shall not endure these insults. What if I were to take my children with me and run away …’

‘Run away to where?’

‘There is only one place to which I could go. Home … to Celle.’

‘But you are married now. Your home is in Hanover.’

‘Perhaps if I were tried too hard I would not stay here.’

Eléonore von Knesebeck shook her head, but her eyes were excited. Often by her love of reckless behaviour she brought home to Sophia Dorothea the wildness of a plan.

Yet, thought Sophia Dorothea, if I am tried too hard … I won’t stay. I swear it.

The weeks which followed were miserable. Sophia Dorothea stayed late in bed, brooding; she took rides in her carriage, her children accompanying her. All her pleasure was in them; she rarely saw George Lewis who was spending all his time with the Schulenburg woman and made no secret of it. What did she care? Sophia Dorothea demanded of herself and Eléonore von Knesebeck. One mercy was that she was spared his company. It was something to be grateful for! She was left to her reading and needlework; and after supper she would be with her own little court in the great hall, playing cards and occasionally dancing.

Clara watched with a pleasure which was marred by the fact that George Lewis’s fancy had not remained with her sister; but since that little scheme had failed she could congratulate herself that the simple young Schulenburg was a grateful creature who would never forget the debt she owed to her benefactress. It might even be, Clara told herself, that the silly big creature would serve her better than Marie would have done.

It was amusing to see the haughty Sophia Dorothea humiliated. Often she made excuses to absent herself from the balls and entertainments.

Clara blossomed; her gowns were more splendid; her cheeks more ruddy and no mischievous Prince would now dare to indulge in his little pea-water joke. This was what she had worked for and she had admirably succeeded.

Listlessly Sophia Dorothea talked with Eléonore von Knesebeck in her apartments. She had no wish to go to the great hall and dance. She was tired of Hanover; she longed to be home with her mother.

‘It would have been very different,’ she sighed continually, ‘if I had married into Wolfenbüttel.’

Eléonore von Knesebeck agreed that it would, but added: ‘You are the most beautiful woman at Hanover. They can say what they like about this Schulenburg. She’s a lump of pig’s bladder compared with you.’

‘Germans seem to be very fond of pig’s bladder.’

‘Oh, they have no feeling for what is dainty and elegant. But some will have. Somewhere in this place there must be people who appreciate real beauty.’

‘And what do I care!’ cried Sophia Dorothea. ‘I am tired. I want only one thing: to go home with the children and spend the rest of my life there.’

‘A fine way for a woman of twenty-one to talk!’

‘Age has nothing to do with this.’

‘It has everything to do with it. You are young. Your life is just beginning. Come let me help dress you. And we’ll go down to the hall and play a game of cards. It will cheer you.’

Sophia Dorothea sighed. ‘I am expected down there, Knesebeck. I have to do my duty. I have to smile and be gracious and pretend I do not see my husband fondling Schulenburg and Platen sniggering behind her fan. I am tired of it.’

‘There now… . Don’t, I beg of you, think of all that. Come on. The blue satin! It is most becoming; and shall I put flowers in your hair? You will look more beautiful than any of them in spite of your melancholy.’

Sophia Dorothea allowed herself to be dressed and she went down to the hall.

She had played a little cards and had a mind to dance; and as with Fraulein von Knesebeck she left the card table her brother-in-law Charles approached her accompanied by a man whose face was vaguely familiar to her.

Before she heard his name her heart began to beat faster; her listlessness was replaced by excitement; a faint colour came into her cheeks which made her dark eyes brilliant; she was indeed at the moment the fairest of them all.

‘Sophia Dorothea,’ said Charles, ‘there is someone here who asks to be presented to you. He hopes you will remember him.’

He bowed. ‘Your Highness,’ he said, ‘I hope you have not forgotten me.’

‘I knew you when I was a child,’ she said.

‘I was your devoted slave then. I hope you will allow me to serve you now.’

‘I believe that would be a pleasure.’

His eyes were as brilliant as hers; he could not take them from her glowing face. She thought: He is like some hero from the old legends – a strong blond hero. She had never seen a face so strong and yet so handsome.

‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘have you forgotten my name?’

They said it simultaneously: ‘Philip Königsmarck.’

Then they laughed and he said: ‘If I might have the honour of escorting you in the dance I should be so happy.’

She put her hand in his. ‘I should be happy too.’

They danced, and dancing Sophia Dorothea knew that a miracle was taking place.

She was happy again.