The Princess of Celle

The Adventuress

IN THE COACH which was trundling along the road to Osnabrück sat two young women and a man who was clearly their father. The elder of the girls was about twenty-three years old, the younger sixteen. They were handsome, and the elder in particular had an air of alertness; her large eyes were watchful as now and then she glanced out of the window at the passing countryside.

‘You will find this a change after Paris,’ said her father.

‘Doubtless,’ answered the elder.

‘I loved Paris,’ said the younger.

‘But Paris, my dear Marie,’ her sister caustically reminded her, ‘did not love you.’

‘How I should have loved to have been at court! I don’t think there could be another place this side of Heaven to compare with it. You thought so too, Clara. Admit it.’

‘Heaven for me would be where I was treated as an angel.’

‘And you were told rather plainly that you weren’t wanted. I’m surprised, Clara, that you did not stay and fight.’

‘My silly little Marie, do you think I wouldn’t if we had had a chance. Papa had it from Montespan’s agents themselves that we had better get out or it would be the worse for us.’

Their father sighed. ‘It was no use going against them,’ he agreed. ‘I had hoped to get you both settled in France. I saw a brilliant future for you … but it did not come about.’

‘And quite rightly,’ said Clara, who obviously ruled the family. ‘We should never have been allowed to go near the King. French etiquette is the most rigorous in the world. It will be different in Osnabrück.’

‘Clara’s right,’ agreed Count Carl Philip von Meisenburg. ‘Heaven knows what they would have trumped up against us. Men and women can be quickly eliminated in France. A lettre de cachet … and a man is whisked away and never heard of again. I saw that we had to get out … and quickly.’

‘And all because,’ added Clara, ‘you have two beautiful daughters!’

‘Beautiful girls are not such a rarity at the Court of France, my dear. I happened to have a daughter who was both beautiful and clever. That would be regarded as a threat … and was.’

‘Well, to hell with Paris. To hell with the Roi Soleil. We’ll try our luck in Osnabrück.’

‘Osnabrück!’ sighed Marie. ‘Who has ever heard of Osnabrück.’

‘We shall see that people hear of it,’ Clara reminded her.

‘Oh, Clara, I really believe you will.’

‘You must always listen to your sister, Marie,’ said their father. ‘She will know what is best to be done.’

‘I was rather attracted by Osnabrück when I heard about the Prince Bishop,’ admitted Clara.

‘Ernest Augustus – Prince Bishop of Osnabrück,’ murmured Count Carl Philip.

‘A man,’ went on Clara, ‘who seeks to set himself up as a Grand Monarque.’

‘He hates the French,’ put in the Count. ‘His great enemy is Louis. And yet …’

‘And yet,’ finished Clara, ‘he would be like Louis in every way. I heard he tries to make a miniature Versailles at Osnabrück, that he keeps his mistresses and tries to deceive himself that they are as glorious as Madame de Montespan. I am sure he will be interested in two young ladies recently come from Paris … wearing the latest Paris clothes, looking like court ladies … and ladies of Louis’ Court at that … clever, beautiful, shining with French gloss.’

Count Carl Philip slapped his thigh.

‘You’ll do well for yourself, daughter. You’ll settle the family’s fortunes, I’ll vow.’

‘His wife is ageing; she has borne many children; and although she has her own way in some matters she is tolerant about others. One need not fear her.’

‘The Duchess Sophia accepts the fact that men – rulers that is – must have their mistresses.’

‘She is a wise wife. I long to make the acquaintance of Ernest Augustus.’

Clara lay back against the upholstery of the coach and closed her eyes.

She was excited. The thought of adventure always stimulated her. It had been disconcerting – more than that, humiliating – to be turned out of Paris as they had been; and yet in a way it was flattering. Why had they been ordered to leave? Because those sycophants who surrounded the King of France had been afraid of them, afraid that she, Clara Elizabeth von Meisenburg, might attract the King’s attention and acquire too much influence over him. Beautiful women attracted the King’s attention, but it was those who possessed brains as well as beauty who were feared.

They saw in her the makings of a King’s mistress – not the sort of woman with whom he amused himself for a few weeks but a King’s mistress who could become the most important woman in the country; and everyone knew that it was the woman who became the King’s chief mistress who ruled the King and therefore the country.

Clara knew she possessed all the qualifications to rule. It was humiliating therefore to be turned from the glittering Court of France to try her talents in a smaller one.

Yet they were wise to come. There had been too many enemies in France. At Osnabrück they would not be recognized for what they were until the field was won.

She had already decided that she would take Ernest Augustus; and for Marie – there was the son, the Crown Prince, who was as yet a boy, and said to be sullen. Probably he was inexperienced. With herself advising the Prince Bishop and Marie having his eldest son in thrall, it would mean that the Meisenburg girls were ruling as they were surely meant to.

The coach was coming into Osnabrück, and the entire family were eagerly looking about them.

‘It is not like Paris,’ complained Marie.

‘Fool!’ snapped Clara. ‘Did you expect it to be?’

‘Now girls,’ murmured the Count, ‘no quarrelling. Remember, the family must stand together.’

The coach came to rest before an inn which looked small and mean to the girls.

‘Our lodgings,’ said the Count, ‘until we can find a better.’

They alighted and the host came out to greet them.

Visitors from Paris! This was an important occasion. The best rooms available? Most certainly!

Clara stood looking about her disdainfully; the smell of sauerkraut floated out from the kitchens.

‘Ugh!’ she murmured. ‘One realizes one is not in Paris.’

It was not so easy to conquer Osnabrück as the Meisenburgs had fancied. The Duchess Sophia kept a sharp eye on who was admitted to the castle; and she saw no reason why Count von Meisenburg and his daughters should be welcomed there. They came from France, and she was not enamoured of the French. Now had they come from England she might have received them very kindly. They were not rich and were forced to take a humble lodging, and it seemed during that first year of their residence at Osnabrück that this fortress was as difficult to storm as that of Paris. In Paris they had at least been considered dangerous; here they were ignored.

Clara would pace up and down the bedroom which the girls were obliged to share and clench her fists in rage. ‘We’re wasting time, I tell you. Precious time.’

Clara was indeed, thought Marie, rejoicing in her seventeen years which was very different from twenty-four.

‘All we get is news of the court; all we see is the Prince Bishop passing by.’

‘He did look at the window and smile as though he liked you,’ ventured Marie.

‘As though he liked me!’ cried Clara. ‘If only I could get a post as maid of honour to the Duchess!’

But there seemed to be no hope. The Count did his best, but the Duchess Sophia had no desire to add to her household.

The sisters saw the departure of the Crown Prince and his brother for the Grand Tour with their governors Platen and Bussche.

‘The younger brother is the more handsome,’ commented Marie.

‘But it is the elder one who is more interesting to us.’

‘I should not care to go to bed with him!’

‘Then you are a fool. You should at this moment be planning how you can.’

‘Clara! Those wild plans! Do you think there is ever going to be any chance of carrying them out?’

‘I tell you I am not going to sit at windows watching processions all my life. I am going to be part of them … and right in the centre.’

Marie sighed. There had been a time when she believed that Clara would get everything she set out for. Only now was she beginning to doubt.

Life was dull in Osnabrück. Why had they ever come here? Clara asked her father twenty times a day. He was asking himself the same question. They had very little money. Who, he asked in return, would have believed that in a place like Osnabrück it would have been so difficult for three talented people to get a hearing?

The fact was, pointed out Clara, that they were too talented. People were suspicious of them.

Their French manners were noticed as they passed through the narrow streets; their French clothes sniggered at publicly and admired in secret.

There came the day when the Princes returned from the Grand Tour and there was to be a fête at the castle to welcome them.

As they had travelled abroad it would be amusing to show them something foreign – something similar to what they had probably seen on their travels. It would prove that Osnabrück had something to offer which was not very different from that which they had seen abroad.

A visitor from the castle called on the Count von Meisenburg. He had been in France, had he not? He had two daughters – very attractive young ladies by all accounts. If they would care to join in the fête they might do so. Perhaps they could sing some songs in French which would amuse the young Princes.

Would they!

Clara was almost wild with joy.

When the visitor had left she cried: ‘This is the opportunity for which we have been waiting. Now … if we don’t go on from here, it will be our own faults.’

There was great activity in the Meisenburg lodgings. Silks and laces were strewn across the floor. They had to make their own gowns for they could afford no dressmaker; and, as Clara had said, what they wore should be a secret. They wanted no one copying them.

Did Marie realize the importance of this occasion?

Marie assured her forceful sister that she did.

‘You are going to be dressed in this lilac silk. See. It does become you. You look so pretty … prettier than any of the girls here. You must. And make sure that you smile at the young Prince. He has to admire you so much that he is determined to make you his mistress.’

‘He is so young and … very ugly.’

‘Be grateful that he is. It should be all the easier for you.’

Marie grimaced, but one did not disobey Clara.

Clara, losing no opportunity, called at the castle and sought an interview with those who were arranging the fête. She pointed out that she wanted to know how much time was to be allotted to her and whether she and her sister were to perform before the Duke and the Duchess.

While she was explaining her reasons for coming, Frank Ernest von Platen, the Princes’ governor, looked in, and as he appeared to be treated with some respect Clara made herself gracious and asked if he could help her.

‘If I could be of any assistance to you it would give me great pleasure,’ said Platen gallantly.

Clara lowered her bold and beautiful eyes. ‘I am sure you can. My sister and I are recently come from France and we have been summoned to perform at the fête.’

‘You must be the daughter of the Count von Meisenburg.’

‘How clever of you to guess! Because we have come from France we have been summoned to perform in the French manner for the Princes’ entertainment.’

‘I can see that we are all going to be very fortunate.’

‘You are kind to say so, but my sister and I are a little disturbed because we are not quite sure what is expected of us.’

‘I am sure you will only have to appear to enchant.’

‘Everyone, alas, is not so kind as you … er …’

‘Platen. Frank Ernest von Platen, Governor to the Crown Prince and his brothers.’

‘Oh!’ Clara’s eyes were sparkling. ‘You can help me then. Are we expected to perform before the Duke and Duchess?’

Platen was thoughtful. ‘Well … er …’

Clara’s spirits began to sink but she rallied them. ‘I will be frank with you. We are not very rich. You know what it is to be of noble birth and poor. We came here to seek places at court and so far have been unable to get even a hearing there.’

‘The Duchess Sophia keeps a stern grip on the affairs of the household.’

‘Yet I feel that if I could get some opportunity of showing her that I would not disgrace her household … I and my sister that is. My sister is beautiful.’

‘I can believe that – if she resembles you.’

‘She is very like me … but younger.’

‘I am sure your years – although I refuse to believe they are many – have added to your charm.’

‘What pleasant compliments you pay! I did not know it was a German habit. It makes me happy though for I know that you will help me.’

‘All I can.’

‘I want to make sure that my sister and I have an opportunity of showing our talents to the Duchess … and the Duke.’

‘Then you should perform early in the entertainment, for the Duke may grow tired of it and retire early.’

‘Could this be arranged?’

‘I might arrange it.’

‘And shall we perform in the hall of the castle?’

‘If it is warm and sunny it will be out of doors. What will be the title of your performance?’

‘Pastorale.’

‘Fräulein von Meisenburg presents Pastorale …’

‘No … no. Pastorale Ordonnée par Mesdemoiselles von Meisenburg. You see the point is that we have just arrived from France and it is for this reason that we are given the opportunity.’

‘I shall see that you have every opportunity, Mademoiselle von Meisenburg.’

She flashed her brilliant smile at him.

‘We shall meet again,’ he said.

‘I hope that we shall,’ she answered.

When she left the castle she was elated. At last she had a friend inside – and an important once since he was the Governor of the Crown Prince.

As she stitched at her blue silk gown she thought a great deal about Frank Ernest von Platen. There was something about him that appealed to her. The weakness of his mouth perhaps. He would be malleable.

In the castle grounds the shepherdesses in their elegant French style costumes held the attention of the assembled court. The smaller of the two was very pretty indeed; her hair, piled high on her head, with a curl falling on one shoulder, was adorned with flowers; her cheeks had been delicately and expertly tinted; her eyes were very slightly blackened to make them look bigger than they actually were.

Her sister, equally elegant – perhaps more so – yet lacked Marie’s dainty charm. Her enormous dark eyes flashed brilliantly but anxiously over the assembled company.

She was thinking: We must make our mark!

While she danced – as they had been taught in Paris – while she sang in French she was aware of the impression Marie was making on the Crown Prince, who goggled at her, his mouth slightly open, his eyes lascivious. Poor Marie! thought Clara, yet rejoicing. But he was such a boy – he couldn’t be much more than thirteen. Ready to experiment, of course. But a boy of thirteen was of little use.

Clara’s eyes were on the Duke; that was why she noticed him yawning slightly. Was it failure again?

The Duchess Sophia was smiling graciously. The young women had a certain grace and she was glad of it. They spoke good French, but to hear French spoken like that always reminded her of her enemy at Celle and her thoughts slipped from her immediate surroundings to wander far afield. What would Madame von Harburg think of next? What new move would startle them? Madame von Harburg was becoming too friendly it seemed not only with Duke Anton Ulrich of Wolfenbüttel, but with the Emperor Leopold.

The two sisters had approached the Crown Prince and they were singing in their pleasant voices a song of welcome.

George Lewis liked it. Sophia watched him almost licking his lips over the younger girl. He would be another such as his father. She sighed. Well, they must have their mistresses. As long as he married the wife she would choose for him, what did it matter what mistresses he had? He was young as yet, though. Thirteen. Far too young to set up a mistress. Let him content himself at the moment with serving girls – which she believed he did. A necessary part of the masculine existence.

How hard these women were trying. Surely they weren’t trying to seduce George Lewis!

She glanced at Ernest Augustus. He was nearly asleep.

‘For heaven’s sake,’ she murmured, ‘try to look a little interested.’

‘Ah yes. Very charming. Very charming.’

What could one expect, Sophia asked herself. He was not as young as he would like to pretend to be. He still hunted for long hours; he attended to his business; and then he was awake half the night with some young girl in his bed. He had gone back again to Esther. What was it about that slut? Sophia wondered. Perhaps because she was so obviously a slut. Well, what mattered it. If it were not Esther it would be some other.

The pastorale was over. The women were taking their bows. George Lewis looked on slack-mouthed and his governor Platen and tutor Bussche were applauding wildly.

‘Some evidently enjoyed the performance more than you did,’ whispered Sophia to Ernest Augustus.

‘Excellent idea … these entertainments. Keeps them happy.’

‘There is no doubt,’ replied Sophia, ‘that it makes some among them very happy indeed.’

Back in their lodgings Clara tore off the blue satin gown.

‘So much wasted effort!’ she cried.

‘Oh Clara, how can you say that?’

‘The Duke was asleep.’

‘I thought the Prince was quite amused.’ Marie took up a mirror and studied her round pretty face.

Clara slapped it out of her hand. ‘You little fool,’ she said, ‘what good was that? He’s a baby. What good will he be?’

‘He’ll grow up.’

‘So will you … and so will others. I tell you there is not a chance in this place. We’ll get out. I shall speak to Father about it right away.’

‘Where should we go?’

‘Somewhere where they are more appreciative of our talents.’

‘I hear that at Celle the Duke is only appreciative of his wife and daughter.’

‘I was not thinking of Celle.’

‘Where then?’

‘I shall have to think. One thing I do know is that this place is no good to us.’

Their father came into the room. ‘My dear daughters,’ he said, ‘you were magnificent.’

‘You would appear to be the only one who thought us so.’

‘Nonsense. I heard nothing but talk of you both.’

‘Much good that will do us.’

‘You have made an excellent impression. For what more could you hope?’

‘That I had been able to keep the Duke awake.’

‘He is much occupied with affairs of state.’

‘A large part of his affairs are conducted in his bedchamber.’

‘Well, what do you expect?’

‘That he might have spared a glance for us. Surely we are a little different from his fat German sows?’

‘Hush Clara.’

‘I will choose when I am to be silent.’

The Count quailed before his daughter’s anger. It was recognized in the household that Clara ruled it; and it had been so for the last five years.

‘The Duchess seemed to like your performance,’ suggested the Count placatingly. ‘It might be that she will offer you a place …’

‘Because we dance and sing well? I doubt it … I very much doubt it. Listen. We must start thinking very seriously. Osnabrück is of no use to us. We must move on. We have wasted enough time already.’

‘I doubt we should have the money to pay our debts.’

‘Debts! We shall have to leave without, then. I am not going to stay here … wasting my time.’

A servant at the door had already scratched twice unheard.

Clara turned to scowl at the woman. What had she overherd? What had they said about their debts? This was maddening – quite frustrating.

‘These were left by messengers from the castle, Mademoiselle,’ she said.

Clara snatched the packages.

One was addressed to herself, the other to Marie.

Clara opened hers first, still retaining Marie’s.

Inside was a brooch set with small gems – a pretty glittering thing. There was a note with it. Would she accept this small token of a big admiration? He had listened entranced to her performance. He had never been so enchanted in his life. He trusted that he might call on her. It was signed Frank Ernest von Platen.

Laughing, Clara opened Marie’s. There was a brooch a little like the one Platen had given her, with a similar message of admiration and hope for a meeting in the near future. This was signed John von dem Bussche.

Clara threw the gifts and the letters on to a table. Marie and the Count ran forward to look at them and Clara watched them in silence.

They turned to her expectantly and she said: ‘Well, we set out to capture a Duke and a Prince. Our efforts have not entirely been lost. We have our consolation prizes.’

The Count said: ‘And you still plan to leave Osnabrück?’

‘No,’ said Clara, smiling. ‘I think I should like to stay a while in Osnabrück.’

It was not, of course, what she had hoped for; but she did not despair.

There was an old proverb she had learned in France. Petit à petit les oiseaux font leurs nids. She must remember it. Platen was besotted. He had never known anyone like her. And Bussche felt the same for Marie. Clara was energetic; she discovered all she could about these men. The fact that they were in charge of the Princes should give them influence at court, and that was very desirable, providing of course they had the wit to use it. This she doubted. Platen was a weakling, and weakness she despised, for it was a fault of which no one could accuse her. But there could be occasions when weakness in a husband might be one of his greatest assets, and it was often the best possible arrangement when an ambitious wife had a pliable husband. Platen was longing to be her friend, and Marie was being interestedly courted by his friend and fellow governor Bussche. There was no mistaking their intentions.

The Count timorously asked his daughter what she thought of this situation.

Clara replied: ‘It is not one I planned. It has happened. But I don’t think for one moment that being a married woman will be a hindrance to my plans … rather a help.’

The Count stared in astonishment at his daughter. So she was still aiming at ultimate power.

‘Platen believes that he will have no difficulty in finding a place in the Queen’s household for his wife.’

‘I see.’

Clara laughed at him. ‘It’s one way of storming the castle.’

A few months after the sisters had performed the pastorale in the castle grounds Clara married Platen and Marie, Bussche.

From that it was an easy step to the household of the Duchess Sophia; and as it was one of his wife’s dearest wishes that she should become one of the maids of honour, as soon as a place was vacant, her doting husband procured it for her.

Thus was near-failure turned to success; and Clara could begin the real business which had brought her to Osnabrück.