Jean Plaidy - The Princess of Celle

She must accept her new life. The happy childhood was over. But when she sat at her window and looked out in the direction of Celle she thought of her mother who would certainly be thinking of her at this moment; only a few miles separated them; and soon perhaps she would have a child of her own.

This was not the happy marriage she had dreamed of; life had changed abruptly and cruelly; but with each new phase the shock grew less acute.

When I have a child, thought Sophia Dorothea, perhaps I shall not mind so much.

SOPHIA DOROTHEA WAS surprised how quickly she became reconciled to her new life. It was not that she fell romantically in love with her husband – far from it. She found him quite crude and coarse; but the rough awakening to the knowledge that she could not have all her own way had strengthened her, had made her realize a toughness in her character which no one – least of all herself – had expected.

Hanover was very different from Celle – less elegant, but more extravagant. The morals at Celle had been set by the Duke and his Duchess – the faithful husband and wife who had lived in perfect harmony until George William had suddenly decided it was time he exerted his authority in the important matter of his daughter’s marriage. Fidelity in marriage had been the custom. It was natural that the court of Hanover should in the same way reflect the morals of its ruler. Ernest Augustus, the sensualist, with his maîtresse en titre and the minor members of his seraglio, set the fashion at Hanover as George William and his Duchess did at Celle. This was the shock Sophia Dorothea had to face.

It was amazing to her that the Duchess Sophia could tolerate her husband’s infidelity with such unconcern; she did not hide this amazement which naturally irritated the Duchess who was always delighted to point out Sophia Dorothea’s lack of knowledge of Hanoverian court custom. Life at Celle had been simple with George William and Elénore living so constantly en famille. It was very different at Hanover where precedence had to be observed and where it seemed to Sophia Dorothea it was a greater crime to bow to someone who was only considered worthy of a nod than to seduce someone’s wife or husband.

The Duchess Sophia could not forget that this young girl was the daughter of her old enemy; and she did all she could to discomfit her.

But in spite of this animosity there were compensations, the chief of which were the young people whom she discovered to be her cousins.

There was Frederick Augustus, about four years older than herself, who told her that he wished he had been the eldest son that he might have married her; he certainly had more grace of manner than his brother George Lewis – but then he could scarcely have had less. There was Maximilian William, about her own age – a boy of charm and mischief who showed her very clearly right from the beginning that he was ready to be her friend. The girl cousin Sophia Charlotte was some two years younger and very interested in the clothes her new sister-in-law had brought with her. Charles Philip was friendly, too, and so were the young ones, Christian and Ernest Augustus.

So after having been an only child Sophia Dorothea had the experience of finding herself a member of a large family – and this was agreeable.

There were times though when she was homesick and wanted to cry herself to sleep – and would have done but for the presence of George Lewis. Sometimes when she was alone with Eléonore von Knesebeck she would shed a few tears and they would talk of Celle where everything was so much simpler and yet more beautiful; then Sophia Dorothea would write a letter to her mother and tell her that she was getting along better than she expected yet how she longed to be with her!

But each week brought a softening of the pain as the life of Hanover became imposed on that of Celle. She would find herself laughing over Maximilian’s tricks, or enjoying the envy of Sophia Charlotte.

There were days when nothing special happened. Then she would write letters or in her journal for her two favourite pastimes were writing and dressing up. She would lie late in bed and, after George Lewis had left, Eléonore von Knesebeck would come in and they would talk together often of Celle. They would work on their embroidery together, read a little; and of course the task of getting Sophia Dorothea dressed took a long time. She was learning to fit in with the ceremonious behaviour; she would go down to dinner with Eléonore von Knesebeck to accompany her and a page to lead the way, and would take her place at the head of the table in accordance with her rank and often earn the stern looks of her mother-in-law because she had smiled at someone who was not of high enough rank to deserve a smile from the wife of the Prince of Hanover.

But the little mistakes she made – usually by being too friendly to the humble – endeared her to most members of the court. And after the great midday meal when she often took an airing in her coach she would smile prettily at the people who came out of their houses to see her go by, and if the Duchess Sophia was shocked by her friendliness, the people were not.

They cheered her; and they were growing fond of her. She was the prettiest creature to come out of the court – and none of the paint and powder so lavishly used by the so-called beauties could compare with her natural charms. She was young and fresh; she was elegant and charming. It raised her spirits to know that she could charm these people as she had her father’s subjects at Celle.

When she rejoined the company in the great hall for supper she would behave in a manner with which even the Duchess Sophia could not find fault; she danced exquisitely and even took a turn at playing the card games which were so popular.

Everyone was saying that George Lewis could not have found a more charming or more suitable wife.

Sometimes the court moved to Herrenhausen which was a little schloss in the country set in the midst of a charming park. The Duchess Sophia loved Herrenhausen and went there whenever she could; here the French custom of performing pastorales and fêtes champêtres was in vogue; and as the winter passed Sophia Dorothea took her part in these entertainments.

Opposite the Alte Palais was the Leine Schloss where the most important functions were held, as this old castle was more imposing than the Palais. Here Sophia Dorothea had her own apartments and it was while she was there with the coming of that new year, a few months after her marriage, that she believed herself to be pregnant.

Looking out at the limes and acacias, which made the banks of the river Leine so lovely in the spring, she thought that her child would bud and blossom with them; and that when the child was born she could be happy again.

Thus Sophia Dorothea began to be reconciled to her new life.

There was one who watched the progress of Sophia Dorothea with suppressed fury. Clara, now Baroness von Platen, had had a shock. In the beginning she had believed that she would have no difficulty in dealing with the newcomer. A foolish frivolous young girl, she had called her; a silly child who thought of nothing but pretty clothes and admiration; who hadn’t the wits to placate her husband, the heir of Hanover.

I will soon put her in her place, Clara had promised herself. Marie shall come back and we shall be as we were.

But the girl was not as she seemed. For one thing she had been well educated under the supervision of her mother and was far more knowledgeable in languages and the arts than Clara could ever be.

And what use are they? asked Clara. I could show her things she had never dreamed existed.

Clara laughed at her own thoughts. She was a witch, said Ernest Augustus. She was skilled in the art of eroticism as no other woman he had ever known – not in France or in Italy. She could always surprise him. Thus she kept her hold on him.

If he accused her of infidelity she would retort: ‘Well, how am I to practise that I may appear perfect with you if I cannot make use of others?’

And that amused him. Ernest Augustus could forgive anyone who amused him. Besides, he was too much of a man of the world to expect fidelity from such a skilled woman as Clara.

Clara had the court in her hands. Clara could command and rule. At least so she had believed.

She had said: ‘Marie pines to be back at court. It is unfair to keep her away.’

‘It was in the agreement that she should be banished.’

‘Well, she was. Let her return now.’

‘Impossible, my dear. Besides, it would scarcely be fair to the Princess.’

Fair to the Princess! What had that to do with it! She wanted it and it had to be denied her because it would not be fair to the Princess!

‘She’ll fight her own battles.’

‘Later yes, but she’s a charming creature and I think beginning to settle.’

‘Poor George Lewis. He wants Marie back. After all, you have Marie’s sister. Should you deny him his fun.’

‘To tell you the truth, Clara, I think he is beginning to enjoy his wife.’

‘But Marie amused him! Marie knows how to please a man. Surely you don’t think Madame Prudery’s daughter was brought up to do that.’

‘No, I don’t. But I like to see her happier. She’s a pretty creature.’

He was smiling almost tenderly. That was what had sent up the danger signals.

So he too was a little taken with the fresh charm of the young bride! Clara would have to be very careful. She knew it was no use attempting to talk of bringing back Marie just yet.

She was a rich woman now, for her new title had brought estates with it and Ernest Augustus had been generous to one who had helped bring about the Celle marriage. The Baron von Platen was a useful man; not only was he an absolutely complacent husband but knew how to do as he was told – which was what Clara and Ernest Augustus told him. Such a minister was to be cherished. It was also pleasant to reward Clara so respectably through her husband. Clara naturally had the spending of the newly acquired fortune and she bought a house between Hanover and Herrenhausen which she called Monplaisir. She had added to it and entertained there so lavishly that she lured many worldly people to it from the court itself.

Ernest Augustus had looked on with amusement, and was often a guest at Monplaisir.

It was while she was staying at Monplaisir that she first realized what progress Sophia Dorothea was making. She had encouraged her attendant at Monplaisir, a girl named Ilse, to talk freely with her, for thus she learned trends and secrets it would not have been easy to discover otherwise although she had her spies everywhere.

Ilse herself was a good-looking young woman and enjoyed her position, and often she had been rewarded for her frankness.

But Ilse made her mistake.

There had been a ball at the Leine Schloss at which both Clara and Sophia Dorothea had been present. Sophia Dorothea representing Spring at this ball, had worn a plain clinging gown of green silk with flowers instead of jewels in her hair. Clara had been magnificent as the goddess of Plenty, jewels agleam, pearls sewn into a gown of great splendour.

She wanted to hear what had been said of the ball and what comments had been made about the magnificence of her gown.

Ilse told her she had heard that never had such a dress been seen before in Hanover. It was the most splendid gown of the ball.

And what had they said of Sophia Dorothea?

Oh, they had said of her that she was the loveliest of all the women and that was it not marvellous that she could be so in nothing but flowers and a piece of green silk.

Clara read the implication behind the words. She brought up her hand and gave the astonished Ilse a stinging blow at the side of her face which sent her reeling.

‘But Baroness, you said … to tell the truth …’

‘The truth. Are you going to tell me that that child in her silly green silk was more beautiful than I in my gown? Do you know what that gown cost, girl?’

‘Yes, Baroness, I know … but you asked what they said and they said she was so fresh and young and that Spring was more beautiful than … than …’

‘Than what?’

‘I do not remember, Baroness … only that Spring was more beautiful.’

‘Get away from me before I flay the skin off you!’ cried Clara.

When the girl had gone she stood in front of her mirror biting her lips. What was the use of pretending? Look at that sagging line … look at those crowsfeet round the eyes – look how sallow she was without her rouge! One could not live the life she lived and remain fresh as spring. The girl was only seventeen in any case. How could she hope to compete?