Jean Plaidy - The Princess of Celle

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.

COUNT PHILIP CHRISTOPHER KÖNIGSMARCK – handsome and adventurous – had come back, as he had always promised himself that he would, to see his little playmate who had made such an impression on him when he was sixteen years old. During an exciting life, when perhaps some love affair had gone wrong, some woman had disappointed him, he would remember the scent of the lime trees at Celle and an enchanting little girl who had adored him.

Rumours had reached Saxony where he had been staying of her marriage to George Lewis; the power of Clara von Platen; the devotion of George Lewis to Fraulein von Schulenburg; the indignation of Sophia Dorothea.

Königsmarck lived for adventure – the more romantic the better; so he left Saxony and came to Hanover, determined to set up house and stay there for a while. He was very rich, for since the death of his elder brother he had inherited the title of Count, and he was made welcome at any of the European courts on account of his money, reputation and charm.

The Königsmarcks were a famous, wealthy and close-knit Swedish family. Philip remembered early days in Sweden where he had lived with his two sisters Amalie Wilhemina and Marie Aurora; there was an elder brother Carl John, who impatiently awaiting the day when he would go with his father or his uncle, Count Otho William, to serve under them, would fight his mock battles in the nursery. Young Philip, learning his geography because his brother was always fighting his imaginary battles in different places over the Continent, made up his mind that when he was older he would join Carl John and go fighting and adventuring with him. He could scarcely wait for the day. In the meantime he must be content with the company of his sisters who adored him.

Their father was a great soldier – though not quite as famous as uncle Otho William; but when Philip was about twelve he died. Carl John immediately joined his uncle; as for Philip he was a little young but, said Uncle Otho William, there was no reason why he should remain in Sweden. He could not begin to learn the art of soldiering soon enough, and must travel. So Philip travelled, studying and learning how to be a soldier at the same time; and this was how he came to be in Celle when he was sixteen and first met Sophia Dorothea.

Returning to Sweden he had been a little disconsolate until Carl John returned from his travels. Carl John, now the head of the family, took his duties seriously and it did not take Philip long to persuade him that something must be done.

‘Am I to stay here learning from books?’ demanded Philip.

‘Now what was it you did in Celle to be turned out?’ Carl John wanted to know; but of course he knew already and there was a twinkle in his eyes. The little Princess had been attracted by him and the Duchess of Celle had thought a mere Swedish nobleman not good enough to be a match for the daughter. ‘Well, it was no fault of yours,’ went on Carl John. ‘You merely followed the instincts of a gallant young gentleman. You must progress in the world and then one day you may be considered worthy of any Princess.’

They were good days with Carl John, who was a great talker. And what tales he had to tell. He had almost been drowned when fighting the Turks; he had visited almost every country in Europe with Uncle Otho William who worked for the French and had been a Field Marshal there, as well as Governor of Swedish Pomerania. And Carl John was as dashing an adventurer as his uncle. ‘All the Königsmarcks are the same,’ he confided to Philip. ‘Wherever we are, there is adventure.’ And Philip went on dreaming of the days when he would be free to roam the world.

In the schoolroom Carl John re-enacted the bull fight in which he had taken such a noble part when he was in Madrid. He leapt about the room teasing an imaginary bull.

‘There was the bull coming at me; I leaped aside. But he caught me. Gored through the thigh. A few more inches and it would have been farewell Carl John.’

‘I thank God it was not so.’

‘Why boy, then you would have been a Count.’

‘I prefer that you should be one.’

‘Bless you. There was I with the blood gushing from me … but I went on fighting the bull to the end.’

‘I wish I could fight bulls.’

‘Dangerous occupation, my boy. Far better to serenade the ladies, which I did too. Now I have plans for you. We’re to leave Sweden.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘To England. It’s a merry place since the King came back. His court is even gayer than that of France, where there is too much etiquette. England is gay and friendly and the King is more familiar with his people than Louis would ever be. We shall go to court there. At least I shall. You shall have to study for a while. I have seen our King and he has promised to give me letters of introduction to the King of England. You should begin to prepare yourself for departure.’

Philip often thought about the excitement of those days. To travel was always fun, but to travel with Carl John was bliss itself. They had taken the ship from Gothenburg, to embark on a stormy sea and arriving at Hull they travelled straight to London.

The excitement had ceased a little then for Philip was still regarded as a boy and although Carl John was made welcome by the King of England and his cronies, Philip was found a lodging not far from Whitehall and from here he travelled to Foubert’s Academy in the Haymarket to continue his military studies. But it was not enough for a man of his rank to be a soldier merely, Carl John had pointed out; he must be educated as a gentleman and for this purpose a Mr. Hanson was engaged as his tutor, for, said Carl John, he wished his brother to take a degree at an English University, preferably Oxford.