The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series) (16 page)

Sophia declared that since Sophia Dorothea’s mother was merely the Madame of the Duke, it was not to be wondered at that the girl showed herself to be indiscreetly promiscuous.

She eased her annoyance by writing to the Duchess of Orléans. ‘What a pity that we ever asked that clot of dirt to our court. If we had not George William could not have brought her to Celle. We could have found some other
catin
for him who would have known her place. But never fear. Give Mademoiselle Sophia Dorothea a little while and she will provide us with something to talk of. She is a little
canaille.
You will see.’

Sophia could trust the Duchess of Orléans to spread the story of the page, embellishing and garnishing it to give it a more shocking flavour.

And so the story which Eleónore had been at such pains to keep secret reached the ears of Anton Ulrich.

‘It is time Sophia Dorothea was married,’ was his comment.

But here was a dilemma. Sophia Dorothea had been legitimized, but still her parents were not properly married. This seemed a serious drawback in the eyes of Anton Ulrich and he rode over to Celle to discuss the matter.

Seated in the apartments of George William and Eléonore, Anton Ulrich looked out past the lime trees to the moat and said: ‘I do not think the Emperor would deny the permission. Already he has shown himself friendly to you both.’

‘There is Ernest Augustus to consider,’ pointed out George William.

‘But if it was the Emperor’s wish and he was to lose nothing by the marriage, I do not see how he can object.’

‘We could try,’ suggested Eléonore.

‘And,’ said Duke Anton Ulrich, ‘if I added my pleas to yours, and explained the circumstances to him, I do not think he would deny us what we want.’

‘And my brother …’ began George William uneasily.

‘Well, we might try the Emperor first; and if we get his consent, then we can begin to consider where your brother comes into this.’

‘Let us try it,’ cried Eléonore with shining eyes.

Duke Anton Ulrich turned to her; he respected her drive and determination far more than he did her husband’s. George William, he decided, had grown soft over the years. He was more enamoured of peace and quiet than perhaps it was good for a man to be.

Anton Ulrich’s suggestion proved a good one. The Emperor had no desire to put anything in the way of the marriage, providing the two brothers could work out an amicable solution.

Ernest Augustus sat long with his lawyers. It was difficult to oppose the marriage since the Emperor was agreeable; but he was going to see that his interests were well looked after.

Messengers went back and forth between Osnabrück and Celle, and at last a document was drawn up in which Ernest Augustus agreed that George William should be joined in holy matrimony with Eléonore von Harburg, the Countess of Wilhelmsburg; and that their daughter should bear the arms of a Princess of Brunswick-Lüneberg.

But there was uneasiness at Osnabrück as great as there were rejoicings at Celle, where the most elaborate arrangements were made for the celebrating of the wedding.

And there in the church at Celle amidst glittering ceremony George William led Eléonore to the altar; and they were solemnly married.

Duke Anton Ulrich, with an important following from his own court, was present; so was the rather bewildered Sophia Dorothea, who was enjoying an experience denied to many – being present at her parents’ marriage.

Everyone was happy and Eléonore radiant; she had achieved success at last. Her daughter a Princess; herself a legitimate wife.

When she saw the children together – her beloved daughter and Anton Ulrich’s son – she exulted. Anton Ulrich had proved himself to be a good friend to her and when the houses of Celle and Wolfenbüttel were joined they would be far more powerful than the court at Osnabrück.

Even on such a day she must recall her enemies and when she
thought of them it was not Ernest Augustus whom she dreaded but Sophia.

But this was a day for rejoicing. A day of triumph and perfect happiness.

Her triumph was even greater when the Emperor Leopold came to the neighbourhood and Eléonore was presented to him. He was charmed by her; he was delighted with her success; and he bestowed upon her the title of Duchess of Celle.

Now she had everything. There was nothing more to fear. She was invulnerable; no one would dare cast slights at her again.

But the Duchess Sophia was going to lose no opportunity of keeping the newly created Duchess of Celle where she, Sophia, considered she belonged.

Clara Triumphant

CLARA VON PLATEN
was awaiting her opportunity; she had no doubt that when it came she would step right into the place she had chosen for herself even before she had come to Osnabrück. Having married Platen she was committed to Osnabrück; there could now be no packing of bags and going on to seek her fortune. Why should she? Although she had had to wait longer than she had first thought, she was very near now to her dream’s fulfilment.

The court at Osnabrück was suited to her taste. It seemed that every petty Duke and Princeling imagined himself to be a Grand Monarque. Louis had a great deal to answer for! Everywhere there were attempts to turn German castles into palaces of Versailles, and the glitter and allure of the French Court – albeit that Louis was an enemy – was slavishly imitated. There were fireworks displays, masques, banquets, plays in the gardens and the great halls. When news seeped through that this and that had been done at Versailles, sure enough there would be an attempt to produce it at Osnabrück or Hanover where Duke John Frederick, the third brother, now reigned. In fact, John Frederick was the biggest Frankophile of them all. He had even become a Catholic, had put up statues in the gardens of the Palace at Hanover, commanded that Mass be sung in the
churches and invited French singers and dancers to be his guests.

Ernest Augustus did not go so far as that, but he had his love of ostentation. He could not afford to spend as lavishly as John Frederick because he had a large family of six sons and one daughter, whereas John Frederick had no son and of his four daughters only two were living. George William was the only brother who did not set out to make a small Versailles of his castle; and this was strange considering he had a French wife. All was good taste and charm at Celle in contrast to the often vulgar displays of Osnabrück and Hanover.

But Clara was pleased with the manner in which the Osnabrück court was conducted. She herself loved display; and she did not forget that it was due to the fact that she and her sister had recently come from France that they had been given an opportunity to display their talents.

Now as waiting woman to the Duchess Sophia she had an occasional opportunity to study her quarry. Ernest Augustus pleased her. He was a man of lusty appetites and she would know how to satisfy them. Her sensuality was second only to her ambition; and she did not see why she should not indulge the former while serving the latter. Once Ernest Augustus had tried her, her fortune would be made; for she would make sure that he should discover her to be unique. The experience must be such as he had never enjoyed before. But how make sure of that? If his eyes rested on her lightly as they had done on the unfortunate Esther – unfortunate because Clara had decided that her reign would soon be over – he would make up his mind that here was another of his light o’ loves and that would be all she could ever hope to be. A man had to be made aware that he was getting something special before he would believe he was.

‘How?’ she asked herself.

She would wear some entirely French and exciting garment. Yes, that – but clothes were not enough. She had to seduce his mind before she seduced his body.

For this purpose during those first weeks in the service of the Duchess Sophia, she actually kept out of Ernest Augustus’s
way; and instead ingratiated herself with Duchess Sophia.

An intelligent woman, thought Sophia. Discreet and oddly modest. She complimented Platen on his marriage; and remarked to Ernest Augustus that George Lewis’s governor was cleverer than she had thought.

Ernest Augustus while commenting that he had not made such a good job of George Lewis, fairly admitted that he doubted whether anyone could. He was glad that she had a high opinion of Platen because he was thinking of making a minister of him. A quiet efficient fellow – those were the sort he liked to have about him.

This was triumph, Clara decided, as well as a sign for her to go forward, and when Platen received his promotion she insisted on hearing everything that took place. She was astute, shrewd and single-minded; and she was working to one end, to attract Ernest Augustus and to set up in Osnabrück that institution which was so much a part of the admired Court of France, the
maîtresse en titre
. Clara was yearning for that role – the woman who by wit, charm, brains and beauty, ruled the King and therefore ruled the country.

It was naturally simpler here than it would have been at Versailles. There were no rivals for one thing. Silly little girls who giggled together about what had happened to them in the Bishop’s bedchamber were welcome to their brief triumph.

She saw that she had been wise to marry. Frank Platen was no fool; he was merely a coward. He wanted a peaceful existence, free from conflict. In a few weeks she had dominated him; and while he was a little disappointed to find his marriage was not what he had hoped it would be, he was continually being astonished by the astuteness of his wife.

‘We are working together,’ she told him. ‘I’m going to make you the chief minister. I’m going to get you a resounding title. A count, I imagine. Yes, I would like to be a countess.’

He had laughed. ‘The things you say, Clara.’

‘I say what I mean,’ she told him fiercely.

She listened to his accounts of meetings; she told him what he should say; she even phrased his speeches for him, pithily, wittily.

He began to be noticed; he, little Frank Platen, who had hitherto not been of any great importance, to be singled out by his fellow ministers, by the Bishop himself.

‘If the Bishop asks you who thought of that, tell him your wife.’

He looked at her in astonishment. ‘I have my reasons,’ she said.

‘What reasons are those?’

‘You will see.’

He obeyed her; it had become a habit to obey Clara.

‘Your wife seems to be an extraordinary woman, Platen,’ said Ernest Augustus one day.

‘She is, my lord.’

‘In the Duchess’s bedchamber, is she?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘I believe the Duchess is pleased with her.’

‘I think that to be so.’

‘Well, you look pleased with yourself. I must meet her one day.’

Platen reported this conversation to Clara.

She laughed. ‘He shall,’ she said.

Ernest Augustus was dozing in his private study. He had eaten too much and had retired hither on the pretext of studying some state papers but actually to sleep.

I’m getting old, he thought, yawning.

He could hear the music coming from the great hall. Music was played during meals now. He had always loved music – good stirring German music; but of course the taste now was all for the French.

Too much red cabbage, he thought; too much beer. The French drank wine. Well, he thought, we don’t want to become as French as that.

He smiled, thinking as he often did of George William over at Celle. What was he doing now? Sitting down with his wife and child like any peasant. No, not like a peasant, of course. In the utmost luxury, for George William was the richest of all the brothers – and quite a lot of that fortune would go to that little
French bastard of his unless he and Sophia could think of a way of preventing it – in the room, made gracious by Madame Eléonore who would be seated in her chair, her delicate white fingers working at her tapestry; and the girl would be seated on a tabouret either at his feet or hers; and they would be talking about the affairs of the castle. A charming domestic scene … if one cared for domestic scenes. He could not imagine himself and Sophia indulging in them. Theirs was not that sort of marriage – no idyllic love affair without end, but a good marriage of two people who understood each other. She had her way in anything that did not interfere with his comforts and needs – and the same for him.

Let George William keep his domestic bliss – his beautiful wife, his pretty – and if accounts were true – coquette of a daughter.

A gentle scratching on the door. He frowned, having no wish to be disturbed. Who had dared open the door without an invitation to do so?

A woman stood there. He had seen her before; she was one of Sophia’s women. Good figure, bedworthy, he had marked her down for future dalliance. But when he wanted a woman he would summon her; he did not expect to be disturbed thus.

‘My lord …’

Her voice was low, exciting in a manner new to him.

‘What do you want?’

‘I heard that Your Highness wished to see me.’

‘Then who carried such a message?’

‘It was my husband, Frank von Platen.’

‘Ah! So you’re Platen’s wife?’

She came to his chair, bowed before him, making sure that her dress fell away from her full breasts as she did so.

An invitation? wondered Ernest Augustus, slightly surprised, remembering how demure she had been.

‘I didn’t send for you now,’ he said.

‘My husband said you would like to meet me some time.’

He laughed. ‘At a more appropriate time,’ he said.

‘My lord, I thought this … a most appropriate time.’

‘Most wait until sent for.’

‘You will find that I am not like … most.’

Her eyes were brilliant; she had cleverly made them look bigger than they actually were. What a body! he thought. She would have skills. And she came from France, he remembered, although she was a German. This meant that she had the airs and graces without the pride of his sister-in-law Eléonore. Now, there’s a woman I could never fancy, he thought. He realized that he had already come to the point of fancying Platen’s wife.