The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series) (26 page)

‘The road was impassable. Hence my arriving at such a time. I should have been here yesterday.’

‘We can only rejoice that you have come,’ he said. He was about to summon a servant, but Sophia laid a hand on his arm.

‘One moment. I have to talk to you on a matter of great importance. Where is your wife?’

‘She has not yet risen.’ George William waved his hand to an open door. Sophia looked towards it and rage filled her. They had always used this apartment like the devoted married couple they were. He had just left the big bed which he had shared with her for seventeen years … ever since he left Osnabrück – the faithful husband, who had once been as reckless a rake as Ernest Augustus. Well, Madame Eléonore was going to get a shock now.

‘George William,’ called Eléonore, ‘who has arrived?’

Sophia went to the door and looked in at the bedchamber. It was magnificent – furnished in the French style; and there in bed was Eléonore, her abundant dark hair falling about the pillows, her magnificent shoulders and arms bare, her luminous eyes startled. It was a shock to discover how beautiful she was; even more so, it seemed to Sophia, than she had been in the days of her youth. Now she was poised and serene. Those years of married happiness had given her that – love, happiness, the assurance that the man she had married was devoted to her.

I might have been in her place! thought Sophia.

Perhaps she was more perceptive than Eléonore. She knew that Ernest Augustus was the shrewder ruler, that he was mentally more brilliant than his elder brother. George William was weak in comparison – brave on the battlefield but weak in his emotions. But Sophia was in no doubt which she would have chosen as her husband had she been permitted such a choice.

And so she hated the beautiful woman in the bed – hated the elaborate room with its elegant furniture and the ceiling decorated with the Leda and the Swan legend; if she had been determined when she endured that difficult journey between Celle and Hanover she was doubly so now.

‘I have come to congratulate you on your daughter’s birthday,’ she said, and without giving Eléonore a chance to reply she turned to George William and said in low Dutch: ‘I must speak to you at once … and alone. It is of the utmost importance.’

‘My wife …’ he began.

‘Alone,’ insisted Sophia.

‘But …’

‘I beg of you, listen,’ She glanced towards the half-open door and then to the dressing table. She advanced to this and sat down; he followed her.

‘This is of the utmost importance,’ she said quickly, ‘to you and to your brother. First I want your promise that if you do not agree with me, you will say nothing of what I am about to suggest.’

‘I promise,’ answered George William.

Sophia went on: ‘We have always been weakened by this enmity between our houses. I want it ended and it is for this reason that I am here. I know that you, too, deplore it. So does Ernest Augustus. Then why should it exist?’

‘I have always wanted friendship with Hanover!’

‘It can be achieved, immediately and forever by a marriage.’

George William drew away from her, but she was not easily defeated. She then began to expound on all the advantages which would come to Celle and to Hanover. It had always seemed unfortunate that he had thrown away his birthright. But Celle and Hanover would be as one – one government – and Sophia Dorothea would be the Duchess of Hanover so that she would have lost nothing by that long-ago arrangement. George William must see the advantages. She had ridden all through the night to tell him; she implored him not to make a mistake. He could so easily do so now. She believed that if he gave his daughter to the Wolfenbüttels that would be the end of his power. Ernest Augustus who so wanted the girl for his son would never be reconciled.

There was another point. Both George William and Ernest Augustus had fought well for the Emperor and he was pleased with them. Jointly they might be granted an Electorate. What glory for the House of Brunswick–Lüneberg! They could not both receive an Electorate and it would only be if they could be simultaneously rewarded that this could be so. And how could this come about but through a marriage between Celle and Hanover?

She was triumphant seeing him wavering. He longed for reunion with Hanover. He had been devoted to Ernest Augustus and wanted a return to the old relationship. Sophia noticed as she went on talking, that although he had at first cast uneasy glances towards the communicating door, he had ceased to do so.

He was coming round.

She plunged in again – stressing the advantages. He saw them very well, for who could not, since they existed. He had always been attracted by the alliance with Hanover. It was simply because his Duchess had decided against it that he had allowed himself to be persuaded.

‘You know, George Wiliam, in your heart that if you do not agree to this you will regret it all the days of your life.’

He hesitated.

‘Why do you falter? It is the Duchess. I know she is friendly with Anton Ulrich. He was respectful to her before your state marriage and she cannot forget it. But we must not allow such petty things to spoil the chances of our children. It is for you to decide … for
you
…’

‘Yes,’ answered the Duke. ‘It is for me.’

A door had opened and Bernstorff, his eyes alight with speculation stood on the threshold.

‘My lord …’

‘Let him come in,’ said Sophia rapidly. ‘He is a man of good sense and we will hear what he has to say.’

‘Come in,’ said the Duke.

Bernstorff feigned great surprise as he bowed low but he could not hide the triumph in his eyes. George William quickly explained why Sophia was here.

‘God be praised!’ cried Bernstorff.

‘So you will join with me in persuading His Highness?’ said Sophia.

‘Your Highness, I shall for ever thank God and you for this day.’

Yes, he thought, when I ride round my acres, when I gloat over my posessions, I will thank the Duchess Sophia, for we had all but lost and now we shall succeed.

‘So you share the opinion of the Duke and Duchess of Hanover?’

‘I am convinced, Your Highness, that this proposed marriage would be the greatest advantage that has ever come to Celle.’

They both watched George William covertly; his eyes were moving towards the communicating door.

‘It is for Your Highness to decide… . Your Highness alone,’ insisted Bernstorff.

‘That,’ said Sophia, ‘is why I know we shall succeed.’

‘Yes,’ said George William, turning to face them so that he could no longer see that door. ‘It is for me alone. And I have made up my mind.’

‘Yes?’

‘There shall be this match with Hanover.’

Sophia drew a deep breath; a faint colour had started to show beneath her pale skin, and her eyes were brilliant.

‘The Duke has spoken,’ said Bernstorff.

‘And we know that he is a man who will keep his word,’ added Sophia. ‘Oh, this is a happy day for me, and for Ernest Augustus.’

George William was frowning a little. ‘The young people …’ he began.

‘Oh, the young people! They will learn to fall in love. After all, it is what we all have to do. They will thank us for arranging such a marriage in the years to come.’

‘Yes, it will go well … in time,’ said George William.

Was he already regretting? wondered Sophia. But he had given his word. Bernstorff was a witness to it. He could not in honour retract now.

‘Now,’ said Sophia, ‘I could rest happily for a while. It is early yet.’

‘An apartment is ready for you,’ said George William. You must refresh yourself and rest a while. Allow me to conduct you there.’

Sophia put her hand in his.

‘Come,’ he said; and without a glance at the door behind which Eléonore must be waiting with the utmost trepidation, he led the Duchess Sophia from his dressing room.

Having seen the Duchess Sophia to her apartment where she would rest a while before joining George William for breakfast, the latter returned to his apartment where he found Eléonore, now dressed, waiting for him.

‘What has happened?’ she cried. ‘What has the Duchess Sophia been saying to you?’

George William’s elation faded because it gave him pain to hurt his wife, but he had thoroughly convinced himself now that he had been subservient to her wishes too long, and much as he loved her was determined to have his way.

‘She came with a proposition,’ he told her, ‘to which I have agreed. Sophia Dorothea is to marry George Lewis.’

Eléonore stared at him in shocked disbelief.

‘Yes,’ he went on, ‘it’s true. I have always been in favour of such a match and what could be better than an alliance with Hanover?’

‘George Lewis!’ whispered Eléonore as though she were dreaming. ‘That …
monster
!’

‘Oh come, my dearest. He is but a young man.’

‘Yet we have all heard of his profligacy and his stable manners.’

‘Exaggeration! What would you expect of Ernest Augustus’s son?’

‘Some culture!’ she said. ‘Some courtesy!’

‘It is there all right. He is at the time enjoying a young man’s freedom. He likes women. He’ll grow out of it.’

‘I can’t believe you have promised our child to him. Tell me it is not true.’

‘It is true.’

‘But without consulting me!’

‘My darling, you are wise as I have learned, but where our daughter is concerned you are a little besotted. You treat her still as though she is a baby. She will look after herself.’

‘She will need to if ever she goes to that … that …’

‘Pray calm yourself.’ She had never heard him speak to her sternly and with something like cool dislike. What had happened on this September morning, she asked herself, to ruin everything that was dearest to her?

She thought: I must be dreaming. This could never happen to me … to us.

‘Calm!’ she cried. ‘I
am
calm. It is you I think who are verging on madness.’

‘My dear Eléonore, prepare to make the Duchess Sophia welcome. Shortly she will be rested enough to take breakfast with us. Then she will be ready, I am sure, to talk to you of this match.’

‘What use of talking if it is already made.’

‘I thought you would wish to hear what advantages would come to our daughter when she is the wife of George Lewis.’

‘I see nothing but tragedy.’

‘You are talking like a fool.’

‘You are the fool … the heartless fool. How can we face our daughter?’

‘She will have to learn to accept what her parents have chosen for her as many of us have had to do before her.’

‘Not both parents!’ she said. ‘Only one of them. And I believe that parent was determined to marry where he wished.’ She looked at him appealingly. Had he forgotten the passionate courtship, the years of love? How could he do this to the fruit of that love – the daughter whom he loved, if less passionately, less exclusively than she did? Exclusively! When she looked at him she felt that she could hate him if what he had promised should really come to pass. Their beautiful cultured daughter in those crude coarse hands!

George William would not be tempted. He was afraid. He must stand firm, he told himself, particularly now. If he did not he would be a laughing-stock throughout Hanover. He had given his word. He had to keep it – yet, witnessing the distress he had caused his wife how ready he was to waver! Knowing his own weakness he could only fight it with anger.

He said: ‘You have ruled too long in Celle, my dear. It is my turn to show you who is in command here.’

‘George William … I can’t believe this is you… .’

‘I have long been aware that you believed you could lead me by the nose.’

‘What is happening to you … to us?’ she asked, and the
tears in her voice so unnerved him that he turned sharply away from her and stared from the window.

Why had he done this? He had been led into it by the eloquence of the Duchess Sophia, by her condescension in riding through the night; he knew of the advantages of a match with Hanover; every point Sophia had brought forward was true … but if it caused his wife such distress he wished wholeheartedly that he had never agreed to it.

But he must show everyone that he was not led by his wife, that he had a will of his own, that when he wished to show that he was master everyone – even Eléonore – must accept this.

He said coldly: ‘You should go to your daughter. You should tell her of my arrangements for her future. She will have to be prepared to meet her uncle and cousin immediately.’

There was a stricken silence. He believed that she was weeping for their daughter. He said her name so quietly that it was strangled in his throat. Then he turned but she was no longer there.

Sophia Dorothea, awake early on her birthday morning, lay in bed listening to the sounds of the castle. They were different from usual which indicated that this morning was different from others. The great day of the year; the birthday of the spoiled and petted Princess of Celle. That was what Eléonore von Knesebeck had called her. ‘It’s true,’ said the Knesebeck. ‘There was never a princess so doted on in all history.’

‘Well,’ Sophia Dorothea had retorted, ‘am I not worthy of such adulation?’

She would dance before her mirror, bowing and curtseying, admiring. She was very pretty – more than pretty, beautiful; she was told so, not only in words. She had seen the looks in the eyes of Augustus William who was soon to be her husband.

She was going to enjoy all the ceremonies of the wedding. Augustus William would be her willing slave and her mother had assured her that she would not be separated from her. The spoilt and petted Princess of Celle would be the same of Wolfenbüttel. Dearest Uncle Anton Ulrich declared he envied his son; he would be ready enough to do the spoiling.

‘And we shall not be far from Celle,’ she had told Eléonore von Knesebeck. ‘We shall visit frequently.’ She had smiled, thinking of the celebrations there would be on such visits. ‘And you will be with me.’

Such a marriage would not be an ordeal – just a change; and as a married woman she would have a freedom which even in her beloved Celle she lacked.

And here was the sixteenth birthday; she smiled at the four cupids and remembered other birthdays. The ritual had always been the same. Her parents came in with her gifts and they sat on the bed and opened them together, and the church bells rang out and the whole town of Celle rejoiced; and when later she rode in the carriage with her parents through those decorated streets, everyone would cheer their Princess; and the townsfolk would dance for her and sing for her and show her their devotion in a hundred ways.