The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series) (27 page)

The door opened; she sat up in bed.

‘Maman …’

Her mother’s arms were empty; she looked as Sophia Dorothea had never seen her look before – as though she were ill, as though she walked in her sleep. It could mean only one thing: Some terrible tragedy had come to Celle and as thoughts rushed into her mind she was certain that her father was dead, for only the greatest calamity in the world could make her mother look like that.

‘My darling!’

She was in her mother’s arms. Eléonore was holding her as though all the Furies were after her. She kissed her again and again, suffocating her with the intensity of her emotion.

‘Maman … Maman … is it my father?’

Eléonore’s body was shaking with her sobs. She nodded.

‘He is dead… . We have lost him?’

‘No … no… .’

‘Then it is not so bad.’

Eléonore released her and taking her by the shoulders looked into her face; then she said: ‘My dearest, your father has agreed that you shall be married … to … your cousin George Lewis of Hanover.’

Horror seized Sophia Dorothea, robbing her of speech. She saw a monster with protuberant eyes and big slavering jaw … which was as she had always imagined the cousin whom she had not seen for years. She had heard accounts of his conduct though; in the castle of Celle there had been many stories of George Lewis. The servants had sniggered when his name was mentioned. She had pictured him as an ape – able to indulge in certain disgusting functions and little else.

George Lewis who had been caught with a servant girl when he was fifteen in
flagrante delicto.
George Lewis who already kept his mistresses, who had gone to England and been obliged to return because he was unacceptable to the Princess Anne. And they would give
her
to George Lewis.

It was a mistake. She did not believe it. It was some sort of joke – some play, some charade.

‘Augustus William will rescue me,’ she said.

‘Oh, my God! What shall we do when they arrive?’ cried Eléonore aghast. ‘They may be here at any moment now. What shall we tell them?’

‘Maman, this is not true, is it?’

‘What would I give that it were not.’

‘Not George Lewis!’

‘My darling, you have to be brave. This morning the Duchess Sophia arrived from Hanover with … propositions. I was not consulted. Your father has given his consent to this marriage.’

Sophia Dorothea was realizing the truth now; it wrapped itself about her like an evil dream of her childhood. It was like being lost in the forest when the trees took on the shapes of monsters and their branches became long arms to catch her and imprison her … for what torment she could only imagine.

‘I won’t,’ she said. ‘I won’t.’

‘Oh, my darling …’

They held each other firmly. They wept.

‘Maman! Maman! … never let me go,’ sobbed Sophia Dorothea.

George William took breakfast with the Duchess Sophia who was now rested after her journey.

‘And your Duchess?’ she asked.

‘She is with our daughter.’

‘Breaking the good news?’

‘She is explaining to her the advantages of the match.’

‘What a grand birthday present.’

‘Of course,’ said George William, ‘it is a somewhat sudden change of plans.’

‘But none the less welcome for that.’

George William was eating little. He shifted uneasily in his chair. ‘Perhaps …’ he began.

But the Duchess Sophia interrupted him. ‘I sent one of my men riding back to Hanover with the good news. I trust he will not have such a wicked journey as I did. But although the roads are so soggy it is easier on horseback than in the coach. He will soon be there with the good news. The bells will be ringing in Hanover this day, I’ll warrant you. And Ernest Augustus will soon be here with George Lewis. What a pleasure it will be for you, George William, to entertain your brother once more.’

‘I shall enjoy being with him again.’

‘Joy for you and joy for the young people. I have a gift for the bride. I want you to present it to her with my compliments. It is a miniature of her bridegroom set with diamonds and the diamonds are exquisite. I am sure she will appreciate
them.
George Lewis’s virtues are not in his looks, I fear. But I doubt not that such a beautiful girl as I hear your daughter is, will soon enchant him.’

The sound of trumpets suddenly rang out.

‘The watcher of the tower has seen the approaching of a cavalcade. That is our welcome.’

‘A cavalcade! It can scarcely be the bridegroom and your brother. My messenger won’t be at Hanover yet.’

‘It is Duke Anton Ulrich with his son and retainers. They come to celebrate my daughter’s birthday.’

‘You must go and greet them. I understand. I will remain here. They will not wish to see me.’

She was smiling sardonically as uneasily George William rose and went down to the staircase.

In the hall he found Eléonore; she seemed so changed that he wanted to tell her that this morning was a nightmare and together they would fight their way out of it. But she did not look at him; he noticed the traces of tears on her face, her unusual pallor, and that her lovely hair was slightly disordered. She seemed like a stranger.

And there was Duke Anton Ulrich with the handsome young Augustus William at his side.

‘Well met!’ he cried; and then stood still staring at Eléonore, it being so obvious that something was wrong.

‘My lord.’ It was Eléonore who spoke. ‘We have disastrous news.’

Anton Ulrich caught his breath and Augustus William cried: ‘Sophia Dorothea … she is … ill?’

‘Sick with grief,’ said Eléonore.

And then George William, remembering his new determination, coldly took command. ‘Today it has been decided that my daughter shall be betrothed to George Lewis of Hanover.’

Augustus William turned pale and reeled as though he had been struck, while Anton Ulrich’s hand went to his sword and he cried: ‘I would like an explanation of this.’

‘It is simple,’ said George William. ‘The Duchess Sophia of Hanover arrived here this morning with proposals from Hanover and these I have accepted for my daughter.’

‘She was promised to my son!’ cried Anton Ulrich.

‘It is true we discussed the possibility, but nothing definite had been decided on.’

‘My son is here … I am here … to celebrate your daughter’s betrothal to him!’

‘That cannot be, for she is promised to George Lewis.’

‘So you have deceived us … led us on… . You have …’

‘I have decided,’ said George William. ‘It is often that matches are discussed between parents and come to nothing.’

Anton Ulrich turned in bewilderment to Eléonore. ‘And you … are you in agreement?’

She shook her head. ‘I suffer more than you can understand. She is my daughter … my gently nurtured daughter… . She is to be given to this …’

George William said coolly; ‘There is nothing more to be said on the subject. If you will enter …’

‘I certainly shall not,’ cried Anton Ulrich hotly. ‘We have been insulted enough. This shall not be forgotten.’ He turned and signing to his son they walked to their horses.

The trumpeter on the tower stared in astonishment at the sight of the cavalcade which he had so exuberantly welcomed such a short while ago, now galloping away.

Strange events were taking place in the castle of Celle that morning.

Sophia Dorothea lay on her bed staring helplessly at the ceiling.

She had wept until she was exhausted. That this should have happened on her birthday was so extraordinary. Those days she looked back on as dreams of delight had led to this grim nightmare.

Everything had changed. Her mother, who had seemed like a benevolent goddess, all powerful, all loving, was all loving still but stripped of her power, and therefore a different being. Where was her father who had always been so indulgent, who had loved to watch her riding or dancing, his eyes full of pride and love? Where was he now? He was changed; he must be, for her mother had wept and begged him not to allow her to be given to George Lewis and he would not listen.

Her mother came into the room and knelt by her bed.

‘Dearest Maman … what shall we do?’

‘We must be calm, my darling, and perhaps that will help us.’

‘Perhaps we could run away.’

‘No, my pet, that could not help us.’

‘You will always be with me …’

‘Always … always!’

‘Perhaps I am not so frightened then.’

‘You must not be.’

‘Where is my father?’

‘He is with the Duchess Sophia.’

Sophia Dorothea shivered.

‘And … and …’

‘No, he is not here yet, but doubtless he will come soon.’

‘I dare not look into his face.’

‘The stories we have heard of him have been exaggerated. They often are.’

‘I cannot, Maman. I cannot.’

‘There, my dearest. Try not to cry. Let us try to think clearly … to plan together.’

‘The only plan I can think of is to run away. Perhaps Augustus William will rescue me. He is coming today.’

‘He has been. He came with his father. They have been told and have ridden away.’

‘So we are deserted!’

The door opened and George William stood looking at them. Sophia Dorothea threw her arms about her mother and looked at him fearfully.

‘What nonsense is this?’ he said, advancing to the bed. ‘I have birthday presents for you.’

‘There is only one thing I want,’ cried Sophia Dorothea. ‘Never to have to see George Lewis.’

‘What nonsense have you been filling her head with?’ the Duke demanded of his wife.

‘She has heard rumours of this bridegroom you have chosen for her.’

‘Rumours! What are rumours? Lies … all lies. Now, my child, this is great good fortune. You are going to be the Duchess of Hanover in good time. You will be rich and powerful …’

‘Stop! Stop!’ cried Sophia Dorothea. ‘I cannot bear it.’

‘You stop this screaming,’ commanded her father.

‘Cannot I even weep in my misery?’

‘I will have no more of these histrionics. You, Madam, are responsible. You have filled the girl’s head with absurd stories. Anyone would think I was handing her over to a monster.’

‘He is an evil monster!’ cried Sophia Dorothea. ‘I hate George Lewis. I love Augustus William. Oh, Father, please let me marry Augustus William.’

It was a return to the old wheedling which had always been so successful in the past. He had never been able to resist giving
her all the silly little gee-gaws she had coveted. It was only now when she wanted something which was of real importance that she was refused.

Only a changed man could have refused her. But he was changed. So was her mother. Oh, yes, devastating change had come to the castle of Celle that September morning.

‘Let there be an end of this nonsense,’ said George William. ‘I have a gift here from the Duchess Sophia. You should feel honoured. She is a great lady and she has ridden through the night to wish you a happy birthday and bring this present to you. Look. It is magnificent.’

‘A miniature?’ cried Sophia Dorothea, her attention caught by the sparkling ornament in her father’s hand.

He held it out to her, smiling. ‘There! Is it not magnificent? A picture of your bridegroom set in gold and diamonds. Could you have a more delightful gift?’

Sophia Dorothea looked at it – the heavy sullen face, that even the flattering brush of an artist could not make pleasant. The very diamonds seemed hard and cruel. She flung the ornament at the wall with such force that several of the diamonds were broken from their settings.

There was a brief silence while all in the room stared at the damaged miniature.

Thus, thought Eléonore, was the happiness of this family shattered on that dismal morning.

With the help of her mother Sophia Dorothea had dressed in the splendid gown which had been designed for her birthday. She was calmer but pale and the obvious signs of grief were on her face.

She must descend to the hall and receive the guests, chief of them the Duchess Sophia. Cold, hard and proud, she thought her; how different from her own beautiful mother! What shall I do? she asked herself, when I go from here to Hanover?

Eléonore was beside her – restrained, elegant and outwardly resigned. When she had recognized the impossibility of getting the decision rescinded she had given herself entirely to the task
of comforting and advising her daughter. They must put up a good show in public; if they had to accept this fate they must be careful to make sure that they did so with the best possible grace and missed no advantage which could be snatched from it. ‘At least,’ Eléonore had said, ‘we shall not be far from each other; and you may depend upon it that nothing shall keep us apart. Some Princesses are forced to leave their own countries for others across the sea and they never visit them again. At least we shall not be parted like that.’ Sophia Dorothea took courage from her mother’s reasoning; all through that wearying ceremony – always before so joyous – she was aware of her; but she was aware of her father too, the man who had changed overnight and become her enemy.

Beside her father stood his chief minister Bernstorff, smiling and complacent because by a miracle – performed by the indefatigable Duchess Sophia – his future prosperity had been assured.

The Duchess of Sophia hid her pleasure beneath an excess of dignity.

Proud Eléonore! So beautiful. Queen of Celle. Now her authority had been displaced by the woman whom her husband had scorned. It was like the settling of a long outstanding debt; and since the defeat of the enemy was so much an individual triumph, it could not fail to bring the utmost satisfaction.

Duchess Sophia could scarcely take her eyes from Eléonore to study her future daughter-in-law. Undoubtedly a beauty; she might even equal her mother when she was more mature. Spoiled, over indulged. They would alter that at Hanover.

Sophia Dorothea was thinking: When will this hateful day be over? She was worn out with her emotions, and it seemed long before she could return to the peace of her room.

Her mother came to help her undress and they were silent. Eléonore sat by her bed when she lay there, holding her hand.