They must indeed be very watchful.
Sophia Dorothea sat before her mirror watching the effect of a red rose in her dark hair. It was very becoming. She could not help being aware of her beauty; people would stare at her when she rode through the streets with her parents; and her maids told her that she was going to be as lovely as her mother.
One of the pages had even told her that he would willingly die for her; he was such a handsome page that she had given him one of the flowers she carried and he had replied that he would keep it until the day he died.
Sometimes she thought of Philip Königsmarck – only she could not remember exactly what he looked like now. When she read of the old gods and heroes of the North she would think of him. She remembered him as all that was brave and noble. He was like Sigurd riding through the flames to awaken Brynhild, or Balder the Beautiful dying pitiably from the sprig of mistletoe thrown from Loke’s malicious hands. I shall never forget him, she would say to make herself feel sad. It was sometimes pleasant to feel sad in the castle of Celle because it was such a rare emotion.
While she dreamed one of her maids brought her more flowers and would not say who had sent them.
‘They have been gathered from the gardens,’ said Sophia Dorothea. She knew it was the page. How bold! How daring! But then Sigurd and Philip Königsmarck were bold.
A note fell from the flowers; she laughed and read it. It said that the writer would die for her. ‘He’s already told me that,’ she said. She was the most beautiful creature in the world and he only lived to serve her. He signed his name boldly.
‘Well,’ said Sophia Dorothea. ‘He is a very bold young man.’
But she kissed the note and slipped it into a drawer. Then she went down to join her parents.
When the Emperor had granted the legitimization of Sophia, Ernest Augustus had agreed with Duchess Sophia that they must be more watchful of what went on at Celle. ‘For you may depend upon it,’ pointed out Sophia, ‘French Madame will not stop at this.’ Ernest Augustus had agreed, and as a result they had planted spies in the castle of Celle. A maid here, a page there – all occupied in moderately menial tasks so that they would call little attention to themselves. One of these – a maid who had been posted to the apartments of Sophia Dorothea – was quickly aware of the devotion of the romantic page; the woman saw the flowers delivered, saw Sophia Dorothea with the note – for it had not entered the girl’s head that she could have any enemies in her father’s castle and she was very careless – and immediately she was alone in the room the maid went to the drawer into which Sophia Dorothea had thrust it. She read it but put it back, and then went to the person who could cause most trouble: the Countess Ruess.
Angelique pounced triumphantly on the note and carried it to her sister.
‘There, you see. That is what is going on.’
‘Where did you find this?’
‘In your daughter’s apartments.’
‘You mean you …’
‘I found it. Let it rest there. You should rejoice that I did so, for now you can no longer be blind.’
Eléonore summoned her daughter, and showed her the note.
‘Oh, that is from one of the pages,’ Sophia Dorothea explained.
‘But he is telling you he is in love with you!’
‘Oh yes,’ said Sophia Dorothea.
Eléonore looked in horror at this beautiful girl. ‘But my darling, do you not know what this means?’
‘It means that he would die for me. He says so.’
Innocence! thought Eléonore. Absolute innocence! But there was need to protect her.
‘If ever anyone in the household – or anyone else for that matter – writes a note such as this to you, you must bring it to me at once.’
‘Yes, Maman.’
‘There! Do not look so worried. It is over. But remember in future that you must tell me what is going on. Have we not always shared everything?’
Sophia Dorothea threw her arms about her mother. ‘Oh yes, Maman; and we always will.’
‘Now, my precious, that is well. Think no more of this.’
‘And if he sends more notes you want me to bring them to you? I hope you won’t scold him, Maman, because he is really a very good page.’
‘He will send you no more,’ said Eléonore.
She ordered that the page was to be put into one of the castle dungeons until it was decided what should be done with him.
After a few days he was banished from Celle.
‘It is better,’ said Eléonore, ‘that this affair should be forgotten as soon as possible.’
But meanwhile the spy had reported the incident to Osnabrück.
Duchess Sophia was delighted to hear of the scandal.
‘But is this not exactly what we should have expected from them?’ she demanded of Ernest Augustus.
He merely shrugged his shoulders. ‘I would expect it from any. It is the way of the world.’
Acid retorts sprang to the lips of Sophia, but she silenced them. Ernest Augustus was willing to treat her with respect so long as she acknowledged him the head of the house; she was prepared to do this as long as she had her way where she wanted it; but to achieve this she must work to some extent underground. He liked to follow his masculine pursuits – hunting, travelling a little, eating, drinking, fornicating; but at least he was growing more and more shrewd as the years passed by; yet he could never feel the venom she did for his brother’s wife. He thought George William had been a fool, and still was over the woman; but he had no desire to indulge in blacking the characters of Eléonore and her daughter.
Eléonore was clever; the child was pretty by all accounts and it was the most natural thing in the world that a page should fall in love with her. As long as that fool of a brother of his didn’t try to take anything back that he had forfeited, Ernest Augustus was willing to live at peace and without rancour.
But Sophia did not intend to forget the incident. It could, she believed, do some harm to the family at Celle, for when people were in a delicate position it was always easier to besmirch them than if they were living normal and conventional lives.
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.’