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.
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.’