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.
‘This is the last birthday in Celle,’ said Sophia Dorothea sadly. ‘I suppose the others will be clebrated in Hanover.’
There was a finality in the words; she accepted her fate; from now on she knew it was useless to hope for release.
Eléonore was relieved, for she too saw the hopelessness of fighting against the inevitable.
The last birthday! Sophia Dorothea exhausted, slept; and Eléonore kissed her gently and crept away.
The Wedding
THE TRUMPETER IN the tower sent out the welcome. There was bustle in the castle. For the first time for years Ernest Augustus, Duke of Hanover, was the guest of his brother George William of Celle.
George William forgot his remorse, so delighted was he to welcome his brother. They embraced; they patted each other on the back; they were both emotional over this reunion.
Beside his father stood that important young man, the Crown Prince of Hanover, George Lewis, the prospective bridegroom. Neither tall nor short he stood inelegantly slouching, his hands hanging at his side; his manner was as awkward as his figure; his features were heavy, his eyes dull, his mouth both sensuous and sullen.
When George William turned to him he did feel a wave of misgiving; but it was such a pleasure to see his brother that he was certain his son must have inherited some of his charm. George Lewis was young yet, a little shy, a little embarrassed. Thus it was when one was young.
‘Come into the castle,’ cried George William. ‘We are longing to show you how happy we are to have you here.’
The Duchess and her daughter did not bear this out, thought Ernest Augustus cynically. By God, he thought, what a beautiful woman she is! And even now in her grief and bitter disappointment, gracious. It is small wonder that George William has been so dominated by her, but well that he now realizes his mistake.
And the girl – she was enchanting in spite of her despair. Ernest Augustus thought’ her the daintiest, prettiest creature he had ever seen. She reminded him of the girls who had delighted him during his travels by their delicate beauty and charming foreign ways – so different from the frauleins of his own country.
And to marry that oaf, George Lewis, poor child!
And there was Sophia, triumphant, already thinking of this plan – to which he had had to work so hard to reconcile her – as her own. Magnificent Sophia! The grandest of them, believing so firmly that her English blood set her above them all in rank that it seemed it did.
Sophia’s eyes were on her son. Cannot he even be gracious on such an occasion? she was thinking. After all the trouble to which we have gone! He is to get a girl who, though spoiled, must be one of the prettiest in Europe and with one of the biggest fortunes. He was the most pig-headed stubborn boy in the world who had surrounded his brains with such a thick crust that she defied any man or woman to find what was in them. Sometimes she thought he was quite stupid, he was so lethargic; at others he could be surprisingly shrewd. At least he had the advantage of being able to surprise. And now he was sullen, having no more wish to marry his cousin of Celle than she had to marry him. He would be wise enough though to accept the match for he realized the advantages it would bring.
It was the moment for the unhappy pair to be presented to each other.
They looked at each other squarely. George saw a child – a silly little girl. Her daintiness meant nothing to him; her beauty failed to move him; her slender grace had no charm for him. He thought of his big-busted Marie with the lewd eyes.
Sophia Dorothea saw the coarse jowls, the sullen eyes and she thought: He is all that I feared he would be.
The room seemed to tip drunkenly; the faces of those about her receded and then rushed towards her; she saw the face of her future husband distorted so that it looked like that of an ape as she swayed; had her mother not caught her in her arms she would have fallen to the floor.
Sophia Dorothea had fainted.
Platen, Clara’s husband, came to Celle to help his master work out the marriage settlement; and the two brothers – each with his chief minister – were closeted together to deal with this matter. The odds were well in favour of Hanover for Platen worked zealously with Ernest Augustus to extract the utmost advantage; and Bernstorff worked with them to advance his; as for George William, he was so delighted to be on old terms of friendship which his brother that he was happy to concede anything that was asked of him.
‘A marriage portion say of a hundred thousand thalers?’ suggested Platen.
Three pairs of eyes watched George William’s reaction to this suggestion. It was astonishing that he did not even blink.
‘It seems fair enough,’ he said.
Ernest Augustus lowered his eyes. Platen was a good fellow. He would reward him for this; and it would please Clara. A title perhaps. Baron. Clara would like to be a Baroness.
A hundred thousand thalers and the estates which were already settled on the girl. This match pleased Ernest Augustus far more than the English one would have done. He doubted the Princess Anne would have received such a dowry.
Bernstorff had to make some pretence of working for Celle. He suggested that should the Princess Sophia Dorothea become a widow she should be entitled to a dower of twelve thousand thalers.
Twelve thousand thalers. A small sum when compared with a hundred thousand; yet Bernstorff managed to make it sound a good deal.
George William in any case was eager to be, as he said, reasonable. This was a contract between relations; they had no wish to bargain sordidly with each other.
He knew that he was passing his daughter into the best possible hands.
Then, suggested Platen, there was no reason why the marriage settlement should not be drawn up without delay and the two Dukes could put their signatures to it in company with the two happy young people.
No reason at all, agreed Bernstorff, rubbing his hands together and smiling at his master as though by so doing he could delude him into believing that they had come well out of the matter.
When Eléonore heard the terms of the marriage settlement she was astounded.
‘It seems to me,’ she told George William, ‘that you are bewitched.’
‘Nonsense,’ retorted George William. ‘You have worked yourself into such a passion over this marriage that you condemn every part of it.’
‘You give away one hundred thousand thalers and all she will have if she becomes a widow is twelve!’
‘She will always live in accordance with her rank, naturally.’
‘In accordance with her rank!’ repeated Eléonore bitterly. ‘He has a mistress at Hanover. At least she should be dismissed from Hanover before Sophia Dorothea enters the palace there.’
George William was silent.
‘Well?’ said Eléonore. ‘Do you agree with me?’
‘Naturally he will not need a mistress now that he has a wife.’
‘Your brother has a wife but that does not prevent his having many mistresses, headed by that Platen woman.’