by Jean Plaidy
‘Your Highness,’ began the Countess, and stopped, for Sophia had swayed towards her. Between them the Countess and Caroline caught her.
‘Help me to get her to a chair,’ said Caroline quickly; but even as she spoke she felt the Electress’s body limp in her arms.
Tenderly they lowered her to the ground; she lay back, an odd pallor in her cheeks, her eyes turning glassy.
‘Call for help… quickly,’ cried Caroline; and the Countess ran out of the orangery into the grounds.
As Caroline knelt beside Sophia a terrible desolation came to her. ‘Can you… speak to me…?’ she whispered.
Sophia’s glassy eyes were on her face… fixed… lifeless. You must get well, thought Caroline. I can’t lose you as well…
George Lewis had come into the orangery. Caroline was aware of the startled faces of his two mistresses, but all that was admirable in George Lewis was uppermost on an occasion such as this.
Without showing the least sign of agitation he knelt beside his mother and felt her pulse. Then he sent one of the guards to bring him some poudre d’or. ‘Quickly,’ he said. ‘There may be time.’
Caroline brought a cushion and placed it under Sophia’s head.
‘When did it happen?’ asked George Lewis.
‘Quite suddenly. We were walking and talking… and suddenly she fell.’
George Lewis nodded and said no more and a few minutes later the guard returned with the poudre d’or which George Lewis forced into her mouth.
‘It may revive her,’ said Caroline.
‘If it is not too late,’ replied George Lewis, in a flat, unemotional voice.
What was he thinking? wondered Caroline. How much did he feel for his mother? Did he recognize her virtues or had she been to him nothing but an interfering old woman? Whatever he felt, George Lewis would not betray it.
The physician had arrived. Kneeling beside the Electress and looking from George Lewis to Caroline he said: ‘There is nothing we can do.’
‘So she’s dead,’ said George Lewis, final, matter-of-fact.
‘I fear so, Your Highness.’
‘It can’t be so,’ began Caroline; but George Lewis ignored her.
‘She should be carried into the palace,’ he said.
So the body of Sophia was carried into the palace which she had loved beyond all others. Queen Anne lived on, but Sophia, whose great ambition had been to succeed her, had been – as she herself would have said – ‘snuffed out like a candle’.
No one mourned Sophia as sincerely as Caroline. Not since the death of Sophia Charlotte had she felt so desolate. It was true that now she was married and had her own children; but the Electress had been like a mother to her and she had loved her dearly.
Now there was no one to share her liberal ideas, no one to whom she could turn for advice.
She was very melancholy, but after a while she became philosophical. Nothing ever stood still. The Electress Sophia, like her daughter Sophia Charlotte, had taught Caroline invaluable lessons, and she would best preserve their memory by profiting from them.
Yet the gap left by Sophia’s death was immeasurable. The children were too young to be of much help to her. George Augustus? She had long since learned that she could expect little from him. She must however be grateful to the Electress who had taught her how to govern without seeming to, how to win through secret diplomacy.
‘I shall never forget,’ said Caroline. ‘Never.’
July was an uneasy month. Rumours came thick and fast from England. Queen Anne could not live much longer.
George Lewis shrugged his shoulders. He was not deeply concerned. He had no wish to go to England; Hanover was good enough for him.
‘If the English showed any sign of not wanting me,’ he said, ‘I would show them very clearly that I did not want them.’
He had thought of being King of England at some future date; but Sophia’s death had placed him in the direct line.
To go to England would be a great upheaval, and at fifty, if one were not an ambitious man, such disturbances were to be avoided.
‘The English!’ he said. ‘Bah! It is not long since they lopped the head off one King, and that King’s son was sent into exile. What sort of people are they?’
If it had been Sophia’s burning desire to be Queen of England, George Lewis’s might be said to be to stay in Hanover.
During the first days of August, James Craggs came riding breathlessly to Hanover; before even seeing his mistress, the Countess von Platen, he presented himself to her protector, George Lewis.
‘This really is the end, Your Highness,’ he assured him. ‘The Queen is dying. Indeed I am ready to stake my life she is already dead.’
George Lewis looked at the young man – one whom he regarded as his own kind – bucolic and shrewd without any fancy manners; the fact that he was the lover of George Lewis’s mistress was a further bond between them.
George Lewis thanked James Craggs and told him that he appreciated his loyalty, and James went to his mistress and told her that soon they would all be in England.
George Lewis retired early and alone. It had come; he was sure of it. It would be an entirely new life. He would have to go to England – but he could postpone that; he would become ruler of a country of some standing in the world. Different, as his mother had often pointed out, from a little German state.
But, George Lewis promised himself, even though I may have to reside in England, I shall frequently visit Hanover. Hanover is my own country. I shall never forget that – nor shall the English.
He settled himself to sleep.
George Lewis was aroused out of his sleep.
‘What hour is it?’ he demanded.
‘Two o’clock, Your Highness.’
‘Then what is the meaning of this?’
Before his servant could reply he was aware of a man at his bedside whom he recognized at Lord Clarendon, Envoy Extraordinary from England.
He did not like Clarendon, whom the Queen had sent to Hanover, because as first cousin to Anne he had worked entirely for the Queen, and George Lewis had always regarded him as a kind of spy. Moreover he knew that Clarendon had not been in favour of the Hanoverian succession and was at heart a Jacobite; so, having been awakened at two o’clock in the morning by a man whom he disliked, who had come to tell him something which he knew already, this disturbance did not give him great pleasure.
‘Clarendon,’ he said, raising himself on his elbow. ‘What’s this, Clarendon?’
‘The Queen is dead, Sire. Long live George the First of England, Scotland and Ireland.’
George Lewis grunted.
‘Your Majesty, I await your commands,’ said Clarendon.
‘You’d better stay in Hanover till I leave,’ said George.
‘Yes, Your Majesty. And for the moment?’
‘Leave me,’ said George Lewis, and settling down into his bed, promptly fell asleep.
Thus George Lewis, Elector of Hanover, had become George the First of England.
Royal arrival
IF THE NEW King was not excited by the prospect of leaving Hanover for England, everyone else at the court was. Who should accompany him? Who should stay behind? These were the important questions of the hour.
In their apartments Caroline discussed the change of fortune with George Augustus. They both now had a new and glorious title: Prince and Princess of Wales. George Augustus was carried away by excitement. One day he would be the King of England.
‘George the Second,’ he murmured to himself.
All he had to do was wait for his father to die and the old man was already past fifty.
He could scarcely wait to get to England. He discussed the matter continually with Caroline, to whom he had grown closer since the death of his grandmother and that – to him – much more significant event, the death of Anne.
Caroline was a good wife and he had no regrets at having married her. She had proved herself to be reliable in the p
ast and was doing the same now. Always she talked of his interests, as a wife should; and since these were in direct opposition to those of his father, this made an intriguing subject.
‘We should get to England as quickly as possible,’ she reminded him. ‘Your father’s delay is nothing short of foolish. What will the English think of a King who holds their country in so little regard that he delays going immediately to accept the crown they are offering him? But I’m glad he is so stupid. It gives us an opportunity to show we are different.’
George Augustus nodded. ‘We will show them how much more agreeable we are.’
‘Speaking English is a great advantage and yours has improved greatly in the last months.’
A reference to Henrietta Howard, but it was given genially and sensibly and accepted in the same manner.
‘And yours is good. Just imagine! My father cannot speak a word. What a fool that man is.’
‘Yes, but let us be glad of his folly. When do you think we shall go to England? It will be wonderful. I picture us riding through the streets with little Fritzchen beside us and all the girls. The people will see that we can give them heirs. How much more we can give them than your father. They’ll know about your mother…’
George Augustus’s face darkened as it always did at the mention of his mother. ‘It’s his own fault,’ he said. ‘He treated her badly and the people of England won’t like him for it.’
‘They won’t. And we shall be there with the children… speaking in English, showing them how much we, at least, appreciate being in the country. There are glorious days ahead of us. And George Augustus, we shall always work together. We shall always be loyal to each other. Your father will regret the day he left himself without a wife.’
George Augustus was content. He had been the wise one. His father had been the fool.
He would go off now to see his mistress, which he did regularly to the actual hour; he would tell her that he had the best wife in the world, and she would agree with him.
He was indeed a lucky man.
George Augustus would have been dismayed if he could have heard the conversation between his father and chief minister Bernstorff.
‘It’ll be necessary to watch the Prince,’ Bernstorff was saying. ‘His knowledge of English will be a great advantage to him, and you may be sure he will seize it.’
‘Perhaps it would be better to leave him in Hanover.’
Bernstorff was thoughtful for a moment, then he said: ‘Who knows what harm he would do at home! Better perhaps to keep our eyes on him. In that case he should come with us. The English will want to see the Prince of Wales.’
The King grunted. ‘Would I could send him to England and stay here!’
‘Fatal, Your Majesty. Fatal. The Jacobites would have James on the throne in no time. In any case we don’t know what opposition we have to face when we get there.’
‘I know it. We’ve had them here swearing allegiance, but I wouldn’t trust any one of them. They’re all like Marlborough, ready to turn their coats with a change of the wind.’
‘We must remember it, Sir, here in Hanover and more especially when we set foot in England. That is why I think that while we must take the Prince of Wales with us, we might leave the Princess to follow later.’
George looked surprised and Bernstorff hurried on: ‘The Prince relies on her more than he realizes. She will have to follow. It will be expected. But let her come later. Don’t have the Prince and his family there when you make your entry into the capital. All attention will be for them; they are young; they have children. It will detract from Your Majesty to have your son and his family there.’
George never minded plain speaking if it seemed good sense to him. He did not want to go to England. He would delay as much as possible; but since he had to go he must do his best to make a success.
‘She shall follow later,’ he said, dismissing the matter.
Bernstorff hesitated. ‘Was Your Majesty thinking of taking Madam Schulemburg with you?’
‘I doubt she would agree to stay in Hanover if I went to England,’ said George unemotionally. Of all his mistresses he was most fond of Ermengarda Schulemburg; she had been with him so long; she was truly fond of him as, he was shrewd enough to know, none of the others were. She was like a wife and he could not imagine life without her.
‘And Madam Kielmansegge?’
George shrugged his shoulders. It was hardly likely that if Schulemburg went with him Kielmansegge would agree to stay behind. He said so; and knowing the habit-forming ways of his master, Bernstorff agreed that it might be necessary to take these two women to England.
Bernstorff’s mouth hardened imperceptibly. The Countess von Platen was not going. He was going to have his revenge on her. She would be taught a lesson. She was a dabbler, therefore could menace his power. It was enough for Schulemburg to be as a wife to the King; Kielmansegge was content as long as she could have her lovers; but von Platen was an ambitious woman; she had secured the place of cofferer for her lover Craggs and when Bernstorff had heard about it second-hand, his fury was great. In the past those who sought favours had come to him. He would not tolerate a woman who sought to deprive him of his privileges.
‘I think the Countess von Platen should remain in Hanover, Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘Two ladies… and both of an age to have earned respectability… that is well enough. But the Countess von Platen should remain in Hanover for I think if she accompanied you, the English might feel three was too much.’
George considered this, fleetingly thinking of the beautiful countess hiding in his apartment, a robe over her naked body, coming to beg him to show her a little honour and not bestow all on those two ageing ladies. It had been a moment of rare amusement and he admired her shrewdness. She was a beautiful woman; but there would be many beautiful women in England – slightly different, as foreigners always were, but he liked a little variety now and then. Schulemburg and Kielmansegge to satisfy habit and a few new ladies to make a change.
All women were very much alike; and the Platen was inclined to meddle. He had never really liked meddlers.
So he nodded. It should be as Bernstorff suggested.
When he went to Ermengarda’s apartment he found her in tears. He was surprised, for she rarely showed any emotion except a pleasant complacency in his company.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
She tried to smile but it was no use. ‘I’m afraid of what will happen to you,’ she told him.
‘What should?’
‘You are going to England as the King. Not very long ago they beheaded one of their Kings; they drove another away. If he had stayed he might have lost his head.’
He looked at her with affection. She had even tried to learn a little history for his sake.
‘They wouldn’t dare kill me.’
‘They might try. Let us stay here in Hanover. What does it matter if you are a King or an Elector?’
She had always been concerned for him; it suddenly occurred to him that she was one of the few persons in his life who had a genuine affection for him.
‘The king-killers are on my side,’ he said with a guffaw. ‘So you see there’s nothing to fear.’
‘I shall come with you,’ she said.
‘You’re coming,’ he told her. He made a sign for her to disrobe; he never wasted time in words. She knew why he had come at this hour as he had been doing for years. He did not like habits to be broken.
Meekly she rose; her attraction had always been her meekness; she had been such a contrast to the haughty Sophia Dorothea. If Schulemburg had been his wife, he reflected briefly, they would have lived in harmony and would doubtless have a brood of children to show for their long relationship. She would ride with him in the state coach through the streets of London and the people would cheer him.
Now they would think of the wife who would have been with him if she were not a prisoner – his prisoner – in the castle of Ahlden.
Yes,
Bernstorff was right. They couldn’t have George Augustus riding through the streets with Caroline and their children. But that matter was settled and Ermengarda was ready.
Caroline was eagerly awaiting departure. This was the best thing that could happen to make her forget the loss of Sophia.
She must think ahead to the future and never look back on the past. That was the advice Sophia Charlotte would have given her and how wise it was.
England! Land of promise! The Princess of Wales. It was a fine sounding title; and in time, if all went well, she would be Queen of England.
Her position would be a difficult one, for the very fact that the King’s wife would not be in England meant that she would immediately be the first lady in the land. The people would know she was their future Queen; they would seek her favour. Her task would be to control George Augustus – oh, so discreetly – and on the day when he became King of England she could be the real ruler of that country; a glorious, dazzling prospect. She could scarcely wait to leave for England.
She sent for Leibniz to come to her apartments; he was one of the few to whom she could talk frankly of her hopes. He had taken the measure of George Augustus; he was well aware of the absurd vanities of the little man; he knew that it would be clever Caroline who would in time rule; and she needed the help of clever men such as he was.
When he came to her, she said: ‘You should make ready to leave for England, for you must certainly come with us. I shall need your help in so many ways.’
Leibniz looked sad. ‘Your Highness has not heard then?’
‘Heard what?’
‘That I am to remain in Hanover.’
‘But who gave such an order?’
‘His Majesty… through Bernstorff.’
‘But you are my friend. It is not for them…’
‘To give orders, Highness? His Majesty has always given orders in Hanover. It is only when he was not interested that others were allowed to do so.’
‘But for what reason should you remain in Hanover?’
‘“To finish my task,” he says. I am here to write a history of the Princes of Brunswick and that is what I am to do.’