It was at this point that the story turned ugly. The princess of Hohenzollern, stung, wrote back sharply to the queen of Bohemia justifying her conduct by insinuating that Louisa had fled for reasons “highly prejudicial to her honor” (i.e., she was pregnant). The Winter Queen, displaying some truly questionable maternal judgment, showed the States this letter and demanded that the princess of Hohenzollern be censured for lying about Louisa’s moral conduct. Of course, after that the newspapers got wind of it, the gossip became propaganda for the Parliamentary party, and that was the end of Louise Hollandine’s reputation. She was gleefully painted as a fallen woman.
To console her aunt, Mary, princess of Orange, together with her brother, Charles II, offered to act as intermediaries. “The King and my niece… were at Antwerp, and went to see Louisa in the monastery,” the queen of Bohemia reported to Rupert on March 4, 1658. “The king and my niece did chide Louisa for her change of religion, and leaving me so unhandsomely; she answered that she was very well satisfied with her change, but very sorry that she had displeased me… The bishop of Antwerp has written a letter to your brother Edward, where he clears Louise of that base calumny [the supposed pregnancy]; yet Ned is so willful as he excuses the Princess of Zollern,” she fumed.*
Evidently it was perceived after this visit that Antwerp was rather too close to Protestant territory to ensure that the new convert would be safe from further entreaties or possibly even extradition, for within a month Edward had arranged for Louisa to come to France. “Your sister Louisa is arrived at Chaillot, her brother [Edward] went and fetched her from Rouen; the queen went to see her the next day; the King of France went thither the week after,” the Winter Queen complained to Rupert. “They are very civil to her. The queen wrote to me that she will have a care of her as of her own daughter, and begs her pardon; I have excused it as handsomely as I could, and entreated her not to take it ill, but only to think what she would do if she had had the same misfortune,” she added bitterly.
On April 20, 1659, Louise Hollandine was officially accepted into the Catholic Church by the papal nuncio in Paris and was granted an income by the French Crown. A year later she took her vows as a nun and disappeared into the abbey of Maubuisson, about twenty miles northwest of Paris, one of the oldest and most prestigious convents in France.
Sophia
Heidelberg Castle
17
The Electress, Two Dukes, and the Lady-in-Waiting
WHILE LOUISE WRESTLED WITH WEIGHTY matters of spirituality amid the corruption and intimidation of The Hague, her younger sister Sophia, still ensconced with her brother’s family in Heidelberg, faced a challenging home environment of her own, although on a rather less exalted plane. Specifically, she was forced to cope with the cascading domestic friction between Karl Ludwig and his wife, Charlotte. It was perhaps to be expected that a marriage that had begun so stormily would unravel still further over time; many do. But not like this. This was one for the history books.
The first two years had been rocky but manageable. Charlotte fulfilled the first obligation of wedlock by giving birth, on March 31, 1651, to a son and heir they named Karl and then followed up this achievement on May 27, 1652, with a little girl, christened Elizabeth Charlotte but whom everyone called Liselotte. Karl Ludwig, for his part, improved the economic environment in Heidelberg sufficiently to begin work on the ruined family castle and so had been able to move everyone into the renovated space in time for the birth of his son.
But this uneasy truce between husband and wife vanished abruptly in 1653 with an invitation to the imperial court. Karl Ludwig had already been formally received by the emperor (still Ferdinand) the previous year in Prague, a prestigious event that Charlotte had been unable to attend due to the birth of Liselotte.* She had complained bitterly about being left at home, so Karl Ludwig thought to appease her by taking her, along with his sisters Sophia and Princess Elizabeth, who had also joined the household, to meet the emperor at Ratisbon, nearly two hundred miles to the east.
Charlotte, envisioning a social triumph, threw herself into preparations for this exciting round of festivities, ordering splendid gowns as befit her position as Karl Ludwig’s wife. “The Electress, whose one thought during the whole expedition was how best to display her beauty before this great assembly, had sent to France for a Mme. La Prince to dress her hair, and nothing was omitted to show her off to the best advantage,” Sophia remembered. All had been packed and sent when Charlotte, to her very great chagrin, discovered herself to be pregnant again. Her hair might have looked charming but her chic new gowns did not fit, and of course no one looks or feels her best with several extra inches around the waist. Ferdinand and his wife took pains to treat her with great respect, but it was no use; Charlotte was in “such a bad temper that her husband often took refuge in my rooms to escape from it,” Sophia revealed.
Matters were not improved when the baby was born prematurely and died the next day, and Karl Ludwig accused his wife of having brought on the tragedy by insisting on accompanying the imperial court when it moved on to Augsburg rather than waiting quietly at Ratisbon for the birth. Charlotte retaliated by refusing to sleep with him. By the time everyone returned to Heidelberg it was all-out war: she threw the dishes at him, he slapped her so hard her nose bled. A further complication ensued when Karl Ludwig, denied the solace of his wife’s bed, fell in love instead with Louise von Degenfeldt, Charlotte’s sweet-tempered twenty-year-old lady-in-waiting.
Charlotte’s first inkling that Karl Ludwig’s attentions might be wandering came in the summer of 1654 with the arrival of yet another member of her husband’s family: his brother Rupert. Ill and exhausted from his years at sea, Rupert had given up pirating and was considering his options. Domesticity appealed to him (probably because he had no experience with it), and Karl Ludwig had generously agreed to give his brother a substantial plot of land out of his own holdings in the Palatine on which to settle. Naturally, Rupert stayed with Karl Ludwig and the rest of the family at the castle in Heidelberg while the details of this transaction were being finalized.
Unfortunately, during this visit, Rupert also met Charlotte’s endearing lady-in-waiting Louise and, used to success in affairs of the heart and having no idea that he was trespassing on his brother’s territory, made a play for her. When she rejected him, he passed her a note declaring his love and accusing her of coldness. To deflect suspicion, Louise in turn handed this incriminating document over to Charlotte, pretending it had been meant for her. Charlotte, thrilled to have attracted Rupert’s attention, rushed to assure him of the warmth of her affections, a confession that caused her disconcerted brother-in-law to blush with embarrassment. Charlotte immediately perceived from his reaction that the note had been intended for her lady-in-waiting and not herself, and angry and humiliated, she tried to dismiss Louise, only to have her husband intervene and place the young woman under his protection, insisting that she stay. So besotted was Karl Ludwig with his new love that he rashly revenged himself on Rupert by reneging on the land-settlement deal. He even went so far as to shut the gates of Heidelberg against his rival, a gesture his brother found so hurtful that he left the city and never returned.*
In the aftermath of this debacle, the remaining household divided into two opposing camps. Princess Elizabeth, appalled at Karl Ludwig’s behavior, sided with Charlotte, while Sophia, always her brother’s favorite, remained his ally. Her husband’s fondness for his youngest sister excited Charlotte’s wrath. “She tried to forbid the Elector’s visits to my rooms, but this only made him more determined to come nearly every evening attended by his whole court, at which the anger of the Electress knew no bounds,” Sophia admitted.
Unable to subvert her adversaries, Charlotte sought to divide them. The simplest way to accomplish this was to exile Sophia by marrying her off. To teach her sister-in-law a lesson, the electress, wretched with her own husband, thought to punish Sophia by arranging a similarly joyless match.
THE PROSPECTIVE BRIDEGROOM
HAILED from the Swedish court. On June 6, 1654, just as Rupert was arriving for his turbulent family visit, Queen Christina, intent upon converting to Catholicism, famously abdicated her throne in favor of her cousin Charles X Gustav. Charles Gustav’s wife, the new queen of Sweden, had a brother Adolf. Sometime toward the end of 1654, Prince Adolf arrived in Heidelberg on a diplomatic mission.
Sophia took an instant dislike to him. “His manner was good and his figure rather fine, but he had a disagreeable face with a long pointed chin like a shoehorn,” she observed queasily. “After a short sojourn at Heidelberg he asked my hand in marriage; the Electress, wishing to be rid of me, had no small part in bringing this about. She contrived to conceal from the Elector and from me that this prince was so extremely bad-tempered—he had actually beaten his first wife, a fact the Electress knew full well.” But the Swedes were allies of the Palatinate and Sophia knew herself to be in trouble. “The Elector was devoted to the King of Sweden, and therefore unwilling to refuse anything to his brother. He consented on condition that the King approved the match and ratified all the advantageous terms which the Prince had willing promised me,” she despaired.
Luckily for Sophia, there’s nothing like a firm bid to increase market value. Way over in Hanover, some two hundred and fifty miles due north of Heidelberg, Duke George William of Brunswick, the second eldest of four brothers, “heard the report of my engagement at the very time when, urged by his subjects to marry, he had promised to take the subject into consideration, if they on their part would increase his revenues,” Sophia explained. Although he had never met her, “while in treaty with his subjects on this question, he could think of no princess more suitable than myself were he, indeed, forced to take a step to which he had always felt the greatest repugnance,” she noted drily. As he customarily spent his winters in Venice, Duke George William decided to drop by Heidelberg on his way to Italy and, as part of his salary drive, see if Sophia’s charms were really as advertised. He brought his youngest brother, Duke Ernst Augustus, with him on the inspection tour for moral support. Sophia had actually met Ernst Augustus several years earlier and enjoyed his company; he played the guitar, “which served to show off his exquisite hands; in dancing he also excelled,” she remembered.
Duke George William, the older brother and hopeful suitor, turned out to be very nice as well, especially as compared to Sophia’s Swedish conquest. “I infinitely preferred the Duke to Prince Adolf, to whom I had taken so great an aversion that only a strong effort of will could have overcome it,” she confessed. Happily, the duke “at once attached himself to me, questioning me as to my reported engagement, and paying me numberless compliments, to which I was not backward in responding. At last he spoke the great word, asking if he had my permission to demand my hand of the Elector.” Sophia’s relief at having secured this second timely proffer for her affections was obvious. “My answer was not that of a heroine of romance, for I unhesitatingly said ‘Yes,’” she declared forcefully.
There remained only the small problem of her previous commitment to Adolf, but again fortunately for Sophia, Duke George William was wealthier and, as sovereign of his own duchy, of higher standing than the prince. “I knew also that the Elector loved me well enough to approve my choice, especially as right was on my side, for this match was much superior to the other,” she reported. She was correct in her assessment. “The Elector did not wait to be asked twice, but at once gave his consent,” she affirmed. By the time the duke and his brother left Heidelberg for Italy, the marriage contract had been drawn up and signed by all the relevant parties, although Duke George William, who was clear on his priorities, “enjoined the strictest secrecy on us, saying that, were his subjects to hear that he was already engaged, all hope of obtaining from them any increase of revenue would disappear.”
Meanwhile, Prince Adolf, justifiably operating under the assumption that he and Sophia were getting married, had obtained the desired consent of his brother-in-law the king of Sweden to the match. This inconvenient fact was brought home to Karl Ludwig with the arrival of a Swedish ambassador bearing a letter from the monarch welcoming Sophia into the family and inquiring when would be the best time for Adolf to come collect his bride. With “the greatest gentleness,” Karl Ludwig, without actually mentioning the other engagement, broke the news to the envoy that “the state of affairs was changed” and that “even were his sister not so fortunate as to become Prince Adolf’s wife, he (the Elector) would all the same remain his obedient servant, ready and willing on all occasions to serve him to the utmost of his ability.” Then he dismissed the ambassador “laden with fine presents.”
This did not work. Adolf did not want fine presents or the elector’s service; he wanted Sophia. He showed up in Heidelberg unannounced and tried to force the issue. “The idea that he was to possess me was so fixed in his mind as to become his prevailing passion, and he left no stone unturned to gain his object,” Sophia recalled. “Sometimes he wept, at others flew into a rage.” When these tactics failed, he rode off in a huff, “determined to go himself and persuade his brother [the king of Sweden] to take up his cause.”
No sooner had Adolf departed than a new, and far more ominous, impasse occurred. Duke George William, enjoying his accustomed sojourn in Italy, which clearly included many pleasures not commonly associated with holy wedlock, “plunged in the dissipations of Venice, ceased to think of me, nor had his subjects come to any conclusion as to the increase of his revenue,” Sophia was forced to report. Worse, “he began to repent the promise, which bound him by word and deed to me, his letters grew colder, and he himself failed to appear at the appointed time. The Elector was very uneasy,” she added, and it was clear her concern matched her brother’s. If the duke backed out, she would have no excuse but to marry the obnoxious Adolf after all.
And just at this moment, with Sophia’s fate hanging in the balance, Charlotte made a discovery.
ALL THROUGH THE EXTENDED process of negotiation with first Prince Adolf and then Duke George William, Karl Ludwig had been engaged in similar (albeit clandestine) bargaining for the affections of Louise von Degenfeldt, his wife’s lady-in-waiting. To forward his suit—she obstinately resisted the ultimate surrender, holding out for marriage—he sent her love letters, which he took the precaution of writing in Latin, a language of which he knew Charlotte to be ignorant. But Karl Ludwig, like his grandfather James I before him, had been highly educated and was something of a snob about scholarship, and he made the mistake of bragging one night at dinner before guests that his wife employed a lady-in-waiting of such superior quality that she could read and write Latin.
Charlotte might not have been steeped in the classics, but she was sharp enough to have her suspicions aroused by this comment. And although it was true she herself could not read Latin, she knew someone who could—her sister-in-law Princess Elizabeth, who conveniently happened to be staying with them. The electress took the first opportunity to sneak into her handmaid’s room, where she broke into the little box that held her correspondence. There she found several suspect letters from Karl Ludwig, which Princess Elizabeth confirmed to be love notes. A further frenzied search of Louise’s quarters revealed that her errant husband had not confined his activities to pen and paper but had also urged his case with gifts of jewelry, including a ring “stolen from out of her [Charlotte’s] drawer… given her by the Elector.”
It was the jewelry that did it. Charlotte might have forgiven Karl Ludwig for adultery but not for adornment. She raised such a ruckus that Louise, forewarned, ran to get Karl Ludwig, who was followed by the rest of the household. “On entering the chamber we saw an extraordinary scene,” read Sophia’s report of this picturesque domestic interchange. “The Elector was standing in front of his mistress to protect her from his wife’s blows; the Electress was marching around the room holding La Degenfeldt’s jewels in her hands… the Elector said that she must give back the jewels to the one who owned them. She replied by throwing them all over t
he room. ‘If they aren’t to be mine, then voilà!’ However, the Elector took his mistress and… lodged her in a fine apartment above his chamber where he made a hole in the ceiling through which he could climb by means of a ladder. The Electress soon discovered this route and would have climbed up the ladder with a knife in her hand if her ladies had not prevented her.” Undeterred, by her own admission, Charlotte later availed herself of a gun, which she intended to use to “send a bullet through the ill-conditioned heart of the peace-destroyer [her husband],” but was again overpowered by a member of the household, who emptied the cartridges harmlessly by shooting out the window into the garden.
Under the circumstances, in the spring of 1657, Karl Ludwig decided it was best that he and Louise remove themselves from the castle at Heidelberg until such time as a more permanent solution to his marital troubles could be arranged. Being Protestant, he unfortunately could not avail himself of an appeal to the pope for an annulment, so he did the next best thing: he made a thorough investigation of German history and learned that one of Charlotte’s own ancestors, a Lutheran who had experienced a similarly unhappy family situation, had been allowed to trade in one wife for another. He then used this discovery as precedent to begin divorce proceedings against Charlotte, a course of action that prompted his mother to observe that “if everybody could quit their husbands and wives for their ill humors, there would be no small disorder in the world.”
And it was at this point that Duke George William, motivated by a similar yearning to be free of an unwanted commitment, came up with his own creative solution to the problem of his engagement. Only in his case, he aspired to swap not wives but husbands.
FACED WITH THE DILEMMA of how to maintain his treasured bachelorhood and get married at the same time, George William, after considerable thought, had the inspired notion of employing a surrogate. “The Duke of Hanover… perplexed how to find an honorable escape… hit on the expedient of proposing to his brother, Duke Ernst Augustus, that he, as his other self, should marry me,” Sophia explained. So sincere (and desperate) was the older brother in his overture to the younger that he offered to make over all of his property to Ernst Augustus if only he would agree to take Sophia off his hands, “proposing to retain for himself only a liberal income sufficient for his private expenses. He also assured his younger brother that he would give him a paper, written and signed by his own hand, to the effect that he would never marry, but live and die a bachelor,” Sophia continued. This was quite a good deal for a fourth son. “Duke Ernest Augustus listened with pleasure to this proposition,” Sophia related.
Daughters of the Winter Queen Page 29