by Jean Plaidy
Frederick Augustus sprang to his feet when his mother entered and made the courtly bow which he had been taught; but Sophia’s eyes were on George Lewis, whose brown face had flushed a little as he lumbered awkwardly towards her, and clumsily made his acknowledgment.
Sophia made a note: I must speak to Platen about him.
‘Where is your Governor Platen?’ she asked.
George Lewis shook his head implying that he did not know.
‘Do not shake your head at me, sir. Have you no tongue?’
‘Yes, I have.’
‘Have what?’ demanded Sophia.
‘A tongue.’
‘Should you not give me some title when you address me?’
‘Yes … Madam.’
‘I am glad you deign to do so. I never saw such manners. And what is this game you are playing?’
‘I am a general,’ piped up Frederick Augustus. ‘You see, Mother, my men are facing those of George Lewis but I fear he has manoeuvred his forces into the better position.’
‘It is a pity he cannot manoeuvre his manners a little more expertly.’ Sophia gave a loud laugh. ‘I want to see Platen. You go and find him and take him to the antechamber. I will be there shortly.’
Frederick Augustus went off and Sophia gazed in dismay at her eldest son who continued to stare down at his feet. ‘George Lewis,’ she said impatiently, ‘why do you stand there? Why don’t you say something?’
‘What do you want me to say?’ he mumbled.
Sophia Charlotte had toddled up to her mother pulling Charles Philip with her; and Max William was waiting hopefully for his share of her attention.
‘I want you to say something which will tell us that you are not the complete oaf and boor you seem to be.’
She turned to Sophia Charlotte.
‘Mamma …’ said Sophia, her pretty face flushed with excitement. Sophia picked her up. How pretty she was! and Charles Philip was pulling at her gown too.
Sophia sat down and took the young ones on her lap while Max William sidled up.
‘Well, my son,’ said Sophia, ‘what were you doing in the campaign?’
‘I was a general … a little one.’
‘And you have left the battle?’
He rubbed his finger on the soft material of her skirt and smiled up at her shyly.
‘Perhaps that is because you were only a little general, my son.’
Max William lifted his shoulders and laughed childishly. Sophia laughed with him; and the little ones joined in.
They were delightful, these children of hers … all except George Lewis who had no manners, no grace; he had now gone back to the table and was moving the toy soldiers there with a concentration that meant to imply he found them more interesting than anything else in the room.
He should be whipped, thought Sophia indignantly. He was a boor. How had it happened? His tutors and governors were to blame. But were they? She had told Ernest Augustus that she was beginning to suspect no one could make anything of George Lewis.
When he had been a baby she used to say she loved him because he was so ugly. It was amusing perhaps for a baby to be ugly, but when the baby grew up and became an uncouth, ill-mannered boy that was another matter.
Frederick Augustus came back and said that their governor was awaiting the Duchess’s instructions and was in the antechamber when she wished to see him. So Sophia took leave of the children and went to join their governor.
Baron Frank Ernest von Platen was a mild man, but an ambitious one, determined to raise himself in the royal household. He saw an opportunity of doing this when he was appointed to the post of governor to the children of the reigning house. Being cautious he had become wealthy, and Ernest Augustus was inclined to favour him.
‘Ah,’ said Sophia, ‘so here you are.’
‘At your service, madam.’
‘I want to talk to you very seriously about George Lewis.’
Platen looked grave.
‘You may well look as you do. I find his progress most unsatisfactory.’
‘He is not as bad as he seems, Madam.’
‘I hope not, for then I should despair; but it is necessary for a Prince to appear better than he is … not worse. Don’t you agree?’
‘I am in complete agreement.’
‘And yet this pupil of yours is a boor without the grace to behave with ordinary good manners.’
‘Madam, he is George Lewis. If he makes up his mind to act in a certain way then he will do it. Let me say this, that his knowledge of military history is good; that I am sure he has great courage. But there are some subjects in which he has no interest. And he refuses to try to excel in light conversation.’
‘He is eleven years old. I should not have thought it was for him to lay down rules as to what he should and should not do.’
‘He is a Prince, Madam. Already he knows his mind.’
‘Then he will have to learn, will he not, that it is not his place to make decisions?’
‘He can be very stubborn,’ said Platen. And vindictive too, he thought, when he is crossed. George Lewis would remember a score for years, Platen was sure; and that was a point to remember when it was certain that one day he would rule in place of his father.
‘Something will have to be done. How is his English?’
‘I am uncertain, Madam. Perhaps you would wish to speak to his tutor?’
‘I would,’ she said.
‘Then, Madam, if you will excuse me, I will find out and send him to you.’
Glad to escape, Platen went out and in a few minutes returned with John von dem Bussche, the Princes’ chief tutor.
‘Now,’ said Sophia, ‘I am asking how my eldest son progresses with his English.’
‘Not at all, Madam, I fear.’
‘Not at all! But he must speak English. It is almost his native tongue.’
‘He has no aptitude, Madam. He is tolerably good at other languages but English seems to be beyond him.’
‘He must speak English. It would be such a disgrace if he did not. He is part English, as you know. I wish him to study not only the English tongue, but English history, for that is the history of my family.’
The two men caught each other’s eye. Sophia’s preoccupation with England and the English were well known through the palace. It might even be that the recalcitrant George Lewis knew this and that was why he shut his mind to all things English … and in particular their tongue.
‘Well, you will see that he learns his English. And I am most disgusted by his awkwardness. If you wish to keep your posts at least teach him how to bow and move with some grace. He may have to go to England one day and I would be most ashamed for my relations there to see my son as he is today. I can tell you this, that my cousin the King of England is one of the most charming men in the world. His manners are perfect … and they always were. I would wish my son to be as my cousin.’
‘In this matter of manners?’ murmured John von dem Bussche with a daring which made Platen wince. Really, he would have to be a little more careful if he wished to keep his post. To refer to the blatant immorality of Charles II before his cousin Sophia was a little dangerous.
Sophia saw fit not to notice the lapse.
‘Let this be attended to,’ she said.
Then she left them to go to her husband, for this matter of her son’s unfortunate character weighed deeply on her mind.
Ernest Augustus was sleeping after a heavy meal; she could smell the sauerkraut about his clothes and person as she approached.
‘Ernest Augustus,’ she said, ‘Wake up. I am disturbed.’
He started and looked at her in surprise. ‘My dear, this is hardly the time …’
‘You were very preoccupied when I wished to have a chat with you before.’
This was a reference to his current intrigue with Esther, one of Sophia’s femmes de chambre. She was mildly irritated, wishing that he would look a little higher in his amours.
‘Well, wh
at troubles you?’
‘George Lewis troubles me, and he should trouble you too.’
‘Is anything wrong? I thought he was in good health.’
‘His health’s rude enough – the trouble is so is he. His manners are disgusting; he makes no progress with the English tongue; he shambles like an idiot; he gapes, and stammers … In other words, he is an oaf, a boor … and something should be done about it.’
‘What?’
‘Perhaps he should be sent abroad on a grand tour.’
‘Well, that might be possible. I suppose you’re thinking of sending him to England.’
‘To England!’ cried Sophia. ‘I should be ashamed. To my own people … and him such an oaf! You know Charles with his gracious manners!’
‘I have heard he performs superbly in the bedchamber.’
‘He is a King and must have his diversions. He is not the only one who spends much time and energy in that room.’
Ernest Augustus was quiet. He marvelled at her tolerance. It was one of her greatest virtues in his eyes. But he did not want to abuse it.
Sophia went on: ‘George Lewis is not ready yet to go to England, but I trust in good time he may be. It would seem that my cousin Charles’s wife is a sterile woman, and that he’ll get no issue from her.’
‘He does very well outside the marriage bed. Ha, ha.’
‘Which shows that the fault does not lie with him. We are not a sterile family. I wonder if he ever remembers that I was once promised to him. That would give him food for thought when he considers my nursery.’
She was a little indignant that Charles had not asked her hand in marriage, and in spite of the fact that she was so proud of her connection with him she bore him some resentment. Yes, she was a proud woman. Ernest Augustus was glad to discover her vulnerability.
‘He seems carefree enough and he has a brother.’
‘Yes,’ said Sophia, ‘with two daughters. Who knows, one of them might do for George Lewis.’
‘That would delight you! An English wife for George Lewis!’
‘And, has it occurred to you, if one of those girls were Queen it might be the crown of England for George Lewis.’
‘You set your ambitious ideas very high, Sophia.’
‘That’s what ambition is, my dear husband. I want George Lewis to be ready … if fortune should be good to him. His boorish manners shock me deeply. Something must be done. I think that as soon as it can be managed he and Frederick Augustus should do a tour of Europe. Not England … no, no… . He must improve before he goes there. But perhaps Italy … France… . What do you say?’
‘I think you’re right, as you invariably are. If there was more money, if they were a little older …’
‘It is a matter to be considered then?’
‘Most certainly.’
As they were discussing the possibilities this might open up for their sons, a messenger came to tell them that Schütz, Duke George William’s ambassador, had arrived at Osnabrück.
Ernest Augustus had rarely seen Sophia so angry as she was when Schütz stated his case.
‘My lord Chancellor,’ she said, ‘I am sure my husband the Duke will willingly show you the documents which your master has signed, in which he swears never to marry.’
‘I know of the existence of such documents, Madam, but my master is asking your indulgence.’
Ernest Augustus put in: ‘But there is no releasing him from his vows. If I did so he would still have to face his conscience.’
‘My master has satisfied his conscience, my lord Duke. His great concern is for your help in this matter.’
Sophia nodded at her husband who said: ‘What you ask is quite impossible.’
‘We are surprised, Herr Schütz,’ added Sophia, ‘that you should have allowed yourself to be the carrier of such a request.’
‘Madam, I follow my duty which is best to serve my master.’
‘By advising him to break his vows!’
‘All he asks is that his marriage may be recognized as legal and his daughter legitimized.’
‘All he asks is to break his solemn vow,’ cried Sophia. ‘And my husband and I are agreed on this: the answer is no.’
Schütz returned to Celle to report that it was useless to hope for any help from Osnabrück because both Duke Ernest Augustus and Duchess Sophia had made up their minds to do everything to stop the marriage.
‘Well,’ said Eléonore, ‘at least we know what to expect. As a matter of fact, I very quickly learned that Sophia was an enemy. She never forgave you for passing her over to Ernest Augustus and me for winning the affection you could not give to her.’
‘So,’ sighed George William, ‘it is useless to fight.’
‘There I cannot agree,’ said Eléonore. ‘This is where the fight begins.’
‘But if Ernest Augustus will not release me …’
‘We shall go higher than Ernest Augustus.’
‘You mean?’
‘The Emperor.’
‘Eléonore!’
‘Why not? What harm can it do? I am sure he will be sympathetic if I state the case precisely. In any case, it is what I intend to do.’
‘My dearest, you are a very determined woman.’
‘I have to be. I have my daughter’s future to think of.’
To the surprise of George William, Eléonore received a reply to her letter from the Emperor Leopold.
He understood, he said, and he sympathized; and what she asked was by no means impossible. He was, however, very busily engaged. He was faced with wars which had to be his main pre-occupation. He had to fight the Turks and the King of France – to whom he knew Eléonore, although a Frenchwoman, had no reason to be grateful. He was sure that Eléonore’s husband would be as glad to help him as he would be to help Eléonore if he had the opportunity. Firstly of course he must settle his pressing affairs. He was in need of men and arms. If the Duke of Celle could help him, he could rest assured that he would do everything in his power to repay such a service.
When Eléonore read the letter she gasped with surprise. To write to the Emperor had been the defiant gesture of a desperate woman and she had never dared hope for such a reply.
Well, here it was. George William must first send men to help the Emperor – and then his reward should be considered.
She ran to George William who read the letter in amazement.
Then he looked at Eléonore, his eyes shining with pride.
‘You are a wonderful woman,’ he said.
‘And you will do this?’
‘My dearest, the Emperor can make a bargain with you; rest assured that I shall do everything … just everything in my power … that you ask of me. Leopold shall have his troops.’
This was the first step, thought Eléonore. She was certain that she would take the rest unfalteringly to victory.
Sophia from Osnabrück declared open warfare, no longer pretending to be Eléonore’s friend.
She blamed Ernest Augustus for not striking an even harder bargain when he had had the chance. He should have robbed George William not only of his right to marry and some of his estates but all of them.
For the dismal truth had to be faced that George William was much richer than they were and although he kept his Frenchified court he had not a nursery full of children with their necessarily expensive household to keep up.
All they had was their idolized petted Sophia Dorothea.
‘She must be a spoiled brat!’ fumed Sophia. ‘And if Eléonore has no more children she will be a very rich one when she inherits all they have.’
And not content with making her the richest of heiresses Eléonore was trying to bestow legitimacy on her as well. No wonder Anton Ulrich was licking his lips. She dareswore he was cursing the fact that the pretty little thing was not of an age to be snapped up right away.
Sophia wrote to her niece, Elizabeth Charlotte, who having married Louis XIV’s brother was now the Duchess of Orléans. She had known El
éonore when she was at the Court of France and being of a malicious and mischievous nature she was delighted to write to Sophia about her, inventing scandal, which seemed to be what her aunt wanted.
These letters passed frequently between them and Eléonore was the subject of them. They gave vent to their hatred by referring to her as ‘that piece of flesh’, ‘that clot of dirt’, and remarking how scandalous it was that she should be trying to make a position for herself in the court of a German prince – even though a minor one.
‘You had better tell me all you know of this woman,’ Sophia wrote, ‘for can you guess what she is trying to do? She is trying to make her marriage to my foolish brother-in-law legal so that little bastard of hers can have a title and make a brilliant marriage. We owe it to our house, to our blood, to prevent this.’
Elizabeth Charlotte, not finding sufficient scandal on which to feed her salacious and ever greedy mind, was not averse to inventing it. What had been her duties in the household of the Princesse de Tarente, did Sophia think? What was the Princesse de Tarente doing in Breda? Anyone who lived in her house automatically cast aside their reputations. Did Sophia know that? Elizabeth Charlotte could tell stories of a certain page at the court of Louis XIV. Eléonore had done everything she knew – and that was a great deal – to marry him; she had failed of course and now was doubtless glad since she had succeeded in making a fool of the Duke of Celle. And in the household of the Princesse de Tarente – what had been the relationship between the Princess’s husband and that clot of dirt?
With delight Sophia read these letters to Ernest Augustus who did not believe them.
‘Whether you believe them or not we must do our best to make others do so.’
‘Do you think you will? You only have to look at her to know that she is quite incapable of such acts … not only for virtue’s sake but for that of her dignity, which is very great.’
‘Well, we shall see.’
When the rumours reached Celle Eléonore knew whence they came. Still she was distressed and, to show his utmost belief in her, George William decided to buy more estates which, because they were outside his inherited territory, he would be at liberty to leave where he wished. These he would leave to Eléonore. But even before he could make the purchase it was necessary to get the consent of Ernest Augustus to make the transaction.