CHAPTER X.
THE EMBROIDERED GLOVE. (1690-1691.)
They two alone one summer day: “Ah Love,” she said, “is hard to lose”. “And harder still,” he said, “to say The bitter words that you must choose Between the lover of to-day And the true friend of yesterday.” LADY ARABELLA ROMILLY.
The winter was one of the most rigorous known for years, and brought much hardship and suffering to the troops fighting in the Morea and privation and want to the people at home. The Hanoverian subjects groaned under the weight of the large and increasing military burden imposed on them. Taxes were high and discontent was general.[41] But, though soldiers might die and peasants perish of cold and starvation, the court of Hanover was as gay and extravagant as ever. Countess Platen kept open house at her palace of Monplaisir; her jewels and dresses grew more and more resplendent; her hazard table was the focus of all the dissolute young nobles about the court. The opera was thronged nightly. Thousands of thalers were squandered on feasting and music and dancing, though the duchy was involved in a bloody and unprofitable war, and its troops were being mowed down like grass by the scimitars of the Moslem hordes.
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Footnote 41:
“Every prince here keeps more troops than he can possibly maintain” (Colt’s _Despatch_, Hanover Correspondence, December 4, 1689).
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The New Year opened with much festivity. “This family is here together,” writes Colt, “except the Duke of Celle and his court. We have had a carnaval and a most magnificent Opera of voyces from Venice, which has drawn much company hither.”[42] And again: “Our opera is most magnificent fine, exceeding even that of Italy”.[43] But there was a spectre at the revels which would not be shut out. “I am under dreadful apprehensions,” he continues, “that our mirth will not end well, being concerned for the safety of Prince Charles, the fourth son of this Duke, who is marching from Prestina. If he be killed it will bring both the Duke and the Duchess with sorrow to their graves; nor, indeed, have I ever seen one more generally beloved.” Poor Sophie Dorothea was probably under “dreadful apprehensions” too, not only for the safety of her favourite brother-in-law, who had always taken her part, but for the man whom she deemed her faithful friend and devoted adherent; if she lost them she would be friendless indeed. But however much her heart might ache, it behoved her to smile and to deck herself in jewels and brave attire, and take her place in the festivities by the Duchess Sophia’s side, who had sorrow and anxiety too.
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Footnote 42:
Colt’s _Despatch_, Hanover, January 24, 1690.
Footnote 43:
Colt’s _Despatch_, January 28, 1690.
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A few weeks later and the evil forebodings were realised. News came that the young Prince, the flower of his race, the darling of his mother’s heart, the idol of the court, was lost in the Morea. There were many contradictory reports: some said he was slain, others that he was only wounded, others that he was taken prisoner and carried to Constantinople. Then followed a month of wearing anxiety; the Duchess Sophia broke down under it utterly, and the Electress of Brandenburg came to comfort her mother. It was supposed, too, that Königsmarck was killed or taken prisoner. At last the suspense ended. “We have received certain news,” writes Colt, “that Prince Charles was killed on the spot where his body was found, with several of his officers and servants round him, dead. He had several cutts with a gymeker, and was run thro’ the body with a lance. Their last hope of his being a prisoner has very much increased their sorrow here, and we are going into mourning.”[44] Königsmarck was not numbered among the dead; the Königsmarck luck was on his side, and by some miracle he escaped, though the Hanoverian troops were decimated.
The Duchess Sophia fell dangerously ill on receiving the news of her favourite son’s death, and the court despaired of her life. The sad affliction in which the ducal family were plunged broke down for a time all minor jealousies. The Duke of Celle came personally to Hanover to offer his condolences, and the common sorrow seemed to draw all members of the family closer together. A month later the Duchess Sophia rallied sufficiently to go with the Duke to Carlsbad to take the waters. In April Königsmarck came back to Hanover from the Morea, in company with the miserable remnant of the gallant troops who had set forth so bravely the autumn before. Some idea of the slaughter may be gained from the fact that of the Duke of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel’s contingent, which started eleven thousand strong, only one hundred and thirty returned.
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Footnote 44:
_Ibid._, Hanover, February 25, 1690.
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The summer of 1690 was a sad one at Hanover. The death of Prince Charles and the illness of the Duchess Sophia cast a gloom over a court which as a rule suffered not death, nor sickness, nor misery to interrupt its dissipations and revelries. Prince George Louis went to Flanders to command his father’s troops, and took Prince Ernest, the youngest of the princes, with him.[45] It was not a dangerous expedition, for the troops of the Allies were for the most part mobilising this year. William of Orange was not in Flanders; he had his hands full in Ireland, where, at the head of a motley army (English, Dutch, Danish, and German—doubtless the first fruits of the great confederation), he was grappling with King James at the battle of the Boyne.
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Footnote 45:
Colt’s _Despatch_ Celle, May 27, 1690.
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Königsmarck did not go to Flanders; he had had enough of fighting for the present, and he stayed on at Hanover, where Sophie Dorothea, abandoned, as usual, by her husband, who much preferred the camp to the court and his military to his connubial duties, remained almost alone. Regarding Königsmarck as her staunch adherent and trusted friend, she rejoiced greatly on his safe return from the jaws of death, and gave him ready and frequent audience. In the lifetime of Prince Charles these interviews had excited no remark, for he went often to see his sister-in-law and took Königsmarck in attendance. But things were now different: the beloved Prince Charles, the true friend of both, was dead, and there was an enemy once more at work plotting the Princess’s destruction. This was the Countess Platen, who, to her long-standing dislike of the Princess, now added an element of personal jealousy. She too had greeted Königsmarck’s return with joy; but he had courteously but firmly repelled her advances, determined not to be caught tripping a second time. The Countess fancied she saw the cause of his coldness in his devotion to Sophie Dorothea, and from that moment she determined on her ruin. Opportunity to injure her soon came.
The etiquette of the court was very strict, and the Princess, as we have remarked, was not always so careful to observe it in public as she might have been. As colonel of the guards, Königsmarck had free access to the palace. One day, when he was there on duty, he met the Princess coming in from the gardens with her little daughter. In the ordinary course he should have saluted and passed on. But the little girl was tired, and shirked the long flight of steps leading to the apartments of the Princess. Instead of handing her over to an attendant, Sophie Dorothea impulsively caught her up in her arms, and began to mount the steps with her burden. This alone was supposed to show a deplorable lack of dignity, and, to make matters worse, Königsmarck laughingly remonstrated with Her Highness, and insisted on taking the young Princess from her arms and carrying her up the stairs to the door of her apartments. Just at this moment who should pass by but the Countess Platen, who, seeing them laughing and talking together, cast a withering glance, and, with an ironically deep obeisance to the Princess, hurried off to report to the Duke this monstrous breach of etiquette.
[Illustration: THE LEINE SCHLOSS, HANOVER.]
Duke Ernest Augustus was now home from Carlsbad, much the better of his gout, and in good temper with things generally. He was indulgent to Sophie Dorothea and her whims, except when they crossed his wishes. In this case he could not see anything very wrong in her conduct, though the circumstance was grossly exaggerated by the Countess, and he turned a deaf ear to her hints and innuendoes, refusing to believe any evil. Perhaps he had a shrewd idea that jealousy was at the bottom of it. But afterwards he remonstrated with the Princess, and reprimanded Königsmarck for having been guilty of an impertinence, though, Hanoverian etiquette apart, he seems to have only performed an act of natural courtesy. The incident was reported about the court, and from the tittle-tattle came the first breath of scandal which afterwards tarnished so sadly the mirror of Sophie Dorothea’s fair name.[46]
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Footnote 46:
The authority for this incident, and the episode of the embroidered glove which follows, may be traced either to the _Roman Octavia_, by Duke Antony Ulrich, or to the writings of Major Müller, who was for some time librarian to the late Duke of Cambridge, when Regent of Hanover, and who had free access to the Hanoverian archives. Count Schulenburg considered his writings worthy of credit, but I cannot vouch for their accuracy, though the inherent probability of these incidents justifies their insertion here.
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Soon after this the Hanoverian court, except the Duchess Sophia, went on a visit to Brunswick, according to their annual custom, to divert themselves with an opera and the fair.[47] The Duke and Duchess of Celle were there also, and Duke Antony Ulrich with his family and a numerous court. Antony Ulrich had now become co-regent with his elder brother, Duke Rudolph Augustus, who, being a scholar and recluse, practically left all government in his hands. It was Antony Ulrich who dictated the policy of the House of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel, and he kept his court sometimes at Wolfenbüttel and sometimes at Brunswick. Brunswick was then a Hanseatic town of considerable importance, strongly fortified, and much frequented by merchants. The annual fair was a great event which the pleasure-loving court of Hanover would not forego. Not the recent death of the Prince, nor the reverses of the army in the Morea, nor the ill-concealed enmity between the Duke of Hanover and Duke Antony Ulrich sufficed to keep Ernest Augustus from the Brunswick revels. Just now in the interests of the great alliance the feud between them was slumbering. Sophie Dorothea was there too, and so doubtless was Königsmarck. The death of the Elector Palatine put a sudden end to the ill-timed festivities.
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Footnote 47:
Colt’s _Hanover Correspondence_, August 12, 1690.
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At the end of October Prince George Louis returned from Flanders with his troops, for winter quarters.[48] Absence had not improved his domestic relations; he spent all his time with Ermengarda Melusina Schulenburg, and his unhappy wife saw little or nothing of him; at this time she was his wife in name only.
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Footnote 48:
_Ibid._, October 24, 1690.
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In January, 1691, the Duke of Wolfenbüttel and the Duke of Hanover, each with a numerous retinue, went to the Hague to meet William and take part in the deliberations of the great congress of the Allies. The Duke of Celle was to have gone too, but an attack of gout at the last moment prevented him, much to his chagrin, as he was a staunch friend of England. The quiet Dutch town presented a spectacle of extraordinary gaiety. William had just made his triumphal return to his own country for the first time since he had become King of England, and his Dutchmen welcomed him with acclamations and delight, which showed how deeply the Dutch phlegm could be stirred on occasion. The streets were decorated by day and illuminated by night; every house was crowded, and the retinues of the princely throng were sore put about to find a lodging for their masters, much more for themselves. It was an imposing gathering; never before had Europe witnessed such a congress. The haughty Elector of Brandenburg was there, the young Catholic Elector of Bavaria, the Regent of Würtemburg, the Landgraves of Hesse-Cassel and Hesse-Darmstadt, and princes of the Sovereign Houses of Saxony, Holstein, Nassau, and, as before mentioned, of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel and Brunswick-Lüneburg; plenipotentiaries extraordinary were there from the Emperor Leopold, the kings of Spain, Poland, Denmark, Sweden, and the Duke of Savoy. The Hague was transformed. As Macaulay says:—
“The grave capital of the most thrifty and industrious of nations was as gay as Venice in the carnival. The walks, cut among those noble limes and elms in which the villa of the Prince of Orange is embosomed, were gay with the plumes, the stars, the flowing wigs, the embroidered coats, and the gold-hilted swords of gallants from London, Berlin, and Vienna. With the nobles were mingled sharpers not less gorgeously attired than they. At night the hazard tables were thronged; and the theatre was filled to the roof. Princely banquets followed one another in rapid succession. The meats were served in gold.”[49]
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Footnote 49:
Macaulay’s _History of England_, vol. iv., p. 7. Macaulay’s authority was _Relation de la Voyage de son Majesté Britannique en Hollande_ (Brunet, ii., 72).
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It was magnificent, but it was not war. The great congress resolved to oppose Louis with two hundred and twenty thousand men, but while they were talking, feasting, and junketing, the Grand Monarque was up and doing. Mons, the most important of the fortresses of the Spanish Netherlands, was besieged and fell. The glamour of the congress was at once destroyed and the Allies were disquieted. Louis returned in triumph to Versailles, and William went back in chagrin to England for a brief visit. The other princes and potentates broke up in dudgeon and went their several ways, among them the Brunswick dukes, who returned to Hanover and Wolfenbüttel respectively.
On the return of the Brunswick princes, intrigues and discontents ran high at the courts of Hanover and Celle. The fall of Mons and the continued uncertainty about the coveted electorate made the Duke of Hanover turn his back upon William of Orange and lend a willing ear once more to the overtures of the French King. An envoy of Louis was at Hanover, and was received with great favour by Ernest Augustus and by Count and Countess Platen, to whom he made large presents. The Duke himself does not seem to have been above the suspicion of bribery, for, writes Colt, “to show some of us he doth not want money, he bought a jewel of forty thousand crowns from a Jew of Amsterdam, or else it was a present, for by that channel the French money comes”.[50]
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Footnote 50:
Colt’s _Despatches_, Locknam, June 10, 1691.
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The English envoy was hard put to it to counteract these influences. The Duchess Sophia was on his side, but she could do little. Prince George Louis was with him too, but he could do less. On the other hand, the Princess Sophie Dorothea favoured the French party. “The eldest prince,” writes Colt, “is a very reserved man and has good parts, and not in the least French in his inclinations, which gave that party some discontent; they make all y^e court imaginable to y^e Princess, and I fear not without success, for she has no great fondness for the Prince.”[51] The Princess was probably influenced by her mother, who was French at heart, as well as by birth, and, with the Duke of Hanover, they united in dissuading the Duke of Celle from sending troops to Flanders. Colt had spoken of the Duchess of Celle as likely to support France.
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Footnote 51:
_Ibid._, Hanover.
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“She be a French woman, and consequently loves y^e imaginary glory and greatness of France; yet I am persuaded she wishes us [the English] better than those I have mentioned [Bernstorff, the Platens, etc.], whom she hates, because they have lessened her credit with the Duke, with whom she can now do but little.” But now he had no doubt. “The Duchess of Celle be on y^e French side very much now. For my part I doubt she is changed in the principalls of her religion too, for she maintains that the Protestants might have stayed in France, and have complyed by going to Mass as a less crime than quitting their King and country. It makes me often wonder at the Duke’s patience, and how he suffers it.... The Duchess here [Celle] hath engaged the Princess to assist her in persuading the Duke.”[52] And again: “The Princess of Hanover and her son have been here till this day to take their leave of the Duke, and to remind him how much the Duchess is to be his care as well as theirs, so that the Duke of Hanover acts on sure grounds both ways. The Duke shows great fondness of his daughter and grandson.”[53]
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Footnote 52:
Colt’s _Despatch_, Celle, May 8, 1691.
Footnote 53:
_Ibid._, Celle, May 22, 1691.
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But George William’s sympathies were stoutly English. He had great admiration for William of Orange, who had sent him a present of horses, and nothing would induce him to intrigue with France. But he was won over to adopting a neutral attitude for a time, with the result that no troops from the princes of Brunswick-Lüneburg were sent to Flanders for the campaign of 1691.
These cross-currents and intrigues were very trying to the English envoy, and he writes home pages and pages telling of his efforts to stem the tide. Among other things, he gave a great party and entertained at supper all the distinguished visitors who were at Hanover, including the Electress of Brandenburg, the Duchess of Celle, the Duchess of Hanover, the Duke of Saxe-Gotha, the Princess of East Friesland and her party, and all the young princes.[54] The French emissary immediately gave another yet more splendid, and as he reinforced it with costly presents all round, his influence was paramount.
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Footnote 54:
_Ibid._, Hanover.
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The Princess Sophie Dorothea attended both parties; her sympathy with France is practically the only authenticated instance of her interference in politics, if we except her suspected intrigues with Wolfenbüttel.
Königsmarck went to the Hague in the suite of the Duke of Hanover, and among the gallants who swaggered and gambled and played in the taverns and streets of the old Dutch town none cut a braver figure than he. His intimacy with Sophie Dorothea seemed to grow no nearer; he could be of no service to her, and, though most friendly, she kept him at an arm’s length. He was her most obedient servant, most faithful friend, but nothing more, and he desired to be much more. Baffled and depressed at this time, he wanted to leave the Hanoverian service and join the army of William; he had known England and loved it, and while at the Hague had been presented to the King, who had been pleased to receive him very graciously, and would have taken him into his service, for he had need of dare-devil soldiers of the Königsmarck type. But the Duke of Hanover would not let him go. He liked his dashing colonel of the guards, and was unwilling that his court should lose so brilliant an ornament; he, however, gave him leave to go to Brabant to see the English army, and thither Königsmarck went in May, but a month later he was back in Hanover.
Königsmarck celebrated his return by giving an entertainment, a masquerade, which was honoured by the attendance of many of the members of the ducal family. The Prince and Princess of Hanover, Princes Christian and Ernest, Count and Countess Platen, and the leading nobility of Hanover were among the guests. Every one came in fancy dresses and masks. It was a warm summer night, and the company were dispersed about the dimly illuminated gardens. The opportunities of flirtation and intrigue were great, and if we may believe Poellnitz the Countess Platen determined to improve the occasion by a dramatic little plot of her own. She had jealously watched the growing intimacy between Königsmarck and the Princess, and cast about for an opportunity to ruin them—or at least the Princess. To this end she stole one of Sophie Dorothea’s gloves which she had inadvertently put down at supper (it was one of a pair George Louis had brought her from Flanders, richly embroidered and ornamented with her initials and coronet), and, concealing it in her dress, she presently lured Königsmarck into accompanying her to a far-off pavilion in the gardens. Here, without ado, she plunged into a violent flirtation with him, and so engrossed his attention that he did not hear footsteps until two men stood in the path before them in the moonlight. They were Count Platen and George Louis. The Prince had been led this way, seemingly inadvertently, by the husband in agreement with his wife. Uttering a startled exclamation, as though afraid of being discovered, Countess Platen took Königsmarck by the arm and fled from the pavilion; at the same time, unperceived by him, she dropped the Princess’s glove. George Louis, who was not near enough to distinguish the masked lady, asked Count Platen who it was. The wily Minister professed ignorance, but on entering the pavilion picked up the glove and handed it to George Louis, who recognised it as one of a pair he had given his wife. His jealous suspicions were aroused, and later they were confirmed by hearing the Princess ask for her missing glove. She could give no account of when and where she had lost it, and so far as the Prince was concerned these tactics were completely successful. Notoriously unfaithful himself, he was only too ready to suspect his wife of unfaithfulness.
But up till now Sophie Dorothea, though she had shown signs of wavering, had not told Königsmarck that she viewed him in any light but as a friend. He, on his part, had now gone far beyond the bounds of the most privileged friendship, and, forgetful of her rank and lonely position, had addressed the Princess in terms of extravagant devotion. Had she been wise, Sophie Dorothea would at once have closed the acquaintance. But she was not wise; and in a court of universal laxity and intrigue she saw no harm in a little flirtation. It was the almost universal custom of the time. Nearly every woman of youth and beauty, whatever her rank, and whether married or not, had gallants sighing for her smiles and wearing her favours. The Electress of Brandenburg (her sister-in-law) had many admirers, and openly avowed her preferences; so had the Duchess of Saxe-Eisenach, the Princess of Etting, and other princesses. Why should not she have one too? She was piqued by her husband’s neglect, flattered by Königsmarck’s homage, and perhaps, too, her heart was touched. She had known him from childhood. He had loved her always, so he swore. He was the ideal lover, young, handsome, and ardent, and she was hungry for love—even love like this. She had no idea, when she listened, of going beyond the bounds of discretion; yet even for her to listen was indiscreet, nay dangerous, surrounded as she was by spies and enemies. She had no one in whom to confide; no one to advise her except Eléonore Knesebeck, who, though devoted to her mistress, was a sentimental, silly young woman, eager to vary the monotony of her duties by acting as go-between in an intrigue. It was impossible, now that suspicion was aroused, for Königsmarck to see the Princess so frequently as he had done, and in an evil moment she consented to allow him to write to her from time to time, though not promising to reply. The letters, to disarm suspicion, were to be addressed to Eléonore Knesebeck.
Thus did Sophie Dorothea first open the sluice-gates a little way to a little stream, which later swelled into a mighty river, carrying her and Königsmarck before it, and engulfing them finally in the rush and roar of its waters. But the story of all this is best told in the letters themselves.