CHAPTER I.
THE ROMANCE OF THE PRINCESS’S PARENTAGE.
Life, like a dome of many coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of Eternity. SHELLEY.
Sophie Dorothea of Celle, the uncrowned queen of the first of our Hanoverian kings, came of the ancient and illustrious family of Brunswick, which was descended from Henry the Lion, Duke of Bavaria and Saxony, who, it is interesting to note, married Matilda, eldest daughter of King Henry II. of England. It is not necessary to dwell upon the glories of the House of Brunswick, but the immediate ancestry of Sophie Dorothea may be of interest.
After the Treaty of Westphalia, which was somewhat disastrous to the Brunswick princes who took part in the Thirty Years War, this family was divided into two branches, Augustus Duke of Brunswick representing one, and Frederick Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg representing the other.
On the death of Augustus, his territories were divided amongst his three sons, with only one of whom we are concerned, Duke Antony Ulrich of Wolfenbüttel. It is necessary to mention him, as he played a not unimportant part in the life of his cousin, Sophie Dorothea of Celle. From this branch of the family the Dukes of Brunswick are descended, and it gave another uncrowned queen to England in the person of the unfortunate Caroline, consort of George IV.
Frederick Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg died in 1649, leaving the four sons of his brother, Duke George, his heirs. Of these, the eldest son, Christian Louis, was given the sovereign principality of Celle, then the most important; the second son, George William, subsequently the father of Sophie Dorothea, was given the sovereign principality of Hanover. The two younger sons, John Frederick and Ernest Augustus, had no territory at first.
When the four ducal brothers, all young men, entered upon their inheritance, changes took place in the sedate and simple courts of Hanover and Celle. Hitherto they had been typical of the petty German courts in the Middle Ages, untouched as yet by foreign influences. According to Vehse, at the schloss of Celle meals were served daily in the great hall, at nine in the morning and at four in the afternoon. The retainers were summoned to meals by a trumpeter on the tower, and if they did not appear punctually they had to go without. As they ate, a page went round “bidding every one be quiet and orderly, forbidding all swearing, and rudeness, or throwing about of bread, bones, or roast, or pocketing of the same”. The butler was warned not to permit noble or simple to enter the cellar; the squires were allowed beer and “sleep-drinks,” but wine was only served at the Duke’s high table. All accounts were carefully kept, and bills paid weekly. The court was one big family, and the Duke was the father of his people. But this well-ordered household was in the days of the old Duke Christian, a predecessor of the four young princes who now divided the possessions of Brunswick-Lüneburg.
The eldest, Duke Christian, settled down to a fairly quiet life at Celle; “his only fault,” we hear, “was drinking,” a very venial offence in those days. But the second brother, Duke George William, found life at Hanover unbearably tedious. He had little liking for the stiff and monotonous routine of his German court; the simple lives of his subjects bored him, and their rude manners and coarse habit of living disgusted him. Though all his life strongly anti-French in his politics, he belonged to the newer school of German princes and affected the society and fashions of the French, so much so that on one occasion a French envoy said to him at his own table: “But, Monseigneur, this is charming; there is no foreigner here but you”. Though a young man, George William had already travelled in Italy, and acquired a certain polish of manners and superficial refinement not usually to be found among German princes of his time. The first use he made of his freedom was to escape from the tedium of his uninteresting little principality, and, in company with his youngest brother, Ernest Augustus, who was then his boon companion, and largely dependent upon his bounty, he made another tour in Italy, visiting Milan and Venice. At Venice, then at its zenith, the brothers plunged into the delights and dissipations which the gay city offered. George William formed an intimacy with a Venetian woman, one Signora Buccolini, by whom he had a son. For many years he was devoted to her, and maintained her in considerable affluence; for, with all his faults, he was of a generous disposition. But the lady was of so passionate, jealous, and exacting a temperament that at last she tired the patience of her protector. After many quarrels he made an arrangement by which he settled a sum of money upon the mother, and took the charge of the boy’s education upon himself. This was the final separation. He took back the young Lucas Buccolini with him to Hanover, clipped his Italian name into Bucco, or Buccow, and found him a place in his household.[6]
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Footnote 6:
On attaining to man’s estate, this youth filled the office of Master of the Horse at the court of Celle; later he became a colonel of the dragoons. He seems to have been of a jealous disposition, and was always grumbling because his putative father did not do more for him.
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George William’s subjects did not appreciate these frequent absences of their liege lord, nor did they approve of the Italian singers and dancers and the Venetian son whom he brought back with him to his prim little court. They became exceedingly restive, and pointed out that there was need of a duchess and an heir. Duke Christian of Celle was unwed, and Duke George William of Hanover, who was next in succession, was a bachelor too. Their subjects, both of Celle and Hanover, considered this a neglect of duty on the part of their princes, and, remonstrances having no avail, at last the members of the state in Hanover threatened to cut short George William’s allowance if he did not marry forthwith. Moreover, knowing his predilections, they intimated plainly that they wished no foreign bride, and suggested that the Princess Sophia, the orphan daughter of the luckless Frederick Prince Palatine, ex-King of Bohemia (by the beautiful Elizabeth, daughter of James I. of England), would be a suitable duchess.
The Princess Sophia was well past her first youth, and was understood to be anxious to settle herself in life. She was then living with her brother, the Elector Palatine of the Rhenish provinces, at Heidelberg. The household was not a happy one, for the Elector and his wife were leading a cat-and-dog life, and Sophia’s lot, as a poor relative, was hardly enviable. She was a healthy little body, decidedly good-looking, though she had not inherited the beauty of her mother, “The Queen of Hearts”. “My hair,” she writes, “was light brown and in natural curls; my general appearance gay and lightsome; my figure good, but not very tall; my deportment that of a princess. I take no pleasure in remembering all the rest, of which my mirror shows me nothing left.” She had sharp wits and a sharp tongue, and the life she had led, travelling about Europe in the poverty-stricken court of Queen Elizabeth, had developed both to an unusual degree. Yet notwithstanding the financial troubles of her youth, “my spirits,” she continues, “were so high in those days that everything amused me; the misfortunes of my house were unable to depress them, although at times we had to make repasts richer than Cleopatra’s, and nothing was eaten at court but pearls and diamonds”. This is one of Sophia’s figures of speech, for it is to be feared that the pearls and diamonds had long since gone to the Jews. Despite her poverty, or perhaps in consequence of it, Sophia was inordinately proud of her birth, especially her English ancestry, on which she was never tired of expatiating. At one time she had been put forward as a suitable wife for her first cousin, the Prince of Wales, afterwards Charles II. of England, and with that view had been carefully trained in the English language and English ways. The match fell through, and so, in the after years, did many others, some good, some indifferent, which had been projected for her by her relations. As Sophia was very ambitious, the failure of her matrimonial chances was a great disappointment to her. She was now twenty-nine, and her good looks were somewhat impaired by an attack of small-pox; she was therefore quite ready to meet the husband whom the Hanoverians had proposed for her, half way.
George William, seeing that his subjects’ minds were made up, shrugged his shoulders and submitted to the inevitable. If it had to be, Sophia would do as well as any other. He therefore started for Heidelberg, on the way to his beloved Venice, accompanied again by his brother, Ernest Augustus. Without ado he proposed for Sophia’s hand, and she “did not at all hesitate to say _Yes_,” as she admits in her autobiography. He made no pretence to any affection, and she required none. A marriage contract was drawn up and duly signed, with the single proviso that the betrothal should not be made public for a little time.
The business having been settled, George William hurried on to Venice, and revelled in his brief spell of freedom. But his approaching marriage hung over him like a pall; he thought over the matter, and one morning he came to the conclusion that after all he could not take upon himself the restraints of matrimony with a woman for whom he had not a particle of affection. The situation was difficult, for, if he did not wed her, his subjects were determined to reduce his income, and to the pleasure-loving Duke this was an equally unpleasant alternative. In this dilemma he bethought himself of Ernest Augustus, his youngest brother, and suggested to him that he should act as his substitute. All that his subjects wanted was an heir, and with this Ernest Augustus would be able to furnish them, through Sophia, as well as he. Ernest Augustus was nothing loth to take his brother’s place—for a consideration. He was favourably disposed towards the Princess, with whom he had flirted in his youth; they had met at the Hague and had played the guitar together, but as he was a younger son, Sophia nipped the flirtation in the bud. A deed was drawn up between the two brothers, in which George William undertook to surrender certain of his revenues, and bound himself not to marry, so as to leave his inheritance and all his rights to the brother who would act as substitute for him in the matter of his intended bride and ducal obligations. Just as the contract was signed the other impecunious brother, John Frederick, came into the room, and, on learning its contents, fell into a rage because the chance had not been offered to him first; he tried to tear away the document from Ernest Augustus, George William looking on with amusement. This happy-go-lucky way of choosing a bride was quite in keeping with the traditions of the House of Brunswick; an ancestor of these princes cast dice with his seven brothers for a wife on somewhat similar conditions, and won the prize—a princess of Hesse-Darmstadt.
The next thing was to acquaint the Princess Sophia with the arrangement; that lady, having satisfied herself that the terms of the agreement were equally advantageous to her and her possible heirs, raised no objection to being handed over like a bale of goods, and though her pride was hurt she skilfully concealed her resentment. Her brother, the Elector Palatine, glad to be rid of her and her sharp tongue, told her that he thought she was better for the change of brothers, a remark with which she agreed, adding that “A good establishment is all _I_ cared for, and if this be secured to the younger brother, the change is a matter of indifference”.
These negotiations from first to last took two years; in September, 1658, the marriage was celebrated with some pomp at Heidelberg, and in November the Duchess Sophia took up her abode at Hanover, where she was the first lady in the land, and treated with every honour. She was always a great stickler for etiquette, and insisted on every tittle of the respect due to her rank and illustrious ancestry. Curiously enough, if we may believe her memoirs, no sooner was she married to Ernest Augustus than George William became attracted to her, thereby arousing the jealousy of her husband, until she begged the elder brother, “for the love of God,” to leave her in peace.
In 1660 her eldest son, George Louis (afterwards George I. of England), was born at Osnabrück, and the arrival of the much-wished-for heir increased her importance. The following year Ernest Augustus succeeded to the bishopric of Osnabrück,[7] and Sophia’s prospects were the more improved.
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Footnote 7:
Osnabrück was a see founded by Charlemagne. Luther had many followers among the citizens, and at the Treaty of Westphalia, 1648, which was concluded at Osnabrück, it was arranged that the Prince Bishop should be alternately a Lutheran and a Roman Catholic, the selection of the Lutheran bishop being left with the chapter, restricted, however, to the family of Brunswick-Lüneburg. This arrangement resulted in some very odd bishops. The last member of the English Royal Family to hold the title was Frederick Augustus Duke of York, son of George III.
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Meantime George William had overcome his belated _penchant_ for Sophia, if indeed it ever existed save in her imagination, and was gratifying his pleasure-loving soul by making a tour of many cities. Among others, he went to Breda, an exceedingly gay place at the end of the seventeenth century, albeit money was somewhat lacking there. It was the chosen home of political refugees, exiled princes, and deposed monarchs, who kept up their spirits despite their fallen fortunes, and maintained phantom courts on nothing a year. Here Charles II. dwelt for some time in his exile with many celebrated cavaliers; here, too, his aunt, the Queen of Bohemia, had held her shadowy court; here, too, was concluded the peace between England and Holland. All these things contributed to the importance and the gaiety of Breda; there were feasts, masquerades, and revelries, and plays with after-suppers and dances. Among the gayest of the gay was the Princess de Tarente, an aunt of the Duchess Sophia, a German princess who had married a French prince. One of her most cherished _protégées_ was Eléonore d’Olbreuse, only child of the Marquis d’Olbreuse, a nobleman of ancient family, of Poitou. He was one of the many French Huguenots who, after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, were persecuted by the government of Louis XIV. As he would not recant, his estates were confiscated, he was sent into exile, and found an asylum in Holland.
Before the persecution of the Huguenot nobles Eléonore d’Olbreuse had figured at the brilliant court of Louis XIV., where she was greatly admired for her wit and beauty. She was endowed with an exquisite figure, dark brown hair, regular features, and a brilliant complexion. At this time she was in the first bloom of youth, and her loveliness was only equalled by her sprightliness and charm of manner.[8] George William met her at a ball at the Princess de Tarente’s, and being of an amorous, though not of a marrying disposition, he fell in love at first sight. He became a constant visitor at the Princess de Tarente’s, and a closer acquaintance with the accomplishments and graces of the bewitching Eléonore only served to rivet his chains. He affected a great zeal to perfect his French, and the fair Eléonore willingly consented to give the good-looking Duke lessons, thereby offering fine opportunities for flirtation. What progress George William made with the French language is not recorded, but in the art of love there is no doubt he made rapid advances, for after a few lessons in the conjugation of the verb _aimer_, he avowed his passion in most extravagant terms, and swore that he could not live without her. He found that the citadel did not yield to the first attack. Eléonore d’Olbreuse was of a very different calibre to Signora Buccolini; she had only two available assets, her beauty and her virtue, and she was well aware of the value of both. She was not versed in the _menue galanterie_ of the court of the Grand Monarque for nothing. George William was fervent in his protestations, prodigal in his promises of devotion, and what was more to the purpose, most liberal in his proposals as to settlements; but Eléonore held firm. Her birth was noble, though not royal, and, despite her poverty, she held that a French marquis of ancient descent was not so very inferior to a petty German prince. George William could not be expected to take this view, for, though indifferent to the trappings of rank, he, like all German princes, was inclined to over-estimate his own importance. But he could not give her up; he who had been accustomed to command in love was now its humblest supplicant; he who was indolent, easy-going in temperament, now developed an ardour and determination altogether foreign to him; he who was slow of speech now became more eloquent in the language of love. Eléonore had worked a transformation. So infatuated was he that he would willingly have married her then and there but for the document he had signed when the marriage was arranged between Ernest Augustus and Sophia. Eléonore knew nothing of this arrangement, but she positively refused to entertain any proposals short of marriage.
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Footnote 8:
There is a portrait of her, dressed in a blue robe, in the Guelph Gallery at Herrenhausen, as she was in middle life—a beautiful woman, with masses of dark brown hair and a superb figure.
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[Illustration:
ELÉONORE D’OLBREUSE, DUCHESS OF CELLE. _From a painting at Herrenhausen._ ]
In this dilemma George William thought of a morganatic marriage,[9] and offered handsome settlements. The Princess de Tarente advised her friend to yield. The Marquis d’Olbreuse put no pressure on his daughter; but she was well aware of the straits to which poverty had reduced him, and could see that in his heart he favoured the Duke’s suit. If she consented she would secure for her father a comfortable provision for his declining years. Eléonore, too, was really in love with George William; but still she held back.
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Footnote 9:
A marriage _ad morganaticum_, sanctioned by the Church, but so far disallowed by law that the children of such wedlock were _infantes nullius_, and could succeed to no inheritance.
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To bring matters to a climax, the Princess de Tarente gave a brilliant entertainment in honour of the birthday of her friend and _protégée_, when she presented her with a jewelled medallion of her lover. The result seemed inevitable, for she who hesitates is lost; when suddenly couriers came hot-foot from Celle with the news that George William’s elder brother, Christian, was dead, and his younger brother, John Frederick, who owed him a grudge for having been cheated out of Sophia, had seized on the castle of Celle and established himself in the duchy. George William had to post in haste to Celle to uphold his rights and turn out the usurper, but before leaving Breda he placed a paper in the hands of his beloved Eléonore, in which she found that he had settled on her, in the event of his death, the whole of his private fortune with the exception of a few legacies.
It took some time for George William to arrange things satisfactorily at Celle; but at last he persuaded John Frederick to relinquish the duchy, and gave him compensation, for his frequent absences had weakened his rights. George William then became Duke of Celle, and John Frederick succeeded to Hanover, Ernest Augustus remaining Bishop of Osnabrück.
When affairs of state were settled satisfactorily George William’s thoughts once more turned to love. But there were many difficulties. He could not leave his duchy so soon again, he could not return to Breda to see the object of his affections; while she, on her part, refused all entreaties to come to him. In this dilemma he confided in his sister-in-law, the Duchess Sophia, of whose judgment he had great admiration. Sophia sympathised, softened, doubtless, by one of those little presents whereby George William was in the habit of buying the complaisance of the court at Osnabrück, and promised to see the affair through, provided that nothing were done to impair her rights. It could hardly have been a congenial task to Sophia, and her jealousy showed itself early by her scoffing at Eléonore’s airs of virtue, which she declared were only assumed to increase her value. But she was not one to allow sentiment to stand in the way of substantial benefit. Sophia’s prospects had again distinctly improved by the death of Duke Christian. John Frederick was still unwed, and likely to remain so;[10] and if she could tie George William down to an amour without legitimate heirs, in the fulness of time she or her children might reign not only at Osnabrück, but also at Hanover and Celle. So the illustrious Duchess Sophia, the descendant of kings, the great lady of Osnabrück, wrote a specious letter to the poor exiled Eléonore, asking her to come, assuring her of respect, and offering her as a pretext the post of lady-in-waiting at her court. Eléonore still hesitated. She was very proud and very poor; but she was very much in love, and wearied with importunities. The Duchess wrote again, even more urgently. These attentions from one who was known everywhere as a great princess flattered Eléonore’s pride, and the prospect of joining her lover gratified her love. She consented and came.
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Footnote 10:
He married later, 1668, but his wife brought him no children.
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Eléonore was received with every mark of respect. Sophia, accompanied by George William, met her at the foot of the grand staircase of the castle. She was led up to the Duchess’s own chamber, where coffee and salt biscuits, an unusual honour, were offered her, and she was then conducted to her apartments. No one could be more affable than the Duchess; everything seemed straightforward, and it is no wonder that Eléonore, a stranger in a strange land, was outwitted. She soon found that she could not draw back without compromising her reputation, so she yielded to advice, not altogether reluctantly, and accepted at last the left-handed marriage offered her. A contract was drawn up, worded almost as if it were a regular marriage; but carefully guarding the rights of Sophia, her husband, and her children; and the signatures of Ernest Augustus and Sophia were written under those of George William of Celle and Eléonore d’Olbreuse. After the ceremony, which took place in September, 1665, Eléonore was granted the title of Madame von Harburg, so called from an estate of the Duke’s, and her nominal place of lady-in-waiting was filled by her sister Angelica, whom she later married to the Comte de Reuss.
In her memoirs Sophia declares that at first she was agreeably surprised to find Eléonore a very amiable person, of modest and even retiring manners, and she no doubt thought she would be easily kept in her place—not a high one. She soon found herself mistaken. For some months after the morganatic marriage—the _anti-contrat de mariage_ Sophia contemptuously called it—Eléonore continued to live in the household of the Duchess, and was not treated with any great honour, and certainly not admitted to an equality of rank. For instance, at meal-times she did not take her place at the ducal table, and had to sit on a low chair, without anything to eat, at a respectful distance from Sophia and George William and Ernest Augustus, who ate their food while Madame von Harburg looked on. But she was allowed to remain seated when any princes were present, and this was considered a great concession. Her pride was much hurt at this etiquette, nor did the heavy living and coarse manners of the German court appeal to her finer tastes. In her interesting letters to her uncle she complains that “her heart was sadly turned” by the enormous dishes brought before the princely eaters, their _menu_ consisting chiefly of greasy sausages thrown in lumps on red cabbage, and a farinaceous mass of ginger and onions. This was washed down by cloudy, heavy ale, of which they drank freely. “Now,” the Duchess Sophia would exclaim after she had eaten her fill, mopping her face with a napkin, “you may go, my dear, and help your ‘angelic’ sister with her saucepans.” This was a jeer at the habit of Eléonore and Angelica preparing for themselves a little meal after the French _cuisine_ in their dressing-rooms.
Madame von Harburg was not stinted in her establishment; she was allowed a chariot drawn by six horses, but she was never seen abroad with the Duchess Sophia or the Bishop of Osnabrück. She was not, however, a lady content with the second place, and as her influence with her husband was great, and grew greater as his love increased, she had little difficulty in persuading him to take her away with him to the schloss at Celle, where she was safe from the patronage of the Duchess Sophia and could develop on her own lines. George William was glad to take up his abode at the capital of his duchy, and, thanks to his morganatic wife, he abandoned his roving habits and settled down as a model duke, making plans for the improvement of his castle and the better government of his people.
After they had been a few months at Celle, Eléonore set the seal on her influence with her husband by presenting him with a daughter—Sophie Dorothea.