CHAPTER XXVI.
THE PRISONER OF AHLDEN.
Oh! give me liberty— For were ev’n Paradise my prison, Still I should long to leap the crystal walls. DRYDEN.
For two months after the divorce the Princess was detained at Lauenau, in the Principality of Hanover, despite the stipulation Duke George William had made that, when the trial was ended, his daughter should be sent back at once to his keeping in the territory of Celle. Various reasons caused this delay, which amounted to a breach of contract, the chief being the fear that the Duke of Celle would relent towards his daughter.
So far, the Hanoverian government had won all along the line. They had got rid of the Princess and had kept her property, and they were determined that nothing should upset so admirable an arrangement for them. It was known that the Duchess of Celle was moving heaven and earth on behalf of the unhappy Princess (nor did she cease her efforts as long as she lived), and it was feared that if she and Sophie Dorothea came together the Duke might be persuaded into seeing his daughter, and then all would be undone. Moreover, there was a strong party at Celle, including many persons of rank and influence, who loudly declared that their Princess had been hardly and unfairly treated, and they were ready to promote an agitation in her favour and to question the legality of her divorce, certainly of her imprisonment. Popular demonstrations at Celle were things to be avoided by those who desired the union of the Duchies, and it was determined to keep the Princess locked up in Hanover territory until the excitement had cooled down.
The behaviour of the Elector and Electress and all the Electoral family, throughout this unhappy affair, was callous in the extreme. It would only have been seemly if, after a painful family scandal such as this, the Electoral court had gone into retirement for a time; but the annual carnival and festivities took place at Hanover as if nothing had happened. Nor did the death of Queen Mary II. of England, though it put the Electoral court into mourning and advanced the Electress Sophia one step nearer the English throne, make any difference to the pleasure-loving Hanoverians.[239]
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Footnote 239:
“The Carnaval here is very provoking, but they cannot live without it; they are a sort of people that can rejoice even in their own disgraces.”—Cresset’s _Despatch_, Hanover, January 11, 1695.
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The solitary confinement of the Princess at Lauenau gave her ample time for reflection, and she gradually awoke to a sense of her position. The murder of her lover had stunned her for a time, and her passionate grief at his loss had almost robbed her of reason. The desire to break absolutely with Hanover, where she had suffered so much misery and insult, amounted to a mania, and this, added to the fact that “everything was known,” had led her into acquiescence with anything and everything that had been proposed to her. She now began to see that she had been betrayed into forfeiting her interests, and had consented to a divorce, and the surrender of her property and rank, without insisting upon adequate guarantees. She, all along, had been given to understand by her attorney and the ministers who visited her that, when once the divorce was accomplished, she would be free, allowed to return to the territory of Celle, and given an establishment where she could live in retirement, which was all she now desired. Her father’s anger, she hoped, would be mollified by her submission; but her hope turned out to be vain. That she would be shut out from his court, kept a strict prisoner, and forbidden to even see her mother did not enter her mind. Too late she saw that she had been entrapped into a false position.
There is no doubt that this harsh treatment of Sophie Dorothea was thoroughly approved by the Electress Sophia (if, indeed, it was not in some respects instigated by her), who in this connection appears in a most unamiable light. Knowing what manner of man her son was, she might have made some allowance for his unhappy young wife; but she had no feeling for her save hatred and contempt. Her letters to her niece, the Duchess of Orleans, at this period are missing (they have evidently been purposely destroyed); but the letters of the Duchess to the Electress are still extant, and have been published. They are, for the most part, replies to her aunt’s letters, and are an echo of the hatred with which the Electress Sophia pursued the disgraced daughter of the d’Olbreuse. Elizabeth Charlotte calls the Princess “a miserable creature, who deserves every misfortune”; she denounces her “wicked tongue,” and describes her as “a person as malicious as she is frivolous,” her frivolity being an inheritance from her French mother, whose bad training of her daughter was the fount of all her misfortunes.
Incredible though it may seem, both the Electress and her niece took the part of the Countess Platen, and defended her against the defamatory rumours that were flying about. The part the Countess had played in the murder of Königsmarck and the consequent ruin of the Princess were matters of common gossip at every court of Europe, and her conduct universally reprobated. King Louis questioned Elizabeth Charlotte about it at table at Versailles; but the Duchess denied everything, and writes to her aunt that she told the King: “So far as concerns Countess Platen, I believe, from what I had heard of the Princess and from my own knowledge of the Countess, that the former is a much more evil-minded person than the latter, whom I believe to be a very good sort of person”.
Again we find the Duchess of Orleans writing:—
“There is no likelihood that the Countess Platen would have degraded herself with so young a man as Königsmarck. I am much more inclined to believe that she flattered him in the hope of making a match between him and her daughter, for he was a good catch. It may be, however, that Königsmarck wished, from motives of vanity, to make the former think that all women were in love with him, in order that his society might be the more acceptable to her, for all young fellows are generally vain; and when the Princess afterwards found herself betrayed, she imagined that the Countess was the cause of it. I am sorry for the Countess, who it seems has taken the matter so much to heart that she has got ill. Such slanders, when not true, should be simply despised and laughed at, and not taken seriously. It is miserable to see oneself so badly treated by the very persons whom one imagined held one dear, and I am not surprised that the Countess has taken it to heart.”
The Countess Platen was ill not only in body, but in mind. Her reputation had suffered a severe blow, and, despite the protection of the Elector and the ægis of the Electress, a number of personages about the court looked coldly upon her. Both Königsmarck and the Princess were popular, and many official people among the Hanoverian nobility shunned the woman whom they believed to have been the cause of the death of the one and the ruin of the other, while at Celle her name was held in execration. All this served to enrage the Countess the more against the imprisoned Princess, and she did all she could to prevent any mitigation of her punishment. In this she was supported by the Electress Sophia. Schaumann indeed holds the Electress primarily responsible for all the Princess’s troubles, and declares that: “The presence of the Princess Sophie Dorothea in Hanover was from the first impossible and untenable on account of the unquenchable hatred and scorn which the Electress Sophia, her mother-in-law, evinced towards her”. We have seen that the Electress Sophia was capable of dissembling this hatred and of acting with outward consideration to her daughter-in-law; but the moment she caught her tripping, all her latent enmity blazed forth, and she rejoiced to see the Hanoverian court rid of the daughter of her hated rival. The Princess had fallen through her own folly, and now was the time to trample on her. To the hatred of these two women, the wife and the mistress of the Elector, must be attributed many of the rigours of Sophie Dorothea’s imprisonment, and her detention at Lauenau.
At last, owing to the persistent efforts of the Duchess of Celle, who was never tired of pointing out to her husband the breach of contract involved in the Elector’s keeping the Princess in Hanoverian territory, the captive was removed from Lauenau to Ahlden, where she had been confined for some weeks prior to the divorce.[240]
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Footnote 240:
“The unlucky Princess is still in this country and they talk of removing her suddenly into her father’s territory.”—Knatchbull’s (secretary to Cresset) _Despatch_, Hanover, February 22, 1695.
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On February 28, 1695, the Princess left Lauenau and returned under strong escort to the castle of Ahlden, which had meantime been prepared for her reception. According to the arrangement arrived at between the two brothers at Engesen, on her arrival there she was formally given the rank and title of “Duchess of Ahlden,” and was accorded a suite of attendants, a military escort of cavalry and infantry, and a governor of the castle. There was yielded to her an outward semblance of honour; but in reality the title was a blind to conceal her real position from the world, the suite were spies, the escort and the governor her jailers.
Except for one brief interlude of a few months’ duration, Ahlden was henceforth the Princess’s residence and prison to the day of her death—more than thirty years later. A description of the place may therefore be of interest. With a view to writing this book, I visited Ahlden on September 10, 1898, and made the following notes the evening of the same day:—
“It was not without difficulty that I discovered Schloss Ahlden was still in existence; many people in Hanover had never heard of it. I, at last, found that there was a village of Ahlden, with a magistrate’s house still standing, near the country town of Walsrode, some twenty miles from Hanover; and the nearest station was Reitlagen. Acting on this information, a friend and myself set out from Hanover at 7 A.M. by the local train to Reitlagen. At that early hour we were almost the only passengers, and the plain, over which the single line of railway ran, was enveloped in a thick mist. We travelled very slowly, stopping every few minutes at some little wayside station. A bell was fixed to the engine to warn stray cattle off the line, and as we went through the fog it tolled like a funeral knell. By-and-by the mist began to lift, and we saw we were traversing a flat, marshy country. There were reeds, thistles, flags and rushes in the grass fields, and a good deal of common land, on which nothing but scrub and brushwood seemed to grow. About nine o’clock the train pulled up at the little station of Reitlagen. Here we found a conveyance to take us to Ahlden, which was said to be some five miles distant; it proved to be much nearer.
“By this time the mists had lifted, the sun was shining brilliantly. As we drove along the dusty road, bordered by poplars and limes, we passed a cottage or two with gardens full of plum-trees laden with purple fruit, and every now and then a patch of yellow lupin. The land was for the most part rough pasture, and the country reminded me of the fen districts of Cambridgeshire, and a windmill and a flight of plover served to strengthen the resemblance. We drove across the Aller, which shone like steel under the cloudless sky, and then suddenly, long before we anticipated, we saw a red roof peeping out among the trees on the south bank of the river, and the driver pointed with his whip and said, ‘There is Schloss Ahlden’. In the distance the castle looked like a fair-sized English manor-house, but on closer inspection it proved to be something different. The moat had long since been filled up, and the drawbridge yielded place to a short avenue of limes; but the square entrance-gateway still remained, and externally the castle was little changed.
“Above the gateway was the date of the building of the castle—1613—and an elaborate coat-of-arms, carved in stone, supported by figures of Piety and Justice. The irony of it! There was little of either piety or justice in the treatment meted out to the hapless captive who gave the castle its sole title to fame. There was also an inscription to show that it was erected by Duke Christian of Brunswick-Lüneburg as the magistrate’s house of the district.
“Passing under the arched gateway, rudely painted with frescoes, we found ourselves in a grass-grown quadrangle: one wing only, the left as we entered, had been inhabited by the Princess Sophie Dorothea.
“Entering the doorway in the centre of the wing, we mounted a wooden staircase, traversed a corridor with a rough floor and whitewashed walls, and presently found ourselves in the Princess’s apartments. They consisted of a bedroom and sitting-room of moderate size, say twenty-two feet by sixteen, leading from one another, with a bare ceiling and wooden floor. The rooms were destitute of furniture, and we were told that they had never been used since the Princess died in them. The sleeping-room had two windows, looking over the garden towards the village, and an alcove for the bed. The sitting-room had two windows also, looking across the Aller over the marsh land. Beyond these apartments was a larger room, now partitioned, which had served as a dining-hall for the suite and attendants. The Princess was permitted, if she wished, to dine with her household, and sat at the head of the table. The rest of the wing was occupied by her suite.
“Another side of the quadrangle was the magistrate’s house, then inhabited by the Governor; a third served as barracks for the military guard; and the fourth as out-houses and stables. In reality the Princess had for her own personal use only two small rooms, and the whole building was no larger than a moderate-sized English country-house. Even as we saw it on a bright September morning it was indescribably dreary: in the winter, with the mists and floods, it must be a veritable ‘House on the Marsh,’ and to the poor prisoner who wore her life out there, it must have seemed a ‘Castle of Despair’.
“The castle is in tolerable repair, and is still used as the magistrate’s house of the district, and justice is dispensed there at stated times. The magistrate no longer resides there. It is in charge of a castellan, who is also a farmer and carpenter in the village. We found this official courteous and willing to give us any information he possessed, which unfortunately was not much.
“There are absolutely no relics of the Princess remaining at Ahlden, for the Hanoverian government, after her death, did everything to stamp out her name and her memory. Her picture, which hung in the castle for many years, was sent to Herrenhausen. Only fifteen years ago two large boxes of papers at Ahlden, said to have belonged to her, were ordered to be sent to Hanover. They were put on a cart, to be despatched from Reitlagen by train, but on the way to the station they mysteriously disappeared. Whether they dropped out of the cart, or whether they were stolen none can say; they have not been heard of from that day until now. We were told this by the castellan, who assumed an air of mystery on this and other matters. He pointed out to us the window from which the unfortunate Princess was said to gaze with wistful eyes for hours together across the marsh, looking for the deliverance that never came. Year in and year out, for thirty years and more, she would gaze from this window, while youth went by, and middle age went by, and old age crept on, until one November morning she was seen no more.
“From the castle we walked down the village street to the little Lutheran church—a plain, ugly building, part of which is ancient, but most of it built during Sophie Dorothea’s residence at Ahlden. We saw the organ which the Princess gave to the church, which bears the inscription,
PRESENTED BY H.S.H. THE DUCHESS SOPHIE DOROTHEA, 1721
and we were pointed out the place which she was said to have occupied when she attended divine worship, a wooden pew in the second gallery. Most authorities say that she was never permitted to enter the church, and a minister attended her in the castle; but local tradition contradicts this statement, the truth probably being that at first she was not permitted, but when the stringency of her prison rules was relaxed a little she was allowed to attend public worship. It is said that she was conducted to and from the church, only a few yards from the castle gate, by an escort. She was not allowed to walk about the village, only in the castle garden, which is very small, hardly larger than a prison yard, and bounded on one side by the Aller, and on the other by the moat and marsh. She was permitted to drive a distance of six miles from the castle, along a certain road to the west. There is a stone bridge on the way to Hayden which marked the six-mile limit of the drive. The Princess was never allowed to cross this bridge, nor could she drive along any other road but this. Thus far and no farther could she go; this way and none other for thirty years. How tired she must have got of it! When the weather was fine she drove herself in a cabriolet, and when it was cold, or wet, she was driven in a closed carriage. She was always accompanied by a lady-in-waiting and a guard of soldiers. She was fond of driving very fast, and would tear furiously up and down the road, which she would traverse many times.
“Local tradition among the peasants of Ahlden still hands down the picture of the mysterious great lady of the castle, always beautifully dressed, and with diamonds gleaming in her dark hair, galloping up and down the road, followed by an escort of cavalry with drawn swords.
“The village of Ahlden has to-day some thousand inhabitants. The oak-trees and red-tiled roofs give it the appearance of a Hampshire village, but the country around is like Norfolk at its flattest and dreariest. The village is made up of three or four irregular streets, two or three beer-houses, and a large school. The memory of the ‘Duchess of Ahlden’ still lingers among the village folk; they sell postcards with her portrait on them, and speak with pity of her fate.
“Certain authorities at Hanover warned me that I should find absolutely nothing at Ahlden and my visit would be a waste of time. On the contrary, I found the place full of interest and rich in tradition. Without seeing Ahlden it is impossible to realise the utter loneliness of this poor lady’s thirty-two years of confinement there.”
There were three governors at Ahlden during the years of the Princess’s captivity. The first, the Seigneur de la Fortière, a noble of Celle, until 1702; then Charles Augustus von Bothmer, a Hanoverian noble, from 1702 to 1721; and Sigismund, Count Bergest, from 1721 to 1726, the year of her death. A certain George von Bussche, a relative of the President of the Divorce Court, held office in her household but not as governor; also a Herr von Marlortie,—they were probably gentlemen-in-waiting. Among her ladies-in-waiting we have the names of Madame von Ilten, Madame von Marlortie, and Madame von Arenswald.
When the Princess had settled down at Ahlden certain concessions were granted to her to support the theory of her being duchess of the place. She was allowed, through an agent or deputy, the administration of her property and of the Ahlden territory. This extended for several miles, and included the towns of Retham and Walsrode and certain custom-house stations on the Weser and Aller. She was also given the nominal management of her household, which was fairly numerous. It consisted of one or two ladies-in-waiting, one or two gentlemen-in-waiting, and two pages. Among the domestics were two valets, fourteen footmen, twelve female servants, three cooks, a confectioner and baker, and a butler. There were also the Governor of the castle and the escort of forty soldiers, cavalry and infantry.
As time went on the Princess grew interested in the management of her property and household, and these things helped to pass many of her weary hours. She also took the poor of the village under her care, and did what she could to help them, though she was not permitted to enter their cottages. She interested herself in the village schools, and the children used to come to her on their _fête_ day and receive from her hands prizes and little gifts. Her name became a household word round the country-side for kindness and benevolence, and for works of pity and mercy. As Duchess of Ahlden she was permitted some little state: she held a small _levée_ on certain days, at which the local magnates, clergy and nobility, with their wives, were wont to attend; but visitors were limited strictly to people who lived within her territory of Ahlden; and the Governor of the castle and the ladies- and gentlemen-in-waiting were always present at these receptions. She was not permitted to return these visits.
The Princess was scrupulous in the observance of religious duties; she restored the church and enriched it by various gifts. The parish minister acted as her chaplain, and read prayers daily to the garrison and household in the large dining-room aforesaid. The Princess and her ladies listened in a room adjoining, the door being left ajar. Her titular rank was always outwardly respected, but she was subjected to any number of petty and insulting restrictions. She was never allowed to leave the castle at night under any circumstances whatever; her letters were supervised, and every letter which came in and went out of the castle was read. Despite this, she carried on an active correspondence with her mother and acquaintances, which gradually increased in volume. Her great grievance during these early years at Ahlden was that she was not permitted to see her mother. The Duchess of Celle persistently endeavoured to break through this rule, but the Hanoverian government made such strong representations to the Duke of Celle of the evils that would follow, that, despite her tears and entreaties, she could not gain permission. Even if the Duke had wished to intervene, which may be doubted, Bernstorff was always on the alert to counteract the influence of the Duchess. It was known that Duke Antony Ulrich was in communication with the Duchess, and warmly championed the cause of the imprisoned Princess, and the Hanoverian government feared, or pretended to fear, that a new intrigue would be set on foot against them, and perhaps a new attempt at flight.
The Princess, therefore, though treated with every outward semblance of respect, remained a prisoner. At first she was not allowed outside the castle gates; but her health suffering from the confinement, she was granted another concession and permitted to take her daily drives. Count Schulenburg-Klosterrode, in his _Herzogin von Ahlden_ quotes the following words taken from the mouth of an old woman of Ahlden named Marie Ratze, about the year 1800. This old woman was then ninety-six years of age, had worked in the Princess’s apartments as chambermaid, and remembered her well. She says: “The Princess was of middle height and rather stout, and during the first years of her sojourn at Ahlden was exceedingly beautiful. Her hair was jet black, and the diamonds, which she never forgot to put in her hair when she went out for her airings, shone with great brilliancy.” Thus we see how a generation or two spans the intervening centuries.
Sophie Dorothea had inherited from her mother the Frenchwoman’s love of dress, and all through the years of her imprisonment she took pleasure in devising and wearing elaborate toilettes, and in decking herself with jewels, though there was no one to see them but her little household and the few local magnates round about. This would go to prove that her thoughts were not so detached from the world as some of her chroniclers untruly assert. On the contrary, from the beginning of her imprisonment to the day of her death, she took a keen interest in all that was going on in the world outside, and kept herself remarkably well informed of contemporary events not only in Hanover and Celle, but in England and the courts of Europe. Yet all the while she was politically dead, and, her father being set against her and her mother powerless, the only way she could hope to recover her position was through her children; but her piteous appeals and oft-repeated prayers to be allowed to see them were always refused, nor was she permitted to carry on an open correspondence with them, though later she was able to smuggle through communications secretly.
When at last the Princess realised, in her solitary Ahlden, that though granted an allowance and a separate establishment on her father’s territory as stipulated, it was the intention of her enemies to keep her a prisoner, perhaps for life, she saw too late the trap into which she had fallen, and she continually petitioned the Elector Ernest Augustus for her freedom; nor did she cease to struggle for liberty till the day of her death. In the early part of her captivity she was pacified by being told that she would probably get what she wanted by quietly submitting to the will of the Elector for a time, and she was reminded that he had always been as indulgent towards her as circumstances would allow. She acted on this hint and submitted to the very letter of the law, however much she rebelled against it in spirit. So far did she carry this submission, that one night when a fire broke out in her wing of the castle, which she was forbidden to leave after sunset on any pretext whatever, she was seen pacing up and down the corridor almost frantic with terror, her jewel-box under her arm, yet refusing to quit the wing, in spite of the encroaching flames, without a signed order from the Governor. She was assured that her good behaviour would bring its reward.
Thus passed the first three years of the Princess’s captivity at Ahlden—three years of hope deferred. Even her mother counselled patience, and wrote that things were working in her favour, when suddenly their hopes were dashed to the ground by the death of the Elector Ernest Augustus, which took place in January, 1698. Ernest Augustus had been suffering from ill-health for years, and his death was not altogether unexpected. He was an able ruler and an astute politician, and under his rule Hanover grew and prospered, and was raised from the obscurity of a dukedom to the dignity of an electorate. His failings were a lack of straightforwardness, a love of display, and allowing himself to be ruled by mistresses, notably by the notorious Countess Platen. But his court was brilliant, he was good-natured and open-handed to a fault, and his subjects infinitely preferred him to the sullen and niggardly ruler who succeeded. But George Louis, now the Elector George, was strong where his father was weak, and from the first he made it clear that he would have no petticoat interference in politics. He retained Count Platen nominally as his Prime Minister, but he took the management of affairs into his own hands. He gave the Countess Platen to understand that her day was over, and the ex-mistress retired in dudgeon to Monplaisir, and there, suffering torments from disease, she dragged out the remaining years of her infamous life.
Another and more illustrious lady also found her position much impaired by the Elector’s death. This was none other than the Electress Sophia, who during the last few years had been steadily gaining power and influence. The Elector George disliked his mother, who had opposed him in the primogeniture, and would not suffer from her the slightest interference in state affairs. He relegated her to Herrenhausen, gave her a mean allowance, and even neglected to pay her the proper honour and respect to which she was entitled as his mother and as Electress-Dowager, and which her age, rank, and high character undoubtedly demanded. The proud spirit of the old Electress felt these slights keenly, but she was too wise to resent them openly, and she betook herself once more to the consolations of philosophy and to watching her prospects in England, which, since the birth of Anne’s son, the little Duke of Gloucester, had not been of the rosiest. But one consolation at least was hers—the daughter of “the little clot of dirt” would never take precedence of her as Electress at the Hanoverian court, and Sophia determined that nothing she could do should be left undone to keep her daughter-in-law safely shut up in Ahlden.
The Elector George, though he differed from his mother in most things, was at one with her as to this. He knew the divorce was of doubtful legality and might any day be upset by a revision, so he confirmed it by declaring his resolve to act strictly upon the letter of the agreement signed by his father and the Duke of Celle: he would not permit his wife to assume the title of Electress, and he reaffirmed the order that she was always to be styled the Duchess of Ahlden. Thus her husband’s accession to the Electoral dignity made no difference to the rank and position of Sophie Dorothea, but it made a great deal of difference to her chances of freedom. The new Elector hated his cast-off wife with sullen vindictiveness, whereas the old Elector had only been harsh to her from motives of policy, and because he was instigated by her enemies. The Elector George determined from the first to maintain the existing arrangement—a very convenient one for him, and he had no desire to see his wife back again. He was happy in the society of his Ermengarda Melusina, whose temper was always equable, who meddled not in politics, and who only thought of enriching herself. He also found variety in the society of the other mistresses whom he added from time to time to his unattractive harem.
[Illustration:
SOPHIE DOROTHEA’S WING OF THE CASTLE OF AHLDEN. _From a photograph by the Author._ ]
Four years of captivity in the dreary loneliness of Ahlden, had now brought Sophie Dorothea to a more reasonable frame of mind. She regretted bitterly her lost freedom, and she was now as eager to return to the world as she had once been to retire from it. So anxious was she to see her children, that she was willing for their sake to humble herself to her enemies. She was not always quite consistent. When the tidings of the death of Ernest Augustus reached her, probably urged by her mother, she wrote the following letters, which are still preserved in the Hanoverian Archives:—
“AHLDEN, _January_ 29, 1698.
“_To the Elector George Louis._
“MONSIEUR,—I have the honour to write to Your Highness to assure you that I take a real share in your grief at the death of the Elector your father, and I pray God that He may console you, that He may bless your reign with His most precious favours, and that He may console Your Highness with every form of prosperity. These are prayers that I shall make every day of my life for you, and I shall always regret having displeased you. I beg you to grant me pardon for my past faults, as I still entreat you herewith on my knees with all my heart. My sorrow for them is so keen and so bitter that I cannot express it. The sincerity of my repentance should obtain pardon from Your Highness; and if to crown your favour you would permit me to see and embrace our children, my gratitude for such longed-for favours would be infinite, as I desire nothing so earnestly as this, and I should be content to die afterwards. I send a thousand prayers for your preservation and good health, and am,
“Submissively and respectfully, Monsieur, “Your Highness’s most humble and obedient servant, “SOPHIE DOROTHEA.”
“AHLDEN, _January_ 29, 1698.
“_To the Electress-Dowager._
“MADAME,—It is my duty as well as my pleasure to assure Your Highness that there is no one who takes more share than I do in your grief at the death of the Elector your consort. I pray God with all my heart, Madame, that He will console you and keep you for many years to come in all prosperity and good health. I beg of you once again to pardon me for everything that I have done to incur your displeasure and to take some interest in me with the Elector your son. I implore you to grant me the pardon that I so earnestly long for and to permit me to embrace my children. And I long also to kiss Your Highness’s hands before I die. If you would grant me this favour I should be filled with gratitude. I beg you to do me the honour to believe that nothing equals the infinite respect with which I remain, Madame,
“Your Highness’s most humble and obedient servant, “SOPHIE DOROTHEA.”
No reply was vouchsafed to these piteous appeals. The sullen Elector never mentioned his wife’s name, and the Electress Sophia dismissed the prayer with angry scorn. Seeing that no hope was to be expected from that quarter, the Princess wrote to her mother, and besought her to seize the opportunity afforded by the change of government to effect some amelioration of her unhappy lot, or at least to prevent it from becoming harder. The Duchess of Celle made strong representations to the Duke, and earnestly pleaded that their child might no longer be kept in imprisonment. But the Duke could do nothing of himself, even if he would, as it would involve a breach of the agreement arrived at four years ago with the Hanoverian government; yet he relented so far as to give his wife permission to go to see her daughter at Ahlden, and the new Elector, who had his own reasons for wishing to be on good terms with his uncle, did not venture to do more than protest. A good deal of capital has been made out of the fact that the Elector George gave the Duchess of Celle leave to visit her daughter, but in reality his permission was not asked; the Duke of Celle granted it on his own initiative, and the order was never afterwards revoked. All the other mitigations of the Princess’s lot were effected before the old Elector’s death. Backed by the Electress Sophia, the new Elector flatly refused to grant his wife the slightest indulgence.
We may imagine with what joy the imprisoned Princess hailed her mother’s visits. After four long years they met again, and were able to exchange confidences and take counsel together. But it was too late to effect much. The Duchess had lost all political power and the Princess’s imprisonment had now become an accepted fact; nothing they could say, and nothing they could do, availed against the vindictive hatred of the court of Hanover.
Shortly after this concession Sophie Dorothea’s heart was rejoiced by the news of the escape of her faithful friend, Eléonore Knesebeck, from the fortress of Schwarzfels, where she had been confined the last four years. Knesebeck’s escape was little short of miraculous. For a long time no one knew where she was imprisoned, and her disappearance seemed almost as mysterious as Königsmarck’s; but at last her sister at Brunswick, Frau von Metsch, received intelligence that she was a prisoner at Schwarzfels, and set on foot a plan for her release. The poor Knesebeck had been made to suffer great hardships. She was imprisoned in one small cell in the tumbledown fortress, which she was never permitted to leave, given the coarsest food, and was waited on by one old woman. At last the roof of her prison partly gave way, and a tiler was instructed to repair it. This tiler turned out to be a friend in disguise, and one night he let down a rope, which Knesebeck tied round her waist; she was then pulled up through the hole in the roof and lowered down the prison walls. She had a long drop, for the rope was too short; but she managed to regain her feet, and fled with all speed to Wolfenbüttel, where she received a warm welcome.
Her first steps were to petition for the restitution of her property and bear testimony again to the innocence of herself and her mistress. The Hanoverian government were much perturbed by the escape of their prisoner, and gave orders that the Princess at Ahlden was to be watched more strictly than ever. Inquiries were made at Schwarzfels to discover how Knesebeck had escaped, and her vacant cell was carefully searched. It was found that the unfortunate Fräulein had passed her days in writing with charcoal on the whitewashed walls of her prison, her blessings and curses, complaints and consolations. These writings were copied for the Hanoverian Privy Council and form very quaint reading; they are still preserved in the Archives at Hanover. We have first of all inventories of the confiscated property of the imprisoned lady, for which she afterwards put in a claim, and then a large number of utterances as to her wrongs, and seeking to know why she was imprisoned. “I imagine,” she says, “it is on account of the Princess. The Hanoverian government must have committed a great wrong, as they want to stop my mouth; for if they can be responsible to the whole world for what they have done to the Princess, may I not speak too? If she be rightly judged, how should I dare to speak untruthfully—I, a poor, miserable girl—against an Elector? If he be acting justly, how could I speak wrongfully? Is he not powerful enough to repress a thousand girls like me? What is the meaning of the Government stopping my mouth? what are they afraid of my saying? It is clear from this they must have committed a great injustice, and so they choke and repress me with force that their injustice may not be brought to light.” She repeatedly laid stress on the fact that four crimes were laid to her charge. “I am so important in the eyes of the Hanoverian councillors that they have broken the Fifth, Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth Commandments on my account: the Fifth in that they try to kill my body and soul by cruelty; the Seventh by kidnapping me; the Eighth by laying four false crimes to my charge; and the Ninth by stealing my property.” But neither her prayers in prison, nor her clamourings when out of it, induced the Hanoverian government to make her any restitution, though the Duchess of Celle helped her all in her power, and she found a warm champion in Duke Antony Ulrich. She lived for several years at Brunswick and Wolfenbüttel, and was later taken into the service of Sophie Dorothea’s daughter, the Queen of Prussia. She never married, and died as she had lived, protesting her mistress’s innocence and her own.