[FROM KÖNIGSMARCK TO SOPHIA DOROTHEA]
[Hanover, _December 1692_ (?)]
He will be there at the above-mentioned hour; do not doubt of his
fidelity. Adieu, incomparable Goddess; I wish you good evening,
and desire that your dreams may be as full of me as mine are of
you. After having once more reread your letter, I shall go to
sleep, with the hope of dreaming of [nothing] else than you. I
embrace you a Million times, and am your very obedient ser[vant].
-----
Footnote 224:
Near Celle.
-----
F 9
[FROM KÖNIGSMARCK TO SOPHIA DOROTHEA]
_Friday, 8 o’clock at evening. [Summer, 1693.]_
This moment I have received a very long letter, and one of the
kind I like from the Electoral Princess. I have not had leisure to
read it, lest the post should leave, and without assuring you what
joy it gave me when I received it; _le bonhomme_ goes to-morrow to
Engsen[224]; on his return I shall know my fate, which I shall at
once make known to the Electoral Princess. I am continually
offering up vows that I may not have to set out on the march, so
that I may be able to embrace her whom I love, and for whom I am
ready to die a thousand and a thousand times. Believe me that I
adore you in the most violent way in the world. Would to Heaven I
might have occasion to prove it to you! I shall not forget for a
moment, in order to convince you of it. What satisfaction it will
be to me if by my obedience I shall be able to show you how deep a
regard I have for you and what pleasure I take in being your slave
for ever. Adieu, my incomparable Leonisse; how I will kiss thee,
my little one.[225]—K.
-----
Footnote 225:
_Ma petite._ For Königsmarck’s use of the same term of endearment,
cf. Wilkins, p. 162.
-----
F7
[FROM KÖNIGSMARCK TO SOPHIA DOROTHEA]
_One o’clock in the night. [Summer of 1693.]_
The _bonhomme_ has returned from his conference, and made me
dismiss the orderlies without commands. This is what leads me to
suppose that we shall still remain [here] during the present week;
and, as I am to dine with him to-morrow, I shall have some further
information, which I will at once communicate to you. In the
meantime, make ready to carry out what follows. The Duchess has
been to Linde,[226] to get rid of Countess Platen. Count de
Stenbock, whom you saw here seven years ago, wished to pay his
respects, and Count de La Gardie also.[227] I took them there, and
I found the good Plesse[?][228] at a stand [?], and the paint
running down everywhere—she was so overcome at seeing such a
number of strangers arrive that she was quite confused. She chose
the wiser part, for she withdrew at once, to put herself to rights
again. There is a good deal of malicious wit in the Electress, and
she could not have revenged herself better. Think of coming, I
entreat you; and believe that without seeing you is to be dead,
and I marvel that my fate should have been so cruel to me as to
let me survive all its misfortunes; but, if I do not see you soon,
there is no war nor danger which I will not seek in order to
shorten my unhappy life. I die with shame at not being dead
already. How does it agree with my loving you to distraction that
I neither see you nor speak to you, and yet survive! I believe
that my confounded fate preserves me in order to trouble me all
the more. You alone can rescue me from my despair; come quickly to
console me, or I shall commit some desperate act which I shall
regret all my life, for the life I lead is unbearable; I hate it
like death, I am tired out with it and can no longer bear it; I
wish that the lightning would destroy all those who prevent us
from seeing one another and joining our flames. Pardon the rage
which my too violent passion calls forth in me: it seems to me
that, if I must not see what I love, it is right that I should not
see the light of day. At this moment I should be capable of
sacrificing Father, Mother, Brother, and Sister, if I thought that
they prevented me from seeing my angel. Leonisse, what torments
your beauty costs me, to what trouble your charms give rise! Come
and make me forget all my woes; thou canst do it, by thy embraces,
by thy caresses; and there is no one in the world capable of this
but thyself. I await you with the greatest impatience in the
world; and do not allow me to say that you are quick to depart,
while ... to return where love calls [?] you. I should however be
in the wrong, if I complained of our parting, for it was loving
and sincere; but I beseech you, do not give me reason to complain
of a last parting. Farewell! I kiss you a thousand, thousand
times. Mlle. de Knesebeck is the best person in the world; I beg
you to tell her of my regard for her. I ask, with your permission,
to be remembered to her.
-----
Footnote 226:
See note to F 4 below.
Footnote 227:
Count Magnus Stenbock, afterwards renowned as a Swedish general
under Charles XII, and sympathetically remembered for his tragic
death, entered the Dutch service as a volunteer in 1690. The Count
de La Gardie mentioned here may be Pontus Frederick who died in
1693. Stenbock was connected by descent with the de La Gardies; a
Countess Stenbock, born de La Gardie, was with Aurora von
Königsmarck immediately after her brother’s death. The two Counts
are mentioned as likely to come to Celle in July 1693, _ap._
Wilkins, p. 288.
Footnote 228:
‘The good Plesse’ must have been the lady of General Pless,
formerly in the Danish service, like many other members of his
family, which was of ancient Brunswick descent.
-----
F 10
[FROM KÖNIGSMARCK TO SOPHIA DOROTHEA]
[Hanover], _Saturday, [July 1693]_.
It is easy to suppose with what satisfaction I have read your very
charming letter. This satisfaction was due to me, in order to take
me a little out of the deep reverie into which my misfortunes and
our separation have plunged me. Your letter is long, loving, and
as I desire it to be; do not write any more short letters; this
ought to relieve you, and I swear to you that for me also you
cannot make them long enough. Your love is so agreeable to me that
I have no pleasure while away from you but to see that love
depicted on paper. I preserve your letters as the most precious
things in the world, because they console me for all the disgrace
I have to undergo; as I see in them that you swear to love me, to
be faithful to me, and never to abandon me—and what more can I
desire from you? You see, then, that I am thoroughly well pleased
with you; I conjure you to be the same with me, and not to impute
it to me that you do not receive my letters regularly by every
post. I did not know one day which was Sunday; but, since I am now
informed of it, my exactness will show you that I sinned because I
knew no better; and my negligence was due to the trouble which is
upon me. It is then that I think most of you, for you serve as a
consolation to me, and the pleasure of thinking of you surpasses
all others that I know. _Idolo mio_, when shall I have the joy of
holding thee in my arms? Is it not enough to make a Cato despair,
to see that you can come if Prince Max did not prevent it[229];
but, although the wish to see you took away my jealousy and I
begged you to come, how long shall I be able to be with you,
perhaps only two days, and then I shall see you among people who
hate us, and others who wish to insinuate themselves. Do not
believe, my Angel, that my jealousy springs from any bad opinion I
have of you: this would be too criminal—it springs from the
violence of my love; so I flatter myself that you will always make
excuses for me when this madness takes hold of me. What do I not
owe you for taking so much pains to ease me of all my suspicions!
Your diaries console me; your vow makes me forget all that I had
in my brain. Ah! why am I not by your side! I would throw myself
at your feet, to thank you for all the care you take to render me
happy and contented. I am convinced of your good intentions; I
have no doubt of your fidelity; and I see very well that if you
ruled fate, so many worries would not occur. As I may perhaps
receive orders to march to Lunen [Lüneburg?], tell me if I may not
go to Celle, without giving umbrage. If you are not there,
politeness demands it; but at present I do not know what I ought
to do. The answer of the Electress of Brandenburg[230] is amusing
enough, and well deserves an answer, in which the music ought not
to be spared. I do not know whether I am mistaken, but, on
rereading letter No. 11, I do not find it so sincere as No. 10;
tell me if I am mistaken; No. 10 is charming—it shows the real
passion which you felt in writing it. For the love of me, be
always like that, and do not let me perceive any coldness. What
have I done to deserve it; tell me, so that I may exculpate
myself. Is it perhaps that you do not think it loving that I do
not ask you to come? But remember what it is that prevents me from
doing so. If, however, you desire it, I will beg you to come; but
I shall be perhaps two days here; and then your neighbour will
have a free field. He has loved you, and, indeed, he has not been
indifferent to you. I am always afraid of him, though there is
hardly anything to be afraid of in him; but it is sufficient that
he has been on a very familiar footing with you, for me to have
good reason for fearing his impertinence, and it would even be
annoying to see a man about you who might find twenty little holes
through which he might see you, besides that you would not be able
to say a single word without his hearing it. But all these reasons
are not enough; and, if I had hopes of staying, I would
nevertheless entreat you to come, in the hope that you would find
out a way to get rid of him; for, apart from this, I shall not be
able to see you, since he will always be looking out for spying
[upon you]. Inasmuch as I cannot give you up, I for this reason
refuse all the advantages which present themselves; I intend to
make you see from this how attached I am to you, and this is my
sole reason why I make you look at the letters which were written
to me on all sides. Believe, all the same, that no advantage is
capable of making me leave this place so long as you will be kind
to me. I know the power of a mother whom one loves, and when she
gives you an opportunity, you ought to be prudent enough to resist
it. My blood curdles, when I think that your [mother] would be
capable, in order to take vengeance on the Electoral Prince, of
letting you make a _cocu_ of him; and when this comes into my
head, if you ever thus caressed anyone but myself, all my blood
flows back in my veins, and I cannot rest still, so long as this
thought keeps me unquiet. Ah! good God! if I saw you kiss anyone
with the same passion with which you have kissed me, and ride on
horseback with the same pleasure—may I never see God if it would
not drive me mad! Why, in writing it my hand trembles, and I find
it difficult to go on. Let us change the subject. The friends of
whom I spoke to you, Bussche and Hammerstein[231], could you have
believed it, it is they who have put into the head of the
Electoral Prince all the stories about my [game]. But I have
written a letter to the first, which will make him see his
falseness very clearly. I am in hopes, moreover, since the Duchess
of Celle and the Duke of Celle have come to an agreement;
therefore do your best. The war will not last so long as to ruin
the country[232]; that is why this [excuse] cannot long be
accounted a defeat. See if you will keep your promise; for you
promised me that you would die sooner than not be united to me;
continue in this way of thinking, and you will restore my life to
me. Am I dear enough to you for you to keep the promise you made
to me? If this is so, I swear to you once more by the stars, that
nothing in the world shall separate me from you. By the letter
_enclosed_ you will see how they are once more trying to persuade
me to Marry the Daughter of M. Bielke[233]; but my answer was,
that I would rather die of hunger than do it; and that I begged
him particularly not to speak to me any more of marriage, for this
might cause a quarrel between us. I flatter myself that you will
be pleased with my resolution. Since we have so little chance of
seeing each other, we must think of expedients. _You will find it
in this note_; I think that it can be managed, provided I do not
go away and that I let you know between the present time and that.
If you wish to wait till Prince Max is tired, I shall not see you
for a long time; for when he is with the Electress and his thin
divinity[234], he is as happy as a King. I should not have thought
that this magpie would have caused me so much sorrow as he does; I
wish he were in the heart of Hungary, he would no longer cause me
so much heart-ache as he does at present. One could not speak more
kindly than you do on the subject of dying of hunger; but do you
believe that, although it would be a great consolation to me to
see you always at my side, I should like to drag you down into
misery? No, no, do not believe it! You must live happy and
contented, while I seek some glorious death, to put an end to my
unfortunate life and die the lover of the Electoral Princess. I
hope that you have received the two letters about which I spoke to
you; if not, tell me; you will no longer do me the injustice of
believing that any consideration in the world could detach me from
you; my protestation on this subject will make you see that I
shall die with my Love. How could one forsake you, for the more
one knows you the more one adores you; one discovers every day new
merits [in you]; and your love alone is capable of making me
prefer to have my head cut off rather than abandon you for ever. I
am ashamed of my want of exactness; I beg your pardon for it; it
is a fault which I entreat you not to attribute to my negligence
but to my shortness of memory. But, my divine Leonisse,
acknowledge in your turn that my letters are much the longest; and
that, had I not told you of it, you would not have made [yours] so
large. So each has his due; hence I shall never concede that your
love is greater than mine, and I should be inconsolable if I had
not given you more substantial proofs of it; for you might believe
that vanity, since you are a princess, is the cause of my
attachment. No; I swear to you that if you were the hangman’s
daughter, and if you possessed the attractions which are actually
yours, I should love you with as much ardour. You will think me
not very polite; but I flatter myself that you will find my
feelings tender and true; in the name of the Gods, continue in the
sentiments in which I find you now! If any disgrace were to drive
me so far that you conceived a dislike for me, I should certainly
send a pistol-shot through my brain....
-----
Footnote 229:
Prince Maximilian, who excited Königsmarck’s jealousy so strongly,
was staying at Brockhausen in June 1692 after his catastrophe at
Hanover (cf. Wilkins, p. 136), Königsmarck being at Hanover. In
June 1693 Maximilian was lodged at Luisburg, in rooms next to the
Princess (cf. Wilkins, p. 259). In July 1693 he was at
Herrenhausen (ib. p. 286). The letter, with its references to the
contiguity of Prince Maximilian’s rooms, and to the Duchess of
Celle’s encouragement of him, seems to belong to the later date.
Footnote 230:
Sophia Charlotte.
Footnote 231:
Probably Christian William von dem Bussche, who became
Adjutant-General of the Elector George Lewis, and died as a
general in 1711. George Christopher von Hammerstein was
Adjutant-General to the Hereditary (Electoral) Prince.
Footnote 232:
The war, begun in 1688 by the French invasion of the Palatinate,
lasted till the conclusion of the Peace of Ryswyk in 1697.
Footnote 233:
Count Niels Bielke, the well-known Swedish politician (afterwards
governor of Swedish Pomerania), seems already at this time as
Swedish envoy to have furthered the French interest, with which he
remained identified. See Colt _ap._ Wilkins, p. 176.
Footnote 234:
Can this have been Melusina von der Schulenburg?
-----
F 16
[FROM KÖNIGSMARCK TO SOPHIA DOROTHEA]
_September 1st_ [1693, from the Camp].
Pardon me, if sorrow and despair has made me commit the fault of
not writing to you for two days. When one is in the state in which
I am, one does not know what one is doing. I will begin by telling
you that I have changed two ciphers in our key, namely, j means
31, i means 35, u means 53, v means 54. I [beg] you to note this.
Next, I must tell you that you have marked two letters No. 10, so
that No. 14 ought to be No. 15. But just continue for the present,
for there is no other harm done, [except] that the second or first
No. 10 might have been lost without one’s having known at all that
one had been lost. I must further tell you that I wrote to you two
letters addressed to 131, whom I supposed to be at Celle; you must
let me know whether you have received them. Three letters were
addressed to the postmaster at Celle, which are dated the 20th,
and [this] is letter No. 9; the 26th, and [this] is letter No.
12—this one is of consequence; the 30th, and [this] is letter No.
14. It would also be well to see whether you have letter No. 13. I
beg you to reply to me without fail as to this. You can see
everything by the way in which they follow on one another; for I
am quite sure that I have been exact on this occasion. You will be
surprised to find me making such reflexions, in the condition in
which I am; but, my dear, we have had so many misfortunes, that
one must not create any more for oneself. I received yours dated
the 26th; but you know what accident happened to me in mistaking
one bottle for another. I told you about it in my preceding
letters; I see, however, in yours dated the 28th, 29th and 30th
what you meant to say to me in [that dated] the 26th. It is a
great joy to me to know you free from fear, and I am angry with
myself for having been the cause of your disquiet, which has
contributed greatly to your illness.[235] At present, now that you
are free from fear, I hope that the fever will leave you also. How
I pity you for having suffered so much—[a] six hours of fever. I
do not understand how you have strength enough still to write to
me. I am as grateful as I ought to be; and I am convinced that it
is love which gives you strength; but to what extent am I not
obliged by this mark of your affection? Never shall I forget such
favours. If my letters had force enough to comfort you in your
sufferings, I would arrange for you to have one every hour; but I
take this compliment to be an effect of your kindness. However, I
can swear to you that your letters are a great consolation to me,
and without the three last of them, dated 28th, 29th and 30th, I
should be in my grave at this very moment. It would after all be
the greatest folly I could commit, for, though it would be a sign
of affection, I should lose you; and, [as] you say very well in
one of yours, what despair never to see each other again for ever!
Let us then live on, together, love each other everlastingly, and
swear to each other afresh a constancy which shall never end; and
that [after?] death, if we have sense enough, this may likewise
endure. In order that we may live together, take all imaginable
pains to preserve yourself; remember that my quiet of mind depends
on it: if your illness continues, I am quite sure that I shall go
mad. The fever prevails a great deal here; we have nearly 200 on
the sick-list among our troops; my servants fall sick one after
the other. I have been obliged to send my valet de chambre to
Celle; the others are at Lüneb[urg]; if this continues, my turn
[?] will come too.
-----
Footnote 235:
Cf. Wilkins, pp. 313 sqq.
-----
F 17
[FROM KÖNIGSMARCK TO SOPHIA DOROTHEA]
_The 3rd_ [_September 1693_, from the Camp].
I thought I should have an apoplectic fit when I opened your
letter, without seeing your handwriting. I hoped to hear that you
were better, and you are doing quite the contrary. I believed at
the beginning that it was all over with you. Do not suppose that I
am annoyed that it is not in your handwriting—far from that, I
entreat you to continue in the same way, for I am absolutely
against your fatiguing yourself. I pity you as much as an
affectionate and tender ... can do so—must the most perfect object
in the universe suffer so cruelly? Ye gods, why are you so unjust?
But, my heart, I know why this misfortune comes to you[236]—it is
to render me more unhappy that destiny causes you to fall ill; you
are made to suffer in order that I may be crucified. And the design
succeeds, for no one could send me a greater misfortune. You order
me not to disquiet myself—it would be necessary not to love you, in
order not to be at the point of death. Every moment I am on my
knees to offer up prayer for your complete recovery; I flatter
myself that in the end I shall find pity—my prayers are too devout
not to find acceptance. May God grant that you may speedily be
relieved of your sufferings and I of my fears and of my anxiety!
With what joy shall I embrace you, when I shall have that of seeing
you. I do not know when this will be possible to me; but my design
is to make pretence of an access of fever happening to me; I shall
say to the _bonhomme_ that I should like to go for three days to
317, to avoid the fever taking hold of me, that is to say, to take
some remedies. Instead of staying at 317, I shall take the post and
fly to Celle. I should be able to be two nights with you—what joy,
what satisfaction! I should be able to be at your feet, to bathe
them with my tears: you would see into how pitiable a state your
illness had driven me. But perhaps I am indulging these hopes in
vain; for before I can play this part it is in the first instance
necessary that the _bonhomme_ should be in better health ...
depends further on the future of the 9 [?] ... I have nothing good
to Hope for; rage, despair, trouble, disquietude, Love—all these
things together have such an effect on me that I am like those
people one sees at Amsterdam in the madhouse. God knows what the
end of all this will be. The sickness spreads from day to day; my
old Lieutenant-C[olonel] and two Lieutenants have fallen [ill]
to-day; I do not know how I shall escape it; it is a miracle, for
with all the troubles that oppress me I ought to catch it.
Farewell, my Angel, I can tell you no more. The express that was
sent to me by the _bonhomme_ by [?] thought that you have a lover,
who takes so much [interest] in everything that concerns you that
you ... do yourself [?]; he is sincere [and] adores you, and has as
much Respect for you as anyone in the world; I deserve all your
affection and all the kind interest you take in me. If I do not
give you assurances enough of my love and fidelity, it is not my
fault—it is that I have no opportunity for doing so; I should weary
you with my protestations, for I repeat them in all my letters. I
fancy that you are like myself. I cannot wait for them too long,
and all your letters, were they filled with anything else, would be
to me always agreeable and more so than if there were nothing in
them.
F 8
[FROM KÖNIGSMARCK TO SOPHIA DOROTHEA]