THE PROGRESS OF ELÉONORE.
(1666-1676.)
Oh, were I seated high as my ambition,
I’d place this naked foot on necks of monarchs!
WALPOLE.
Sophie Dorothea was born in the castle of Celle on September 15, 1666.
On the anniversary of her birth two hundred and thirty-two years later
it chanced that the writer visited Celle. It must have been on just such
a September morning that Sophie Dorothea was born, with the sun blazing
down on the yellow-washed walls and shining into the chamber where the
birth-bed was, with the limes and silver beeches in the garden flecked
with the gold of autumn, and the blue-green reeds waving on the edge of
the sluggish moat. The fine old schloss had changed little with the
flight of centuries. The drawbridge and portcullis had gone; but the
moat, filled with water from the Aller, still flowed dully about the
walls, separated from them only by a strip of garden. The great
courtyard, with its high yellow walls, timeworn sundial, and pyramid of
cannon-balls in one corner (doubtless the spoil of one of George
William’s many campaigns), even the flock of white and purple pigeons
fluttering down on the rough stones, all seemed to breathe the spirit of
the seventeenth century. And looking up at the north wing, where Sophie
Dorothea was born, it required little effort of the imagination to
people again the deserted courtyard with lackeys and squires, to conjure
up the clatter of hoofs and the clank of spurs, the bustle of
congratulation, the arrival and departure of messengers and doctors, all
of which signified to the little town of Celle that a daughter was born
to the head of the great House of Brunswick-Lüneburg, and, though they
knew it not, an ancestress to two of the mightiest monarchs of the
modern world—the King of England and the German Emperor.[11]
-----
Footnote 11:
Short genealogical table showing descent of King Edward VII. and the
Emperor William II. from SOPHIE DOROTHEA of Celle.
SOPHIE DOROTHEA,
married her first cousin, George Louis (afterwards George I.);
they had two children—_viz._
|
+———————-+——————-+
| |
George II. The Queen of Prussia.
| +—————+————+
Frederick Prince of Wales. | |
| Frederick Prince William Augustus.
George III. the Great. |
| Frederick William II.
The Duke of Kent. |
| Frederick William III.
Queen Victoria. |
| Emperor William I.
Edward VII. |
Emperor Frederick.
|
Emperor William II.
-----
The little town of Celle, at least that part of it which clusters around
the base of the castle’s mighty walls, has also changed little since the
days of Sophie Dorothea. The old brick church where the babe of that
bright morning now sleeps with her fathers remains the same. The
triangular market-place and the quaint little streets which branch off
from it, many of them narrow and irregular, bear the marks of the flight
of centuries. The old part of the town still stands with houses dated
from 1600 to 1700, having outer beams carved with curious and uncouth
mottoes. Celle, though a fairly prosperous town, has not shot ahead like
Hanover. But in those days Celle, with its magnificent schloss, the seat
of the elder brother’s duchy, was a place of considerable importance. It
was a veritable Naboth’s vineyard to Ernest Augustus and Sophia, his
spouse, who, from their little court at Osnabrück, looked towards it
with longing eyes.
The news of the birth of a daughter was not welcome to them, but they
consoled themselves with the thought that the child was the fruit of a
morganatic union, and, after they had cracked a few coarse jokes,
dismissed the subject from their minds. But they were soon reminded
rather rudely. The infant was given the names of Sophie Dorothea, and
the christening was celebrated with much ceremony and many festivities
and rejoicings. Ernest Augustus angrily remarked that if the infant had
been a princess instead of only the daughter of his brother’s _madame_,
they could not have made more fuss about it; and that was true, for,
from the first moment Sophie Dorothea drew breath, though in strict law
she was a person of no importance, expressly excluded from holding any
rank at Celle, the same honours were paid to her as if she had been
heiress to the duchy.
From this time onward the rift between the Duchess Sophia and Eléonore
gradually widened into an open feud. As long as she had to think only of
herself Eléonore had borne patiently Sophia’s insults and humiliations;
but now that a child was born, she determined to spare no effort to
raise herself and her daughter to a recognised position. She played her
part with consummate skill. She had to fight against not merely the
uncompromising hostility of Ernest Augustus and the jealous hatred of
his Duchess, but the forces of custom and precedence which bind the
petty German courts with an iron band. She had to beat down the jealousy
and prejudice against herself as an alien and a stranger, and win the
support and recognition not only of her husband’s subjects, but of the
neighbouring princes, and even of the Emperor himself. When we consider
the forces against her, we are lost in admiration of the courage,
patience, and sagacity of this woman, who year after year toiled for the
end she had in view, and at last found her efforts crowned with success.
Success did not come in a night. It took Eléonore ten years before she
obtained the object of her desire—ten years of constant effort; for her
arch-enemy and rival, the Duchess Sophia, was ever on the alert to check
her moves and foil her plans. One great advantage Eléonore had at this
time, she was sure of her husband’s love; and as George William was as
easy-going as his wife was energetic, and as contented as she was
ambitious, she soon managed to gain a mastery over him—the mastery of a
strong mind over a weak one. Her next duty was to cultivate the arts of
popularity and win the good-will of her husband’s subjects, no easy
matter, for the prejudice against “the Frenchwoman” and morganatic wife
was strong in the little German principality. But her tact and
affability soon won her golden opinions in Celle. From the first she
seemed to take the townsfolk into her confidence; she drove about the
town with her infant daughter, radiant with bows and smiles, and soon
the inhabitants began to regard the little one as their own child, and
to be as jealous of her rights as they were of their own. This devotion
of the honest townsfolk of Celle to Sophie Dorothea never wavered, but
lasted all through her life.
Not content with sowing the seeds of her child’s popularity in her
infancy, Eléonore used other means to endear herself to her husband’s
subjects. At her instigation Duke George William proceeded to restore
the old schloss on a scale of considerable magnificence, taking care
always to employ local workmen. The little theatre[12] in the castle, so
long unused, was opened again for plays and musical performances, and to
these entertainments gentle and simple were bidden, and seated according
to their rank. Thus, after many years, a lady was once more _châtelaine_
at the schloss of Celle, and again there might be said to be a court
there.
-----
Footnote 12:
The theatre is in the old part of the castle at Celle, approached by
vaulted, stone corridors, with walls five feet thick, and has a large
stage and a number of little boxes, the Royal box of course occupying
a position of prominence. The decorations are simple; most of the
theatre is whitewashed. Like the rest of the castle of Celle, it has
changed little, though the castle has witnessed many changes. On the
death of George William, the castle passed into the possession of
George III., and through him to successive kings of England. On the
accession of Queen Victoria, the schloss became the property of the
King of Hanover, Ernest Augustus (Duke of Cumberland), who altered it
somewhat inside, not for the better, and it remained in the possession
of the Royal Family of Hanover until the Revolution of 1866, when it
was seized, together with other Hanoverian possessions, by Prussia,
and merged into the Province of Brunswick. For some time it was used
as one of the summer palaces of the present Prince Regent of
Brunswick; but he rarely goes there now, and the schloss is almost
dismantled of furniture, but well kept and in perfect order.
-----
George William warmly seconded all these effort of his wife, and so
great was his love for her and the little child that his one idea seemed
to be how best to advance their interests. The rival court of Osnabrück,
queened over by the descendant of kings, regarded all these innovations
and the “mock court” at Celle with open ridicule yet concealed
uneasiness. Sophia was presenting her husband with a numerous family,
and she was anxious that nothing should be done to prejudice the rights
of her offspring.[13]
-----
Footnote 13:
Table showing descent of Sophia from James I. of England, and her
children.
James I.
|
Queen of Bohemia.
|
Sophia, m. Ernest Augustus (afterward
| Elector of Hanover).
+—————-+———-+————+———+————-+———+
| | | | | | |
George Louis, | Maximilian | Charles | Ernest
b. 1660, d. 1727 | William, | Philip, | Augustus
(afterward | b. 1666, | b. 1669, | Duke of York,
George I. of | d. 1726. | d. 1690. | b. 1674,
England), m. | | | d. 1728.
Sophie | | |
Dorothea of | | |
Celle. | | |
| | |
Frederick Sophia Christian,
Augustus, Charlotte b. 1671,
b. 1661, (Electress of d. 1703.
d. 1691. Brandenburg
and first Queen
of Prussia),
b. 1668, d. 1705.
-----
Ernest Augustus held the security of his brother’s promise not to enter
into a legal marriage, and believed in it implicitly; but he naturally
asked himself to what end Eléonore was working. He heard much of George
William’s boundless generosity to his morganatic wife, and he liked not
the diversion of his private property from what he thought its proper
direction, to wit, himself.
Within the next few years Eléonore bore her husband three more
daughters, but they all died in infancy. Her hope of an heir, long
cherished, despite the bitter derision of her enemies, came to nothing,
and Sophie Dorothea remained the spoiled darling of her parents’
affections. So devoted was her father to the child that the mother’s
influence grew day by day; and when the little girl was five years old,
George William, knowing that by his thoughtless contract with Ernest
Augustus he had shut out his wife and daughter from all succession to
his dominions, began to purchase land to bequeath as he pleased. To this
end he bought five domains, and settled them upon Eléonore and Sophie
Dorothea, so as to make provision for them in case of his death. But
even this reasonable arrangement was not carried through without a bribe
to satisfy Ernest Augustus, who would only tolerate his brother’s
liberality to his wife and daughter on the understanding that he
received a handsome commission for himself. This was the first marked
step in the progress of Eléonore, and a little later she sounded the
Emperor Leopold I. about the possibility of legitimising Sophie
Dorothea. The Emperor returned a favourable, if somewhat guarded, reply;
it was evident she could obtain her heart’s desire if she could manage
to pay the price. We find her, therefore, instigating George William to
send troops to help the Emperor in sundry campaigns. This was done, and
George William so distinguished himself that the Emperor received him in
private audience, and most graciously inquired after his “Duchess,”
pretending not to know the true state of affairs.
The Emperor’s condescension reached the ears of the Duchess Sophia, and
the embers of her jealousy burst into a blaze. Eléonore’s conduct was a
model of wifely devotion; so, as the Duchess Sophia could not bring any
charge against her after her marriage, she raked up some old slander,
and accused her publicly of having simultaneously carried on two
intrigues when she was at the court of France. She represented her as a
designing adventuress, who, while doing her best to marry Colin, a
page-in-waiting of Elizabeth Charlotte Duchess of Orleans, tried to
catch George William as the bigger match of the two. These charges were
not very damaging or convincing, but malice went further. We find the
Duchess Sophia writing to her niece, the Duchess of Orleans: “Never
would any respectable girl have entered the house of the Princess de
Tarente, for, though she is my aunt—to my intense disgust—she is not a
person with whom any one can live and remain clean. However,” she added,
“d’Olbreuse being a nobody, it did not matter much.” George William
treated the tale about the intrigue with the contempt it deserved, but
the statement that his wife was “a nobody” seems to have rankled; so he
and his lady thought of a very poor means of defence. They paid two
thousand thalers to a French genealogist to make out an elaborate family
tree, to prove that Eléonore d’Olbreuse was descended in an almost
direct line from the kings of France. The Duchess Sophia received the
pedigree with scorn and derision, and transmitted it to the Duchess of
Orleans, who, being malicious and a wit, made out a caricature, in which
she clearly showed that her head cook was a descendant of Philip the
Bold. Naturally these tactics did not tend to smooth matters between
Sophia and Eléonore, who were now not on speaking terms, nor were they
successful in winning George William from the object of his affections.
Manlike, the more his wife was attacked the more he defended her; and
Eléonore, who had her share of vanity, was so upset and wounded by being
thus flouted that she became quite ill, and had to take a cure at
Pyrmont, then a fashionable watering-place, to restore her health.
George William was worried, too, and by way of a consolation he
purchased for Eléonore another and yet more valuable estate, including
the fertile island of Wilhelmsburg, in the Elbe, near Hamburg. This he
settled upon her for life, and made arrangements for it to become, after
her death, the inheritance of Sophie Dorothea. Again Ernest Augustus
protested, and again he was bought off, this time with a bribe of
eighteen thousand thalers. But all the same, the victory remained with
Eléonore. If she could not get the genealogy, at least she had
substantial consolation. The possession of a property like the island of
Wilhelmsburg naturally aroused comment, not only at Osnabrück, but the
neighbouring courts. It was regarded as open evidence of Eléonore’s
influence; she became a person of consequence outside the little circle
of Celle, and all the German princes began to wonder what would happen
next.
They were not left long in doubt. A few months later the Emperor Leopold
sent to the court of Celle the letters patent which granted the
legitimising of Sophie Dorothea, and gave the title of Countess of
Wilhelmsburg to Eléonore. If the memoirs of the time are to be believed,
this Imperial message came as a surprise even to George William, who,
though evidently pleased, looked askance at his Eléonore and grunted,
“Hum, hum!” as though he fathomed the source whence the Imperial
condescension sprang. He was right, for the support which Eléonore had
given to the Emperor in influencing her husband to send troops to the
campaign, and a charming letter she had written to him, had won the
Emperor over to her side, and he graciously acceded to her desire.
The next few years went by uneventfully. It seemed to the outside world
that Eléonore was resting on her laurels, but in reality she was working
for more. Meanwhile Sophie Dorothea was growing up a lovely child,
petted and spoiled by her parents and the court of Celle. There is a
picture of her, painted about this time, at Herrenhausen, the portrait
of a beautiful child crowned with flowers and holding a great bundle of
blossoms in her arms—a happy, winsome, radiant face; and, making
allowance for the flattery of court painters, it is certain that she
must have been exceptionally lovely. The knowledge that the little girl
was to inherit a large fortune made rumour already begin to find her a
husband among the scions of the nobility. Among Sophie Dorothea’s
playmates in the gardens of Celle was a handsome youth of some sixteen
years, Count Philip Christopher Königsmarck, son of a wealthy Swedish
noble. The youthful Königsmarck was receiving his military training at
Celle, and was staying there for a few years. It was not unusual at that
time for a soldier to be trained in different courts and serve in
various campaigns, and so acquire a thorough knowledge of warfare. Count
Philip came of a family with a brilliant military record. His father had
held the office of Minister-General of Artillery in the service of the
King of Sweden; his uncle, Count Otho William, was a marshal in the
service of Louis XIV., and at the court of the Grand Monarque became
acquainted with Eléonore d’Olbreuse. He was a Huguenot like herself.
This acquaintance probably formed the link which brought his nephew to
Celle. Eléonore, though popular among her husband’s subjects, was
devoted to the land of her birth; she was always “the Frenchwoman,” and
was fond of appointing her compatriots to little places in her husband’s
court, thereby causing some small jealousies.
There is little doubt that the boy and girl were thrown together, and a
friendship sprang up between them; but at Sophie Dorothea’s age we can
hardly suppose that there was any deeper affection, though Königsmarck,
for his part (and he was older), afterwards avowed that he had loved her
from childhood.[14] At the most they could only have been boy and girl
playing at lovers. Count Philip, as we have seen, came of a
distinguished family, even in his boyhood he was endowed with great
personal beauty, and he was known to be heir to considerable wealth.
Sophie Dorothea was an heiress too, and she was then far removed from
the rank of a princess. The possibility of a match between the two was
not so remote as might have been imagined—at any rate their names were
linked together even at that early period in the little court of Celle.
-----
Footnote 14:
The authority for this statement is to be found in the Protocol of the
trial of Knesebeck, published in Cramer’s _Memoirs of Aurora
Königsmarck_.
-----
It is scarcely likely that Eléonore, Countess of Wilhelmsburg, shared
these views for her daughter—in fact, we know that she looked higher.
Among the neighbouring German princes who had watched with benevolent
interest the progress of Eléonore was Duke Antony Ulrich of
Wolfenbüttel,[15] a cousin of George William, who later became
co-regent with his brother, Rudolph Augustus, of the duchy of
Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel. He was a prince of considerable talents and
artistic and literary gifts, a restless spirit always intriguing. He
was a plain man, so plain that the Duchess of Orleans called him “an
ugly baboon”. He early noted the great influence Eléonore had obtained
over her slow, easy-going husband. He disliked the Bishop of Osnabrück
and he knew of the Duchess Sophia’s hatred of Eléonore. He was aware
of the arrangement that had been made between the two brothers as to
the succession to the duchy, but nevertheless he thought it would be a
good thing if he could manage to divert some of the wealth of the fat
little principality of Celle into his somewhat empty coffers. With
this end in view he paid a visit to the court of Celle, and treated
Eléonore with every possible respect; in fact, he seems to have been
genuinely impressed with her virtue and talents, and this homage,
coming from a neighbouring prince, was grateful to Eléonore’s
self-esteem, for she was sensitive about her somewhat equivocal
position. She recognised in him an ally, and laid the foundations of a
friendship which lasted through life.
-----
Footnote 15:
Wolfenbüttel is an old town on the Oker, not far from Brunswick. The
famous library contains Luther’s Bible, and the ducal schloss and
mortuary chapel are the only other buildings worth mentioning. The
seat of the duchy was at Brunswick.
-----
After an interval, Duke Antony Ulrich came again to Celle, this time
accompanied by his eldest son, Augustus Frederick. He communicated to
Eléonore his wishes that his son should be betrothed to Sophie Dorothea,
and she was nothing loth. But he pointed out that there was a
difficulty, in that Sophie Dorothea was not a princess, and so could not
make a regular marriage with his son. The way to overcome this obstacle
was for George William to legally marry Eléonore, and raise her to the
rank of duchess, and by this means Sophie Dorothea would become a
princess, and equal in rank with Augustus Frederick. This reasoning was
very grateful to Eléonore, for it showed the way to the goal of her
ambition. She willingly agreed to work with Antony Ulrich for this
object, and they took into their confidence a councillor named Schütz.
Thus a distinct party was formed at Celle opposed to the interests of
the Bishop of Osnabrück and in favour of those of Wolfenbüttel. For this
the Duchess Sophia was largely to blame; she had so insulted and
humiliated Eléonore that she had thrown herself into the rival camp.
George William was so much under his wife’s influence that he readily
agreed to support her desire to become his duchess, especially when his
cousin and neighbour, Duke Antony Ulrich, told him she was in every way
worthy of the position, and it was a reproach to him that he had not
espoused her as his legal wife long before. He also viewed with favour
the betrothal of Sophie Dorothea to Augustus Frederick, to which this
was an indispensable preliminary. Everything was quickly arranged, and
it was resolved to petition the Emperor. He was already friendly to
Eléonore, and when her prayers were backed up by the powerful support of
the Duke of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel and her husband, they were sure to be
granted.
The news of this double event soon reached Osnabrück and struck
consternation into the hearts of Ernest Augustus and his wife. The
Duchess Sophia was beside herself with rage, and wrote to tell the news
to her niece, Elizabeth Charlotte of Orleans. “We shall soon have to say
‘Madame la Duchesse,’” she exclaimed, “to this little clot of dirt, for
is there another name for that mean _intrigante_ who comes from
nowhere?” To which Elizabeth Charlotte replied: “Nowhere? My dear aunt,
you are mistaken, if you will allow me to say so; she comes from a
French family, and therefore from a fraud.” Sophia also contemptuously
spoke of Eléonore as “the Signora,” professing to regard her merely as
the successor of Signora Buccolini, and she profanely declared that she
would rather George William’s marriage were one before God than before
man. But these feminine amenities, like the Bishop’s protests, were
unavailing; and soon Ernest Augustus and Sophia arrived at the
conclusion that, as it was too late to prevent the mischief, the only
thing remaining was to safeguard their interests as closely as possible.
A fresh agreement was drawn up, lawyers and parchments were brought
forth, and the contract between the two brothers was debated and fought
out, clause by clause, like a bill in committee. The heckling took many
months and bore fruit in many documents. The result of the controversy
was at last summarised in a document duly signed by Duke George William,
the Bishop of Osnabrück, and Duke Antony Ulrich of Wolfenbüttel. The
agreement was signed at Celle in May, 1676, and its main clauses may be
summarised as follows:—
Duke George William was allowed to “enter into Christian matrimony with
the high-born lady Eléonore von Harburg, Countess of Wilhelmsburg”; and
his daughter Sophie Dorothea, “promised to wife to His Serene Highness
Augustus Frederick Duke of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel,” was to bear the
title and arms of a princess by birth of Brunswick-Lüneburg. But a
clause was added: “Any other children who may be hereafter born in this
wedlock must content themselves with the titles of Counts and Countesses
of Wilhelmsburg, and they can make no pretences to the succession to the
duchy, which is bestowed on Ernest Augustus Bishop of Osnabrück and his
heirs male”.
The unfairness of this clause is patent; but it was somewhat modified by
the fact that it was extremely unlikely Eléonore would bear her husband
any more children. The Emperor’s assent was proclaimed with some
ceremony; a convocation of the deputies of the principality was then
assembled, and their agreement with the treaty duly notified. When all
the legal preliminaries were over, George William led his morganatic
wife of eleven years to the altar, and espoused her with much pomp and
solemnity before all his court, his cousin Antony Ulrich, and the little
Sophie Dorothea, who must have wondered what it was all about. Ernest
Augustus and Sophia were not present at these festivities, and they
dissembled their ire as best they could. “Ah!” exclaimed the Bishop to
his court at Osnabrück on the night of the marriage, “my brother’s
French _madame_ is not a jot the more his wife for being his duchess;
but she hath a dignity the more, and therewith may madame rest content.”
The jibe was duly reported to the court of Celle; but Eléonore did not
feel its sting. She had reached the summit of her ambition; she was the
acknowledged consort of the sovereign of Celle; her name was associated
with her husband’s in the Church prayers; her child was ranked as
princess and betrothed to a prince of equal rank. As Ernest Augustus had
said, she could now afford to rest content.