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