THE MURDER OF KÖNIGSMARCK.
How do men die? But I, so trapped alive—
O, I shall die a dog’s death, and no man’s.
SWINBURNE.
A day or two after the Princess returned to Hanover Königsmarck came
back from Dresden. He had been kept informed of her movements, and, as
her affairs grew more desperate, the question of flight was freely
discussed in their letters. Königsmarck at first advised the Princess to
fly to France, change her religion, and throw herself on the protection
of the French King. France was her mother’s country, and the Duchess of
Celle was known to be friendly towards France, and even suspected of
leaning to Popery. The Princess, too, through Balati, the French envoy,
had exchanged compliments with Louis XIV., and had distinctly favoured
the French party in opposition to her husband, who always upheld William
and the Alliance. In the days gone by, when the Duchess of Celle and her
daughter were supposed to have some influence, they had received many
valuable jewels from the French King. A change of religion would
effectually exclude the Princess from the court of Hanover, now deeply
pledged on the Protestant side, and constitute a claim on the
munificence of Louis, who liberally pensioned distinguished converts,
such as, for instance, the late Duke John Frederick of Hanover and King
James of England. There was no reason why he should not pension the
Princess as well, as she would certainly be a thorn in the side of his
adversaries. Königsmarck, too, was favourably known at the court of
Versailles, and were he to enter the French service he might hope for
promotion and a career with honour.
Undoubtedly there was a good deal to be said in favour of the
Princess’s flight to France, but there was also much against it. Such
a step would cut off Sophie Dorothea irrevocably from the House of
Brunswick-Lüneburg—not only from Hanover, which she ardently desired,
but from Celle, which she did not desire, and from all future favours
from her father. The Duke of Celle all his life long had been the
stoutest opponent of France, and for his daughter to go over to his
enemies would be unpardonable treason; it would mean disinheritance
without hope of reinstatement. The Princess, too, though not a deeply
religious woman, was attached to the faith in which she had been
brought up, and had no wish to change it, and without a change of
religion there was no hope for her in France. Moreover, Elizabeth
Charlotte, the Duchess of Orleans, who was the devoted niece and
correspondent of the Electress Sophia, occupied a prominent position
at the French court. She hated the Duchess of Celle and the Electoral
Princess, and would undoubtedly do everything in her power to make
things unpleasant for Sophie Dorothea. Lastly, and this obstacle was
insuperable, the Princess had not enough money to fly to France and to
maintain herself there for any time; it was a long way, and she ran
considerable risk of being overtaken. So she dismissed the French
plan, and turned her thoughts to one far more practicable—flight to
Wolfenbüttel.
Here the ground was well prepared. Knesebeck had a married sister in
Brunswick, one Frau von Metsch, whose husband was in Königsmarck’s
service and to whom many letters were sent at this time. She doubtless
acted as an agent between the Princess and Duke Antony Ulrich. The
strained relations between the Princess and the electoral court were
well known to Antony Ulrich. She was his cousin; he had known her from
childhood; she was nearly being allied to his house by the closest ties,
and he was her mother’s earliest friend. In this, her hour of trial, he
communicated to her his sympathy and assured her of his support, more
especially as he saw in these family dissensions something which might
be turned to his advantage and could not fail to humiliate the Elector.
The union of Hanover and Celle had been a hard blow to him, and anything
which tended to disunion was in his favour.
Finding every other means of escape from a position which had become
intolerable cut off, the Princess resolved to fly to Wolfenbüttel, and
place herself under the protection of her cousin and old friend. The
journey was short and inexpensive, and her escape from Hanover to
Wolfenbüttel would not be as irrevocable as flight to France; it would
not involve a change of religion, or make an unbridgeable gulf between
herself and her father, for Wolfenbüttel’s quarrel was not so much with
Celle as with Hanover. Once there, Duke Antony Ulrich would be sure to
plead in her favour, and would certainly not give her up to the tender
mercies of the Hanoverian Court. It would be better for Königsmarck too,
for Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel was allied with Denmark and Sweden, and
Königsmarck, a Swedish subject, had only to throw in his lot with his
King to be received back into favour. Of course, from the point of view
of the Hanoverian government, the Princess’s flight to Wolfenbüttel
would be a treason even worse than flight to France, for all relations
between the two courts had long since been broken off and
Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel was a declared enemy of the electoral house.
Putting Königsmarck out of the question altogether, the Princess’s
policy was unpardonable in the eyes of the Hanoverian government: she
first revolted and then plotted treason.
Unfortunately for the best interests of the Princess, Königsmarck _was_
a factor in the situation. He had come back to Hanover almost
simultaneously with the Princess,—an audacious act in itself, for he was
in disgrace at court on account of her. Ostensibly he had returned to
attend to some necessary business; in reality he came back for the one
and only purpose of aiding the Princess in her flight to Wolfenbüttel.
He still held the post of colonel in the Hanoverian guards, and it was
necessary that he should resign it formally, since he had accepted a
commission in the Saxon service. But, during the few days which elapsed
between his return to Hanover and July 1, he took no steps to resign his
commission, nor did he show himself in public. He went straight to his
house and lived there in retirement, occupying himself mainly with
arranging his affairs and sorting his papers. The Princess was also in
retirement in her apartments at the palace, still insubordinate, and
refusing to see any one on the plea of illness. She, too, was very busy
in much the same way. Communications passed between the lovers during
these few days, but they were not able to arrange a meeting. The
situation was dangerous, far more so than they seemed to realise. It is
true that they knew they were watched, but they hoped to evade the spies
as they had often done before. But then it had been convenient for their
enemies to turn a blind eye to the intrigue; now they were on the alert.
Every movement was observed and reported to headquarters. Königsmarck
was watched day and night, the Princess also; and had they reflected
they must have seen the danger they were running. The imprudence and
recklessness of their proceedings seem almost incredible; they rushed
right on to their doom. As the Princess had settled on flight, it would
have been wise for her to have dissembled a little; but she and
Königsmarck provoked suspicion—she by her rebellion and threats of
desperate proceedings, and he by returning to Hanover. There was really
no need for him to have come back at all. He could have met the Princess
at Wolfenbüttel, and she could have travelled there alone almost as
easily as she made the journey to Celle. But despite every warning and
the dictates of common prudence, Königsmarck came back into the very
hands of his enemies, who were seeking an opportunity to destroy him.
The opportunity was not long in coming.
On the evening of Sunday, July 1, 1694, Königsmarck received a note from
the Princess, written in a feigned hand,[221] asking him to come to her
that night without fail, and appointing the hour and mentioning the
signal. In obedience to this summons, long expected, the same night,
between ten and eleven o’clock, he stole out of his house and made his
way towards the Leine Schloss. It afterwards transpired that his
servants noticed him leave the house; they had also observed during the
day that he was restless and disturbed. But he thought he was
unobserved, and, as usual on the occasions of these stolen meetings with
the Princess, he adopted what was practically a disguise. He wore a pair
of shabby old summer trousers, a much-worn white jacket, very short, and
a brown cloak. There is a conflict of testimony as to whether he was
armed or unarmed; but the burden of the evidence goes to prove that he
was girt with a short sword, which was part of the ordinary equipment,
but for practical purposes he was unarmed. Why should he be armed? He
had had many stolen interviews with the Princess before, and had come to
no hurt.[222]
-----
Footnote 221:
The Princess asserted later that this note was not hers at all; it was
a forgery written by the Countess Platen as a snare, and she was
greatly surprised when Königsmarck appeared and showed her the note.
She gave it back to him saying that she had not written it. Knesebeck,
on the other hand, in her statement asserts that the Princess had
appointed to meet Königsmarck. It is therefore impossible to credit
the poor Princess’s denial, which was natural enough under the
circumstances, but cannot be believed. If she had not expected
Königsmarck, how came he to be admitted to her chamber at that hour of
the night?
Footnote 222:
From this point to the end of the chapter a curtain of impenetrable
darkness descends and no gleam of light can be gathered from
historical documents. All the English envoy’s despatches which might
contain reference to the tragedy are destroyed. The account which
follows is built upon the _Roman Octavia_ by Duke Antony Ulrich of
Wolfenbüttel; Cramer’s _Memoirs of Aurora von Königsmarck_, a work
which contains many genuine documents and some spurious ones;
Schulenburg’s _Herzogin von Ahlden_, a critical, honest and
painstaking book, and Müller’s _Sophia Dorothea_, a work which, though
not trustworthy, compels consideration from the fact that the author
was private secretary to the late Duke of Cambridge when Regent of
Hanover, and had access to the Guelph domestic papers. Moreover this
account of the catastrophe is the one that gained acceptance at
European courts and is supported by tradition.
-----
Arrived at the Leine Schloss, Königsmarck went round to the wing where
the Princess’s apartments were situated and gave the signal, whistling
[probably] a few bars of a well-known air. The signal was replied to
[probably] by a light in the window, and a minute later he was admitted
through the postern by Knesebeck and conducted to the Princess’s
chamber. Here La Confidente withdrew and the lovers were left alone.
They had not seen one another for more than three months, and now met
under the shadow of great peril. We may imagine their meeting—the
Princess’s tearful reproaches anent her lover’s conduct at Dresden, his
fervent denials, and her sweet forgiveness; the tears, the vows, and the
broken words. But they had other things before them than loving words
and rapturous embraces; the time was short and there was much to say and
much to do concerning the flight they had planned for the morrow. Both
were agreed that the situation was intolerable, and could last no
longer; both were ready to make the fatal plunge and brave the
consequences. There could hardly be a more favourable time than the
present, so it seemed to them: the Electoral Prince was at Berlin, the
Electress at Herrenhausen; there was no one of all the Hanoverian Royal
Family in Hanover but the old Elector, weak and ailing, in a far-off
wing of the palace; time and circumstances alike were favourable for
flight.
But they had forgotten one whose hatred, like her vengeance, never
slumbered. Countess Platen, enraged against Königsmarck by his
scandalous gossip about her at Dresden, had lost for the time the
_tendresse_ for him which had hitherto held her back from extreme
measures. The Princess she detested and despised, and would have killed
her rather than see her triumphant in Königsmarck’s affections. The
return of Königsmarck from Dresden, combined with the Princess’s sudden
revolt against all authority, made her suspicious that something unusual
was going on, and for the last week she had doubled her spies, and every
movement of both had been reported to her. No sooner, therefore, had
Königsmarck let himself out of his house that night and stolen away
disguised under cover of the darkness, than he was tracked to the palace
and seen to enter the Princess’s apartments. The quarry was run to earth
at last. Information was at once given to Countess Platen, who in hot
haste, regardless alike of the hour and place, repaired to the Elector’s
apartments, and told him, with much agitation and many gestures, that
Königsmarck was even now in the chamber of the Electoral Princess, and
she besought him to take immediate steps to arrest and punish the
offenders.
The picture of Countess Platen posing as a champion of outraged virtue
might have afforded the cynical old Elector some amusement under other
circumstances, but this came too near home. Though of easy morality, and
by no means inclined to be hard on offences of this nature, the audacity
of Königsmarck enraged him beyond measure. He was already angry with the
Princess because she had flouted his authority, and he determined to
make her feel the weight of it now. When he had relieved his feelings by
a few round oaths, he declared his resolve of going in person to the
Princess’s chamber and surprising the lovers; but Countess Platen threw
herself in his way and entreated him not to go. It would certainly, she
pleaded, lead to disturbance, and probably result in a public scandal.
The great thing was to keep an affair of this kind from being known, and
if His Highness would leave the matter to her, she would find a way to
arrest Königsmarck quietly, and then the Elector might punish the
delinquents at his leisure, and far more effectually. The first burst of
his rage being over, the easy-going Elector gave way. He hated scenes
and he hated trouble, and so he agreed to shift the disagreeable task
upon the Countess, who was only too ready to undertake it. At her
suggestion he signed a warrant to the Commandant of the palace guard,
authorising him to give the Countess Platen four halberdiers, who were
to accompany her and obey her in all things without question. That the
Elector had nothing more in his mind than the arrest of Königsmarck is
evident from the fact that he said to the Countess, with a touch of
malice, he was sure his colonel of the guards was safe in her hands, as
he was so good-looking.
Armed with the Elector’s sign-manual, the Countess went down to the
guard-room and obtained four trusty halberdiers. After she had given
them drink and sworn them to secrecy, she led the way through the dark
corridors of the great rambling palace to the wing occupied by the
Electoral Princess.
The Leine Schloss, or Royal Palace of Hanover, has been considerably
altered since that fatal night; but the walls are still standing, and it
is easy, even now, to follow the original plan of the castle. The
Electoral Princess occupied a suite of rooms overlooking the river
Leine, then spanned by a drawbridge, now by a permanent way. A wide
corridor ran from her apartments, which still remains. This corridor
touches at one end a magnificent hall, known as the rittersaal, or
knights’ hall, and there was also a vestibule, or inner hall, hard by.
By the door of the rittersaal the Countess paused, and peered down the
long corridor leading to the Princess’s apartments. There was no sound
to be heard, but a faint glimmer of light beneath the door showed her
that the Princess was still astir. The thought that Königsmarck was at
this moment in her hated rival’s arms excited Countess Platen beyond
control. She turned to the four desperadoes, and ordered them to lie in
ambush and await her signal, and then rush out and take the first man
who passed, at all hazards, dead or alive. The halberdiers concealed
themselves under the shadow of the huge projecting chimneypiece of the
rittersaal.[223] The Countess withdrew to the vestibule hard by, and
there waited for her prey.
-----
Footnote 223:
I visited the scene of the murder in 1898. This chimneypiece still
remains, elaborately carved and wrought, a splendid monument of
masonry. The rittersaal, too, has little changed, except that it was
redecorated in the early part of this century. The long corridor has
been laid down with parquet, but the attendants show the spot where
the murder was committed.
-----
She had some time to wait, for the lovers, unconscious of danger, had so
much to say that the hours flew by unheeded, and still they were
absorbed in one another. They discussed every detail of the escape on
the morrow, and re-discussed every precaution against discovery. They
would have talked till dawn had not Eléonore Knesebeck interrupted them
and called attention to the fact that it was high time to put an end to
the conversation. Still the lovers, perchance with the presentiment of
the coming peril, were loth to part, until at length Knesebeck almost
forced Königsmarck out of the chamber. With a last fond embrace he bade
the Princess farewell until the morrow, bidding her be of good courage,
for the hour was at hand when they would part no more. Of a truth it was
their last parting.
La Confidente conducted Königsmarck to the outer door of the Princess’s
apartments, and there left him. There was no light, but he knew his way
so well that he could find it in the dark, so he walked softly down the
long corridor, humming a tune under his breath. It was characteristic of
the man and his careless, dare-devil spirit that he treated the affair
so lightly. He was embarked on a venture which would revolutionise his
whole future life, which would set every court in Europe by the ears,
and involved the happiness of the woman he loved; yet it all weighed so
lightly with him that he left her humming a tune. Yet elopement with an
Electoral Princess was a somewhat serious undertaking even in those
days.
A few steps brought Königsmarck to the door in the left-hand corner of
the corridor by which he had been admitted, opposite the rittersaal. The
door had purposely been left unbarred for his exit; it was now locked.
The tune died on his lips, and he turned to retrace his steps. At that
moment the four desperadoes sprang from their hiding-place and rushed
upon him with their weapons. The unfortunate man realised that he was
caught in a trap; but, though taken by surprise and comparatively
unarmed, he defended himself doughtily. For a few minutes there was a
fierce conflict, during which two of his adversaries were wounded, and
though Königsmarck was fighting in the dark against four armed men, the
result seemed uncertain until his sword snapped in twain. This placed
him at the mercy of his assailants, and he fell, severely wounded in the
head by a cut from a battle-axe, and run through the body by a sword.
Even as he fell his cry was, “Spare the Princess! Spare the innocent
Princess!” and then he swooned.
The men bound and dragged him, all bleeding as he was, into the
vestibule, where Countess Platen awaited her victim. By the light of a
feeble candle she bent over him and peered fearfully into his face.
Things were worse than she had bargained for, and at first it seemed
that he was already dead. But no; he opened his eyes. At the sight of
his enemy’s malignant face Königsmarck realised that he was a victim of
her hate, and he rallied all his ebbing strength to curse her bitterly
for the foul thing she was. His lips were shut by the foot of his
murderess, who, pretending to slip on his blood, trod by design upon his
mouth. Too weak to resent the outrage, Königsmarck swooned once more. He
recovered consciousness again, only to protest with feeble tongue and
broken words the innocence of the Princess. Then his head fell back, and
he died with her name on his lips.
[Illustration:
THE MURDER OF KÖNIGSMARCK.
_From an old print._
]
At first Countess Platen refused to believe that he was dead, and made
every effort to restore him to life, pouring cordial down his throat,
rubbing his hands, and binding up his wounds; but when she saw it was
too late her anxiety gave place to terror and perhaps to remorse. She
cherished a sort of tigress’s passion for the murdered man, though she
would rather see him dead at her feet, as he now was, than in the arms
of her rival. When she gave the word to take him, dead or alive, she
hardly contemplated so literal an obedience to her orders, and she
bitterly upbraided the soldiers for their blunder and excess of zeal.
The assassins were no less frightened than the Countess when they
realised that the murdered man was none other than the popular Count
Königsmarck. The Countess did not fail to take advantage of their
consternation by declaring that the Elector would of a surety hang the
lot of them, if they did not swear the Count’s death was due wholly to
his own desperate resistance. This they at once vowed, and declared that
in the darkness they could not see what they were doing; they acted only
on the defensive, and he rushed blindly upon their weapons. The Countess
rehearsed them carefully in this story, and made them promise to testify
the same, separately and collectively, to the Elector.
The Countess then repaired to the Elector’s apartments, and with many
tears and much trepidation told him of the fatal mishap, which she
ascribed wholly to Königsmarck’s recklessness. The Elector was aghast at
what had occurred and greatly enraged at the way the Countess had abused
his authority. He would have punished Königsmarck for his presumption by
arrest and ignominious dismissal from the Hanoverian service, but he
never contemplated his murder. Cruelty and assassination were not among
the vices of Ernest Augustus, and throughout his reign no deed of
violence could be laid to his charge. Moreover, he foresaw that by this
wicked crime the very thing he had most desired to avoid—publicity—would
be brought about, a very painful family scandal would be dragged before
the world, and he could not hope to escape the odium which was sure to
accrue. Königsmarck was known throughout Europe; he had many powerful
friends at the courts of Saxony, Sweden, and Denmark, possibly England
and France too: some of these would certainly raise a storm when they
heard of the foul manner of his death. Ernest Augustus in his old age
did not care to burden his conscience with a crime which would only
bring harm to him, and disrepute to his house. In fact, it was worse
than a crime; it was a stupid blunder, which when known would involve
the electoral court in no end of difficulties. So the old Elector
stormed and raged at his favourite, cursing her in no measured terms,
and vowing he would never forgive her. She was astounded at his fury.
Never in all the long years of her ascendency had she seen him like
this, and, indeed, her influence over him was never the same after that
night. It was with much difficulty that she contrived to bring the
Elector to something like reason. She pointed out the uselessness of
mere denunciations, bringing to bear the unanswerable argument that the
man was dead and nothing could call him back to life.
Meanwhile the hours were slipping by and some action must be taken
unless Königsmarck’s body were to be left in the vestibule all night and
discovered in the morning. Countess Platen pointed out that the evil
consequences the Elector dreaded were dependent upon the Count’s death
being known, and they might all be avoided if it were concealed. Why
should it not be concealed? No one had seen him enter the palace except
her trusted spies, and no one had seen him inside its walls except
herself, the halberdiers, the Princess, and Knesebeck. For herself and
the soldiers she could answer, and there was an easy way of stopping the
mouths of the Princess and her waiting-woman.
The Elector listened, ever ready to avoid a difficulty, and presently
intimated that, since she had got him into the mess, she must get him
out of it. This the Countess expressed herself as ready and able to do.
The Elector then reluctantly accompanied her to the room where the
murdered man still lay, guarded by his assassins. These men[224] were
sworn, under penalty of death, not to disclose a word of their night’s
work. Königsmarck’s pockets were searched and the contents handed over
to the Elector. Then the corpse was dragged to a hole, or _treppe_, hard
by, thrust down, covered with quicklime, and the place walled up. The
blood-stains were carefully washed from the floor, and every trace of
the murder was obliterated. The men must have worked very quickly and
expeditiously. No one in the sleeping palace was aroused, and everything
was completed before the morning light, which, at that time of the year
in Hanover, began to dawn soon after three o’clock.
-----
Footnote 224:
Of these halberdiers little is known. One was named Bushmann, and is
said to have made a confession on his deathbed to a priest named
Cramer of his part in the murder. He is said to have been so badly
wounded in the struggle by Königsmarck that he could do nothing for
six weeks, but the authority for this statement is doubtful. Local
tradition gives the name of another of these men as Luders, who, from
the date of the crime, became the owner of an estate given him by the
Hanoverian government. His descendants until recently lived at
Hanover, and may be living there still for aught I know, and are
well-to-do people. Some information of both these men is given in
Cramer’s book on _Aurora Königsmarck_.
-----
Thus perished miserably, with his body given the sepulture of a dog,
Philip Christopher, Count Königsmarck, the head of a noble and famous
family, and one of the most brilliant adventurers who strutted across
the stage of Europe in the seventeenth century. It may truly be said of
him that nothing in his life became him so well as the way he quitted
it. He died bravely, fighting against overwhelming odds, and he died
gallantly, defending with his last breath the honour of the woman he
loved. That he loved the Princess, as far as it was in his nature to
love any one, must be admitted; it was not the highest kind of love, but
a passion selfish in its essence, to which men of his kind are prone,
very fierce while it lasted and very real, but probably not enduring. He
made great sacrifices for her sake, refused honour, promotion, fame, all
that men hold dear; so he must have loved her after his fashion. That he
was unworthy of the love she gave back to him fourfold must be admitted
also; he was utterly unworthy. Yet to judge him fairly we must judge him
by the standards of his time. Those standards were not high ones. He
lived in an age of profligacy and in courts where laxity of manners and
morals were the order of the day, and he was lax and profligate
accordingly. But if he were no better he was no worse than his compeers,
and certainly does not deserve the censure which has been heaped upon
him; for, surrounded as he was by parasites and flatterers, the marvel
is not that he was so bad, but that he was as good as he was. The worst
part of his conduct was his intrigue with Countess Platen—conduct
impossible to palliate or excuse, and which brought its own punishment.
Otherwise he had his own rough standard of honour, and as far as we can
see he acted up to his lights, which certainly were not bright ones. He
was a brave soldier, fearless in the field; he was open-handed, generous
to a fault, and those who knew him best were greatly attached to him.
His sisters loved him, his servants were devoted to him, and these
things speak in his favour. Of him it may be said his vices were those
of his era, his virtues were all his own. He did wrong, let us admit it,
but he paid the penalty with his blood.