‘Seeking what?’

‘What was the object of every knight’s search: the Holy Grail.’

Again she laughed, gaily, youthfully – innocently he thought; and innocence was a quality so attractive because one longed to destroy it. ‘Monsieur de Lassaye,’ she said, ‘it surprises me that you should be in search of the Holy Grail.’

‘It was symbolic,’ he said. ‘It means Perfection. That is what I seek and mon Dieu, I believe I have found it. I never heard anyone laugh as you do, nor saw such beauty in a face.’

‘And I have heard of your adventures … in love and in war.’

‘They were the adventures of the seeker.’

‘What a dull life he will have when he reaches his goal!’

‘Madame la Princesse, I assure you that his life will only then begin.’

No one had ever spoken to her thus before; she was excited; the ball, the carnivals, the admiration in the eyes of men and particularly this man who attracted her, had alarmed her a little. He had the air of having lived through a thousand adventures such as she, with her limited experience, could only guess at.

‘I … I don’t know how you can be sure of that,’ she said.

‘I could assure you … by proving to you.’

‘But, Monsieur le Marquis, what have I to do with this?’

‘Everything, Madame la Princesse, everything!’

She was faintly alarmed; he came too close; she thought his eyes were like those of a satyr and she was conscious of a great urge to know more of him, to understand something of the world of romance and passion of which he was a habitué. Lust as practised by George Lewis had shocked her; the Marquis de Lassaye would give it a different name, a different aspect. She felt as though she were standing at the edge of an inviting lake, the waters of which were lapping about her feet. She longed to plunge in and float effortlessly, lightly supported by the exciting Marquis; but she greatly feared that one as inexperienced as she was would quickly be submerged.

But while she stood at the edge, gently dabbling with her toes, she was safe.

So she listened to his talk and the more she listened the more excited she became; and that night as she lay in her bed she could not sleep for thinking of him and the possibility of sharing his adventures.

He was always at her side. His conversation was stimulating to her senses and her mind. He told her about his estates in France and life at the court of Versailles. There was nowhere else in the world like it. She should come to Paris. He was sure Louis would be delighted with her; he was addicted to beauty and such as hers would startle even the Court of France.

It was all so pleasant to listen to. Her mother had talked so often of France and never had she met anyone who knew that country so well; even her mother had been long exiled from it. But all this conversation was leading towards that inevitable end. She contemplated it and shivered, for once it had been reached there was no turning back. She thought of her mother who believed that husbands and wives must be faithful to each other and had brought her up to believe the same. But then her mother had married a good and charming man who had loved her deeply; theirs had been as romantic a story as any could be. It had been easy for her mother. But how would she have fared married to a man like George Lewis who, in Naples, was no doubt playing the usual role of unfaithful husband.

But his affairs had no bearing on hers. She was excited by this man; and although she drew back from taking the plunge, it was very pleasant to stand on the brink contemplating it.

‘A letter,’ said Eléonore von Knesebeck, giggling happily. ‘No need to ask whence that came.’

‘He has dared to write to me!’

‘He would dare anything,’ cried Eléonore sighing.

‘I believe you are in love with him.’

‘It would be easy to fall in love with such a man.’

‘If my mother could hear you, Fraulein von Knesebeck.’

‘If she could see you, Madame la Princesse …’

They laughed together. Eléonore von Knesebeck was a good companion, a good friend, they had grown up together and she could not imagine her life without her, but was she wise, was she discreet? She was the sort who would go along with her mistress in an affair like this, urging her on to recklessness. Such a thought sobered Sophia Dorothea.

‘Sometimes,’ she said, rather breathlessly, ‘I am a little frightened. Where is this leading?’

‘Why should you not enjoy your life? Others do. Look at Baroness von Platen. She has a good time.’

‘I should not care to be like her,’ said Sophia Dorothea.

‘Oh she is wicked they say. Do you know what they call her in Hanover: Die Böse Platen. They know it. There was that poor girl Ilse.’

‘Yes, I heard about Ilse. No, I should not care to be like the Baroness von Platen.’

‘Are you going to read this letter?’

Sophia Dorothea took it. It was written in flowery terms, and was both eager and hopeful.

She thought: If we progress at this rate in a week he will be my lover.

Before Fraulein von Knesebeck’s astonished eyes she tore up the letter.

She was aware that Clara was watching her … hopefully. Did Clara want her to become the mistress of the Marquis de Lassaye? Why? Was it because she wanted to bring her down to her level? Was it because she hated her so much that she wanted to make trouble?

Sophia Dorothea was frightened. Die Böse Platen indeed! Was it not Clara who had presented the Marquis to her?

She was cool to him when he approached her. He was wounded, but she could not explain to him – nor had she any wish to. She wanted to leave Rome, and was suddenly filled with a desire to see her son.

Perhaps she had been too long away.

The Marquis was more than hurt; he was angry. He was not accustomed to being so slighted, and he had wagered with Clara that the Princess would be his mistress in a matter of weeks.

That girl is sly, thought Clara. Too cautious to take a lover. Well, we shall see what happens when the right one comes along.

Meanwhile Ernest Augustus was restless. State matters called him back to Hanover and he could not stay away indefinitely.

He told Clara to make ready for the journey home and apologised to Sophia Dorothea for taking her away from her pleasures.

‘I have a fondness for Hanover,’ she told him; ‘and I long to see little George Augustus.’

Not George Lewis, Ernest Augustus noticed; for his son should be back in Hanover by the time they returned. Well, who could blame her for that? She would be more dissatisfied with her husband than ever now she had seen how charmingly and gracefully some people behaved.

But she had her son. He hoped she would soon have more. He told her that it had been a pleasant sojourn and her company had given him pleasure.

It delighted him to have a beautiful daughter-in-law whose dowry had made him so rich.

So back they came to Hanover and life went on as though there had been no interruption.

Very soon Sophia Dorothea became pregnant and in due course her daughter was born.

A daughter was a great disappointment and there was not the ceremony that attended the birth of George Augustus, but Sophia Dorothea was delighted with the child.

She was named after her mother who gave herself up entirely to the care of little George Augustus and Sophia Dorothea.

George Lewis found no pleasure in his wife’s society, nor she in his. After their separation she seemed more remote than ever and he to her more coarse.

She was less docile than she had been and often did not hide the repulsion he aroused in her. She allowed it to be known that she found him coarse and uneducated. Clara saw that her comments always reached him.

Thus during the months which followed the birth of little Sophia Dorothea relations between the Crown Prince and Princess of Hanover became very strained.

Schulenburg Selected

ELÉONORE, DUCHESS OF CELLE, was writing to her daughter when one of her servants came to tell her that a woman had come to the castle and begged an interview.

‘Madame, she is so persistent and refuses to be sent away.’

‘In any case she should not be sent away,’ said the Duchess. ‘Bring her to me.’

The young woman was brought to her and Eléonore saw at once that although she appeared thin and was clearly wretched, she had at one time been good-looking.

As soon as she was brought to Eléonore, she fell to her knees and remained there.

‘You are in need?’ asked Eléonore gently.

‘Dire need, Madame.’

‘Well, they shall give you food.’

‘Madame, I want more than food. I want a chance to tell you how I came to be in these circumstances. I could tell you so much about … Hanover and the Princess and …’

‘What are you saying?’ asked the Duchess.

‘That I was in the service of the Baroness von Platen and there I knew something of the intrigues which went on around the Crown Princess, your daughter.’

‘Your name?’ asked Eléonore.

‘It is Ilse, Madame. I was falsely imprisoned by the Baroness because the Duke of Hanover noticed me. Since then I have been persecuted.’

‘First you shall eat,’ said Eléonore. ‘Then you may tell me your story.’

So it was that Eléonore learned how Ilse was imprisoned and drummed out of Hanover through the wickedness of the Baroness von Platen. But what interested her more was Ilse’s certainty that the Baroness was working against her daughter and was jealous of the Duke’s friendship for her.