APPENDIX B CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN PRINCESS SOPHIA DOROTHEA AND COUNT KÖNIGSMARCK IN THE ROYAL SECRET ARCHIVES OF STATE AT BERLIN (continued 2)

F 1 [From Sophia Dorothea to Königsmarck]

On the Brockhausen journey.^[198]

Tuesday [1 June 1692].

The Hereditary Princess is very impatient to know whether Königsmarck has arrived safely. Many things 499have happened which the Hereditary Princess has written on a quite clean half-sheet. I cannot console myself for having lost Königsmarck so soon; this makes his absence a thousand times harder to bear. I am worn out to the point of being unable to keep up any longer. The excess of enjoyment and the sorrow at seeing no more what I love reduce me to this condition. How hard it is to take oneself away from you! You are the most amiable of men. The more one sees you the more charm one finds in you. How happy I am to be loved by you, and how well I know all my happiness! All my bliss depends on the continuance of this tender affection. If I am deprived of it, I no longer wish to live. You take the place of everything else for me, and I care nothing for the whole of the world besides. I wish that you may be as pleased with me as I am with you. You have enchanted me, and I feel fonder of you than ever. Be you the same, and nothing will be wanting to my happiness. I need not tell you that all the actions of my life shall declare my attachment to you; for you must be convinced of this, and time will show you that I do not wish to live except for you. The Hereditary Princess leaves to-morrow.

I have instructed 220 to send me your letter by [way of] Nienb[urg].

500

F 2 [From Sophia Dorothea to Königsmarck]

Brockhausen,

Thursday, June 22nd {1692}.

The Hereditary Princess arrived yesterday evening. She is pleased with the Duchess of Celle. I have no doubt but that she will do everything that one wishes. The Duke of Celle is far more difficult [to manage]. I have as yet heard nothing of you, which makes me very sad. I flatter myself, however, that nothing has happened, inasmuch as I have heard nothing. The Duke of Hanover goes on Monday to Hanover. This resolution was taken yesterday; if I had known it sooner, I should not have started, and I might have been able to see you for some days more. I am convinced that he waited on purpose, and this truly vexes me; for I hate worse than death whatever seeks to separate me from you. It is a great unhappiness to have to pass one’s life as I now pass mine. I cannot, however, see the end of my woes. Yesterday I had a thousand thoughts in the chaise which drove me into despair. I could not think of waiting a whole month before seeing you without mortal grief; all the measures which I must take ... me. I cannot do without you; I do not care to see anybody in the world except you; yet I do not see you; and at every moment I have to be deprived of [the sight of you]. I can no longer exist in this constraint, it drives me to despair; my passion increases day by day; I do not know what you have done to me, but you bewitched me the last time that I saw you, and I have never loved you with so much ardour as I do. It is certain that you will [completely] turn my head. Yesterday I wrote a song, and this makes it clear to me that love works miracles. 501I cannot keep myself from telling you my song; it goes to the air ‘Dans mon malheur’:

‘Without my ... I loathe all company:^[199]

He is my only bliss, my sole content,

The one enchantment of this life to me,

On whom the wishes of my heart are spent.’

It is my heart and nothing else that speaks; I hope that I shall go further, and as time goes on I shall be able to prove it to you. The Duke of Celle [or the Hereditary Prince]^[199] goes on Tuesday to Celle; for this reason do not write to me any more lest I be not there [?]. The Duchess of Celle has promised 2000 dollars if the Hereditary Prince does not return; this redoubles my friendship. The Hereditary Princess spoke yesterday at Luisburg^[200] to 110; he sought for an opportunity for it. It was to exhort him not to give any chance to his enemies, and above all to be on his guard against Countess Platen. The Hereditary Princess begged him particularly to let her know about anything which concerned her. He promised her to do so. I am not aware whether all this does not concern Königsmarck. I cannot speak to you except about the grief which it is to me to be so far away from you. Do not console yourself for my absence, I entreat you, and have no enjoyment when I am not with you. Great God, what a charm and what a delight to be always with you; the more one sees you, the more one finds you superior to all men in the world. I occupy my whole time with the charming remembrance of the last time when I saw you; it will never quit my memory. Ah, my dear child, how tenderly you are loved, and how insupportable it is to me not to see you! 502I am about to go to bed; I hope that my dreams will figure you to me as charming as you are. If I did not think I should see you while asleep, I should not care to sleep at all; for as soon as I am awake you take up all my thoughts, and there is nothing that is pleasant to me in my life but the time which I pass in thinking of you. Good-night, most amiable of men; you are adored by me, and so you will be all my life. Good-bye, once more—why am I not in your arms?—I shall die of this!

On Wednesday the Hereditary Princess appeared at table and spoke to 110, then to the Field-Ma[rshal].^[201] She arrived late. Prince Max received her and shook hands with her; she said very little to him. The Duke of Celle came into the room; Prince Max did not come in at all; the Duchess of Celle had gone to bring her in, and came back late for she did not find the Hereditary Princess. Supper was afterwards served. The Hereditary Princess, the Duchess of Celle, and the Duke of Celle, were together, quite by themselves. The Duchess of Celle took the Hereditary Princess to her rooms, and nobody entered them.

F 12 [From Königsmarck to Sophia Dorothea.]

The 3rd 23rd^[202] [1692?]

My Mistresses are supposed to have prevented me from thinking of you? God, is it possible that you should 503believe this; and, even had I not written to you about everything (though this is letter No. 4) you ought never to have harboured such a thought. Is it possible that you should believe that I love anyone but yourself? No, I protest to you that after you I shall never love again. It will not be very difficult to keep my promise, for after one has adored you is it possible to think any other woman pretty? You wrong yourself by believing such a thing; and how could you draw a comparison between yourself and the others; and is it possible that after having loved a Goddess, one could bestow a look upon Mortals? No, in truth, I have too good taste for that, and I am not one of those people who wish to make themselves common. I adore you, charming brunette, and I shall die with this feeling. If you do not forget me, I swear to you that I shall love you all my life. I expect no more letters from you, because I intend to be soon in your company, and my sole occupation will then be to prove to you, that I love you to distraction, and that nothing is so dear to me as your person. Adieu!

F 18 [From Königsmarck to Sophia Dorothea]

[July 1692, from the Camp.]

I am very well pleased that you are for once satisfied with me; but it seems to me that this does not delight you, for you are always supplying me with matter for reproaching you; and thus you deprive me of the joy of being satisfied with you. You complain that your love interferes with your rest; I am willing to believe it, but this love does not touch your heart so deeply that you would cut off the slightest pleasures for its sake.sake. 504No, no; it is for me to complain: my passion not only troubles me, but brings me to despair. Oh, God! how I [hate] the places where I know the amusements are going on; I should much like to see you at the Gate of Brussels^[203] or of Ghent[?] without appearing there myself; rather than do this you would abandon me and ten other galans. You find your conduct correct; so do I; but I should be beyond despair if mine were not still more so. I am very well pleased that you have not fallen ill; it would have left me inconsolable. Although I am not satisfied with you, you were satisfied with my letter; this fills me with joy; you find there the unfeigned sentiments of my heart; I thank you very humbly that you promise me not to give your portrait to the person we know of. Why do you flatter me so much in your letters, when you think so little of keeping your promises to me? You assure me that nothing will be difficult for you, and that you will do everything to please me; this is very well said, but very ill kept. Alas! you say to me, let us trust that time will be able to make us happy; but know that time will make me the most unhappy of mankind. I have not the audacity to say to you what I already know; but, my dear, I believe that they will force me to leave you. I cannot finish this letter, what with trouble, sorrow, and anger. Adieu; do not, at all events, hate me; for, I swear by my God, I do not deserve it in [any] way on earth.

505

F 11 [From Königsmarck to Sophia Dorothea]

From the Camp at Hall [August] 2nd-3rd {1692}.^[204]

Although I had resolved to write to you to-morrow and to reply at length to the letters of the 13th^[205], 14th and 15th, which I received from you at the same time, I find myself deprived of this pleasure by the resolution which the King has taken to attack to-morrow the French army, which is two hours distance from us; the place is called Enghien. At any other time this news would have delighted me; but I confess to you at the present moment it troubles me. I am loved by you, the only object that I have found worth loving. I have not deceived myself in my belief that you possess all the fine qualities to be found in the world; but, my dear, I must risk my life, and perhaps never see you again. Hardly was I made aware that you were innocent, and that I falsely suspected you, when I am perhaps never to see you again. I have risked my life a hundred times, by way of folly or high spirits, and I knew myself sufficiently to be sure that death never terrified me. But, my divinity, that which makes me a coward is the fear of not seeing you again. Adieu then, amiable Doro, adieu; how much I am to be pitied—and yet I am fortunate, but I cannot take advantage of my good fortune. Do not, however, think that you have a coward admirer; no, my dear, since to battle I must go, I will behave there as is right, and, if I can, I hope to distinguish myself. 506But, my heart, permit me to make a request to you, namely, that, if my fate is so unkind to me as to leave me crippled by the loss of an arm, or a leg, do not forget me, and have a little pity for a poor fellow who has let it be his only pleasure to love you; no, my dear, do not forget him: he is a man who has been really and truly attached to you, and will remain so for the remainder of his life, although a cripple; my eyes which have been charmed by yours, will perhaps never see them any more. I cannot think of that, without shedding tears. Ah, how little advantage I have from being loved by you, and of how many torments you are the cause to me! It is striking twelve from the Hall^[206] clock tower; they are bringing in cannon-balls, powder, and matches; it is the prelude to the scene which we have to play to-morrow; I must betake myself to my duty; adieu, beloved child! Ah, how I am to be pitied!

F 22 [From Sophia Dorothea to Königsmarck]

[Wiesbaden], August 25th/September 4th {1692}.^[207]

I take so much pleasure in conversing with you that, so soon as I have a moment of liberty, I employ it to assure you of my affection. I wrote to you yesterday, but it seems to me that I did not sufficiently insist to you on the disquiet in which I am about what you tell me. It prevented me from sleeping all the night. I reviewed all my actions, and, the more I examine myself, the less I can guess what you can have against me. It is 507certain that you ought to be content with my conduct; it is ruled by my affection, and this is sufficient. I entreat you once more to let me know as soon as you are able what it can be. It will be very easy for me to justify myself, since I have never thought of anything but pleasing you, and I will with pleasure take all the most horrid oaths to you as to my innocence; but I urgently ask of you to inform me who are they that tell you such calumnies. No doubt they have their reasons for making a quarrel between us, and according to all appearances they will not stop there. Be persuaded, I entreat you, that I am incapable of doing anything that could displease you. My behaviour has shown you this up to the present time, and I will do even more in the same way in the future. I am in despair not to be able to make you perceive as much as I should like to do my affection for you. The opportunities are wanting to me, but not the will; and I shall not be happy until I have made the whole earth see that for me you take the place of the grandeurs and pleasures of the world and of all its charms. The only one which I desire is that of possessing your heart; I demand no other, and this one happiness will always make me indifferent to all others. I am convinced that if I were at Han[over], I should be told plenty of stories against you; but I trust you too much to listen easily to what I might be told. Do you act in the same way, and believe firmly that nothing is capable of making me change! I am in mortal trouble. They say that an engagement was fought a short time since, and I do not yet know the rights of it. I tremble lest you should expose yourself without need, and that some accident should have befallen you. Take care of yourself, I entreat you, if there remains in you any affection [for] me. What would become of me if I were to learn that you were wounded? I think I should die of it.

508

F 32 [From Königsmarck to Sophia Dorothea]

[September] 2nd {1692}.

You make me [wish to] die when you pay me compliments. Since you do not reply to me on all the points of my letters, I have begged you not to write at all, and simply to let me know through Fräulein von dem Knesebeck the state of your health. I repeat it again here, and entreat you not to do it if it causes you the slightest fatigue. It is sufficient that you should write me two words, so that I may see that divine handwriting which is able to banish all the fears that I imagine to myself. The resolution which I must take, according to the opinion of all my friends, exposes me to the risk that, when I shall have taken my leave, I shall set all the world arguing about it; and perhaps I might be told through a third party that it is desired that I should retire. What will then become of me? Believe me that it is necessary to think of everything before taking a fixed resolution. The matter is of too great importance to me. The Duke of Hanover will find a thousand people like Königsmarck, but I trust that the Hereditary Princess will never find anyone who is so faithful and who loves her with more ardour than myself. My passion is so beyond bounds as to rise to madness. Alas! my dearest, you deserve [lovers] far better than Königsmarck. I am quite convinced that if they had given you an admirer according to your deserts, I should not have had the honour of being your Slave; but if some one with an extraordinary affection and an unequalled constancy was to have been your admirer, it is right and just that this should be myself; for I would dispute the place not with Mortals, but with the Gods themselves, 509and I defy them to create anyone to equal me. What an effect vows have when one is in the condition in which you are; never have I been more satisfied with you, never did I believe you more implicitly, than at present. You will, then, always love me, I may rest assured of it, for you swear to me that, so long as I shall love you, you will do the same. I shall love you all my life, and you vow the same thing to me; what more can I desire?—all my wishes are fulfilled, I am the happiest man in the world; recover your health, and I can be at the height of my bliss. I am not pleased to find that you prefer writing to me to taking your rest; I entreat you, think first of taking your rest, and then of your lover. How angry I am with your heart for its bad taste, to leave you in order to come to me; it does not know the difference; leave that to mine, one ought not to change for the worse, but for the better. Your account makes me tremble, and I fear lest the fever [and] the other accident tire you out so much that you will not be able to recover as quickly [as you ought]. I do not know, my heart tells me you are out of danger; I am no longer so much disquieted as I was at the beginning. I take that for a very good sign; at least I hope it is, and I ardently wish that it may be so; I hope that my prayers are granted, and that at the present moment you are better. The resolution that you have taken, to take what I had left you, is great; I avow to you that, if I had known it beforehand, it would have made me tremble; but, since everything has gone off well, I am at rest; and there is only the trouble of being the cause of so much more suffering on your part, and, if you found yourself still worse, I should be inconsolable. I am obliged to confess that the marks of your affection greatly surpass mine at present; nothing could be so touching as what you write to me ... of falling ill. I shall not find an 510opportunity of enabling you to see how great an affection I have for you. Is it possible that the Duke of Hanover is stupid enough to have refused you the appointment? I would rather put twenty field-marshals to death than once refuse such a favour to the Hereditary Princess. Although the Hereditary Prince does not return so soon and in response to the orders which it was made known had been sent, we are in any case already in the month of September, and the campaign will soon be at an end. Reflect on that! Adieu!

F 23 [From Sophia Dorothea to Königsmarck]

[Wiesbaden], September 2nd/12th {1692}.

It was so late when I wrote to you that I could not reply to all that you told me. I reread your letter several times; it is a mixture of love and raillery which I find very pleasing; and it seems to me, whatever countenance you may assume, that my journey does not find favour with you. Yet you are altogether as wrong as possible; for, according to all appearances, I shall go away again from this place without having seen any reasonable person, and I desire it with all my heart. I do not think of going to Frankfort fair, and I shall not say a word to help to bring this about. It seems to me that this ought to convince you that I am not in quest of society, and that I am incapable of thinking of pleasures when I do not see you. I hope to leave this place in a fortnight. The Peda[gogue] has to-day taken this resolution. I return with her to join the Grondeur; and I shall proceed to Han[over] a little before the return of the Reformer. I cannot yet tell you anything positive about what concerns the Göhrde;^[208] I do not, however, 511think that I shall go there, for the season is too advanced for the Reformer to be able to be there, and I hope that, provided that nothing keeps you where you are,^[209] I shall soon be able to see you. I shall judge of your affection by your eagerness, but I entreat you to take your measures so well that I may see you in private on the first occasion. It would be impossible for me to bear seeing you in public, and my transport [of delight] would betray me. They say that the French could easily carry us off. This makes me wish very much to get away, for I should not at all like to be taken prisoner, and I wish to keep your conquest safe for you. I am delighted with your [present?],^[210] and I offer you all the thanks for it which you deserve. It took me by surprise and I did not expect it at all, which makes the thing all the more obliging. There is no sentinel in the world that you ought to fear, and the prisoner may reckon on the prison which will always be open to him and closed to all the rest of the world. As to this you may depend on me, and as to a love which will serve as a model; I wish to convince you of it, although you have some of it, and that I find no happiness or satisfaction except in loving you and in being loved. You seem to me so little certain of this truth that I am sensibly affected by it. Tell me what should be done so that you should be unable to doubt it any more; there is nothing that I 512would not joyfully do in order to make you see that for me you take the place of everything else, and that all my desires and my ambition are confined to pleasing you. If nothing but this is needed to render you happy, you are more so than any person in the world, for I do not desire to live but for you alone, and I renounce with pleasure the whole world, in order never to belong to anyone but yourself.

F 24 [From Sophia Dorothea to Königsmarck]

[Wiesbaden], September 13th/23rd {1692}.

Instead of the extreme pleasure which all your letters afford to me, that which I received this evening has pierced my heart. One could not think of anything that could hurt one more than what you write to me. I shall not repeat it; I believe that you will remember it still very well, and I would give everything in the world to be able to forget it. By what passage of my life can I have deserved the opinion which you show you have of me? If I thought to have given cause for it, I should wish to be dead; but, the more I examine myself, the more I find myself far removed from such sentiments, and, thanks be to God, I feel my heart as noble as it ought to be. I wish to say nothing further to you on this subject; I might lose my temper, and I very much hate harshness. But, to reply to the four points on which you continue to harp. I am very much deceived if I did not tell you that Sparr has been at L.,^[211] and, if I did not do so, it was certainly because I forgot to do 513so and because I did not think that he was worth the trouble of my remembering him. I can swear to you all the oaths you please that there is no reason besides this; moreover, I did not say two words to him [about] the joy which you reproach me for having felt at finding Guldenleu^[212] here. I shall not reply to you on the subject, for it is a ridiculous notion, and nothing in the world could be so ill-imagined with regard to the Fair. I assure you that I did not say a word in order to go there; but as I am quite sincere I am prepared to confess to you that I was not vexed about it; and, as to my new lover, you are mad to disquiet yourself about him; for he is far away from here, and according to all appearances I shall not see him; and [neither] his sisters nor anybody in the world will ever make me take any step against the affection which so fills my heart. I have already told you that I am convinced that he is not coming to Han[over]; but, if this should happen, provided that I am better pleased with you than I am this evening, I shall treat [him] with absolute rudeness rather than allow his visits. I am very foolish to give a reasonable explanation in reply to all your fancies—[to] you who are so far from reasonable as to anything that concerns me, and who have driven me to despair by your fine letter. It is true that you mean afterwards to repair your fault; but this is not sufficient, and I am not well pleased, for I desire your esteem, and you do not show that you have any for me. The Confidante yesterday received [a letter] from the beloved Ketler,^[213] who writes to her by order of the Landgrave^[214] 514to offer his compliments to Leonisse, since you wish to call her by that name, and to assure her that he will do what is in his power to see her here or at the Fair. I do not, however, think that this is possible, because we take our departure to-morrow, and one will only be there for a single day. I shall not write to you till I shall have arrived, and I shall give you a sincere and faithful account of all. I shall say nothing affectionate to you this evening, for you do not deserve it; I am afraid that I shall not have the same strength of mind to-morrow, and that I shall have forgotten my anger, for I am furiously fond of you, and, although I do not tell you about it, I nevertheless feel that I love you with a passion of which there never was the like.

F 25 [From Sophia Dorothea to Königsmarck]

Fra[nkfort], 14th/24th [September 1692].

I have been here during the last two hours. The Peda[gogue] alighted at the house of the P[rincess] of Tarente,^[215] where I saw nothing but silly faces. From there we went to the Fair, where I saw nobody of quality. The Marionette is here, and her sister-in-law. I shall not see them till to-morrow, with which I am well pleased, for I shall be able to take a rest, of which I have great 515need, not having closed an eye all the night. I spent half of it in writing to you, and the other in worrying myself about the fine passage in your letter. I beg you very particularly not to give me any further such subjects of annoyance, for I am very touchy on the subject in question. Except that wicked passage which I cannot forget and which spoils all, your letter is charming, and nothing is more delightful than all that you say to me. Put this matter to rights, if you wish to be on good terms with me, for it goes very near to my heart. Mine is so full of you that, although I have reason to complain of you, I cannot bring myself not to mention to you that yesterday evening I had to make a terribly violent effort in order to keep silence to you about my affection. Never did one feel so much of it, and never did one less deserve reproaches than in my case. You are the most unjust of mankind to have the slightest mistrust as to what concerns me. I am too veritably yours that you should have anything to fear. All my actions should convince you of it, for it is certain that my passion for you exceeds all bounds. I entreat you to be fully convinced of this truth, and that there is nothing in the world which I would not do to make you see that I am more yours than my own. I hope that I shall not see either the Land[grave] or anybody, and I wish it with my whole heart. If you find anything which does not please you in what I wrote to you yesterday, lay all the blame on the vexation which you caused to me. It was enough to make me cry, and all the charms of your letter could not induce me to forgive the offending passage. Rest tranquil as to my behaviour. It shall be divine, I promise you for myself and for the Rival.

516

F 26 [From Sophia Dorothea to Königsmarck]

[Ebsdorf,^[216] September 1692.]^[217]

In the name of God, take care of yourself! My life is united to yours. A thousand desperate thoughts come into my mind, and I am crushed with grief; I should find it difficult to speak to you of anything else. I have plenty of leisure for nursing my trouble, and it is with a real joy that I find myself in this solitude. I forgot yesterday to return you my thanks for what you tell me about la Boule. Nothing could be so polite; I consent, on this condition, that she becomes my rival, for I confess to you that I love a triumph, and that it is very much to my taste. Adieu, nothing is capable of making me change. I was born for loving you; you are my sole passion; I never had one before I knew you, and I shall die loving you more than anyone has ever loved.

F 27 [From Sophia Dorothea to Königsmarck]

[Ebsdorf,] Wednesday, the 24th [September 1692].

I ought to give you an account of my doings of yesterday. I was alone all day. Then arrived some one sent from the master of this place to pay his respects to the Peda[gogue]. He got into such difficulties in his speech that I could scarcely stop myself from laughing at it. He also made a speech to the Cœur Gauche, and then took his departure. Then there was a promenade on foot, and on our return there was supper, and I had a conversation with the Confidante. This is the only pleasure I have, for we always talk about you.

517

F 28 [From Königsmarck to Sophia Dorothea]

[Hanover, November 1692.]

Although I wrote to you yesterday evening, I cannot stop myself from telling you that I have spent the worst night in the world; I dreamt of you, but I beheld you faithless to me. I dreamt as follows: It seemed to me that I had requested you not to see a certain great man, and that, notwithstanding your promise, you had appointed him to pay you a visit so as to say good-bye to him. I was informed of it, and, not being able to endure this faithlessness, I pretended to have a letter from Madame your mother to hand to you. I entered your room abruptly, and saw the most horrible sight in the world: that great gentleman held you in his arms, and, what is worse, you were alone in your room. You pretended a little to be annoyed with your Adonis, telling him that he was impertinent. In my turn, I wished to withdraw, but you called out to me. I was delighted with this, because it gave me a chance of whispering into your ear that you were the most ungrateful of all ladies, and that this would be the last time that I should speak to you. In fact, I went to find out M. de Pude [Podewils] in order to beg him to send me to Hungary,^[218] which he did. I beg your pardon for this criminal dream; but I should think myself very much more criminal if I did not let you know of it. Do not think that I am inventing; no, by my God, it is a true tale. For the love of all that is dearest to you, take care to restore my peace of mind, and free me from my 518fear. I am afraid that this dream may be some melancholy presage, and something that bodes no good. It would be unjust that a tender affection should be requited by infidelities; I hope it may not be so; for why should you wish to desert a heart that adores you, and that swears to be faithful to you? If such vows can attach you solely to me, I protest to you before God, that never will I be unfaithful to you, and that I will love you all my life with the same passion that I do [at present]. When I shall have the honour of amusing you with an account of yesterday’s debauch, you will laugh a good deal. The Baroness^[219] [sic] distinguished herself on the occasion, and the big Swedish beard[s] made the best effect in the world; she was so much ... that her natural colour began to appear beneath, which produced the most diverting spectacle in the world. She asked me why I did not amuse myself; I answered that I had come to pay my court to M. [Bielke]^[220] and not to amuse myself. In leaving me she called me a traitor; whereupon I replied that I was not one yet, but might very possibly become one. M. le Duc played at ombre yesterday evening with her. That is the very Devil! I will conclude by asking you to prepare yourself to rescue me from the disquietude in which I am, and to believe me inviolably attached to you and to all those who have a regard for you. I embrace you from my very heart, and I kiss your portrait a million times. Farewell!

519

F 29 [From Königsmarck to Sophia Dorothea]

[Hanover, December 1692.]

Come here some Friday evening, and wait till the Elector^[221] comes here. If Prince Max cannot be got rid of, you can go back, and that will serve you as a pretext with the Duke of Celle and the Electoral Prince. Tell me if you agree with my notion; if you can do it, arrange so that I may see you, for, frankly, I cannot go on living in this way; for the love of me [and] of you arrange for me to see you and to embrace you, for without this satisfaction life is worth nothing to me.

F 30 [From Königsmarck to Sophia Dorothea]

[Hanover, December 1692.]

The joy of finding the Ref[ormer] departed was broken by the trouble of finding you ill; I hope, however, that it will not be of consequence; for otherwise I shall not be able to sleep all night because of it. I hope to embrace you to-morrow evening; I await the ordinary signal; and the bad weather shall not prevent me from tasting the delight of your charming kisses; unless indeed you give me other orders. I hope for the contrary, and I trust that your eagerness will respond to mine. If you do not go out to-morrow, this will suffice to assure you that the moments will seem like centuries to me, and that the times during which I am away from you are those which I pass to no purpose whatever; and that I am ready to come to-morrow to the well-known place. I await the signal and am your very obedient servant.

520

F 31 [From Königsmarck to Sophia Dorothea]

[Hanover, December 1692.]

One could not be better pleased with you than I am. Your obliging ways of yesterday, your very dear letter, in a word everything, charms me; I begin to revive, and yesterday is one of those days which I ought to mark in my book. In order to take full advantage of it, I beg that I may see you this evening; I shall await the signal with great impatience, for I die with desire to prove to you my joy—it is beyond all bounds, and cannot express itself. For the love of you, of myself, and of everything that is dear to you, continue in the same way; you will then be able to persuade me that I have nothing to fear, that I shall always be happy and contented—that is the pleasure of love, those are the charms of an attachment that is sincere and genuine. The avowal of the Grond[eur] further gives me much hope—seek to soften him, you will be able to do it if you try; but you must take pains about it, and choose your time well. Be withal convinced that, if Heaven destines me the joy of having you for my own, my ways will be quite different from what you have imagined to yourself, and I swear to you that I shall regulate them according to yours. Put faith in this avowal, for it is sincere, and springs from a soul without guile and without finesse; as the weather is fine, I hope to see you in the [falconry] [?].^[222] I hope to find you there loving and happy. Farewell till then; you will, I feel sure, say a little word to me, from which I can perceive that you grant my prayer.

521

F 33 [From Sophia Dorothea to Königsmarck]^[223]

[Hanover, December 1692 (?)]

Let [him] be at 8 o’clock in the evening near the door of the great hall, where the Pr[incess] is accustomed to play cards; he will be able to meet her there in safety, since nobody passes there, to-morrow being Sunday.

F 34 [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; 522I 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].ser[vant].

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.

523

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 524my 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.

525

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 526took 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 527I 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 528my 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 529rather 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 530attribute 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....

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 531two 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 532that 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.

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 533heart, 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 534fallen [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]

Atlenburg, the 13th [of September, 1693].^[237]

On the twelfth I did what I do on all other days: that is to say, drink, eat, and go the rounds; the same on the thirteenth. The Duke of Celle came to call on us. You see that I can keep my diaries without difficulty; I do not think they will annoy you at all, for nothing could be more innocent, and those from Hanover will be of the same sort, at least if my going to sup with ladies does not displease you. But I promise to leave this alone also, assuring you that it is the very slightest proof I can offer you, inasmuch as I shall be pleased to do 535without it, even if you send no orders to stop it. Would to God I could show you by my conduct, that all my thoughts, all my acts are only done for you; but, alas! you are so unjust that you refuse to perceive this. I hate my bad fortune, and it is this which one day will ruin me with you. I have received the letter No. 3 dated the 5th, within eight days after that marked 4; I cannot understand whence arises this delay; but I well know that it is dangerous that the letter should be so long on its way. I am not satisfied with you, and the unkind opinion you have of me as if I neglected you hurts me very much; I think only of you night and day; no other thought enters my mind; and yet, I am [supposed to] forget you, to neglect you. I am inconstant—do I really deserve these designations; be you the judge yourself! Can you accuse me of no longer loving you? Is it possible that it is Leonisse who believes this and reproaches me with it! Great God! how full of injustice you are, and how great a wrong you do me! I love you to madness; I adore you beyond compare; my love surpasses all others—and yet you have doubts of all this; your heart does not speak in my favour. I have reason for complaining of it—that barbarous heart, which ought to plead for me, instead of being my accuser. I have known it kind to me; but little by little all that affection has vanished. Will not your heart recover itself? reproach it on my part; my heart promises an eternal attachment, it swears constancy to you, and, provided that you deign to think of it once in every twenty-four hours, it is content. Does it deserve to be remembered by you? I think it does, but it is for you to judge the case. If I am ever unfortunate enough to love you no longer (which is an impossibility), your wish will be no punishment to me [??], for I swear to you that I shall never seek any other faithful attachment, 536and, though the present one is dearer to me than my life, I should never wish for another. Remember what a certain Spaniard said: ‘I do not wish to make myself common’—I call it to make myself common if I were to quit the most perfect object of the universe for some other, who could never compare herself as to ....

F 19 [From Königsmarck to Sophia Dorothea]

The 14th [of September, 1693. From the Camp].

Most assuredly, without yours of the 12th the Beating of my Heart, of which 127 had been the cause, would have made an end of me, but, most fortunately for me, I received it at the time when my heart was about to burst; and, as I see from it that the news is quite false, I also begin to recover myself. He told me, as quite certain, that your fever had seized you again. Assuredly I should not, with this disquiet, have been able to pass the night alive; and now while I am writing to you I still have the Queen of Hungary Water^[238] on my nose. I think, however, that this will pass away; but I feel very much upset and exhausted; if this does not go away in the night, I shall bleed myself to prevent any evil consequences that might overtake me. M. de Sporck^[239] will, according to all appearances, die before 537the day is over; I have 3 Captains, 5 Lieutenants and 4 Ensigns sick to death, more than 300 foot-soldiers and dragoons, of our troops only, are quite down; it is an infected air, the healthiest sicken in it; all the same, I hope not to fall sick, knowing you to be out of the wood. You will have seen from my letter dated the 12th how well satisfied I am with you; do not be offended that I begged you to [write] me two words with your own hand; I knew that you were a little better; otherwise I should not have done it; but, my best beloved heart, you have done too much, for you have written me two entire pages; I beg you very particularly not to do this any more, nor until you are quite well again. The siege of Charleroi^[240] will prevent the Electoral Prince from being here so soon; great God, may this siege deliver us from troublesome people! It is said for certain that things are settling down; but the orders that are given for taking care of the sick make me tremble with fear that we shall not so soon quit this post. I am agitated by the same despair as you are, to have to pass my life with people for whom I feel an aversion, and to be allowed to pass so little time with her whom I adore. However, you are more to be pitied, for I can very often get free of it, and you not, besides the embraces which you are obliged to undergo. It seems to me that, if I had to suffer the same sort of thing, I could not prevent myself from being sick every time it should happen to me. Ah, how horrible to caress what one hates mortally; I firmly believe that purgatory does not inflict so many torments as do caresses of that sort. If it is true that the Elector of Hanover is not going to 308, I might well come there; but we cannot take our measures before 538it is known what will become of the Electoral Prince. The Duchess of Hanover^[241] will not arrive till towards the end of next month; and then the Electoral Prince will have returned, and the hunting will be over. May God only grant that we begin it soon, and that you are able to put in an appearance. I pity you for having grown so thin; but (with your permission) I find the question which you put to me ridiculous and absurd. If I loved nothing in you but your beauty I would forgive it you; but you are convinced that it is not only this which I adore—it is your merits, your [sweet] temper.^[242] I confess to you that to see you beautiful charms the eyes; but I protest to you that, were you ugly like Madame Kopstein,^[243] I should not love you a whit the less. Tired of you? Ah, is it possible to ask such a question as this of a lover who loves you dearly! No, no, Leonisse, you are not convinced of my sincere affection. What must I do to bring the conviction of it home to you? I shall never be at rest, till I know that you are quite convinced of it. Do you believe that an affection like mine arose out of anything so transitory as beauty? Although you have much of it, and more than any one else of your sex, I can tell you that it is not your beauty which has put me into the condition in which I am. It is true that the beauty which you possess set me on fire, and that without it I should perhaps not have been as happy as I am; but that which has made me as I am is your esprit, your sincerity, your way of living, and, finally, it is your soul, so high-bred and so well-balanced, which produces in you 539a sweetness beyond compare, an unequalled generosity, with clemency beyond all imagination. It is these virtues which have placed me in the dear slavery in which I find myself at this moment, and in which I also mean to die. In truth, Leonisse, you trouble me greatly with your questions; you fear that I shall become unfaithful to the greatest Beauty of the age, and to virtue itself, for some unfledged princesses^[244] without any other merit but that of having been to Paris. Once more, I see only too well that you are not well convinced of my love; I hope that in the end I shall give you so many signs of it that you will no longer be able to doubt it. To take the proper steps it is necessary that we should speak to each other; we have time up to the end of the coming month [?], and before this time we need not fear the return of the Electoral Prince, and of the Duchess. You still attack [me about] princesses [?]. Do you perhaps think that I am so fond as you are yourself of novelty, of change, and of people who come from Paris? You are quite mistaken: I wear my chains with very great pleasure, and would not change them for the Kingdom of the Great Mogul. The letter of the Lieutenant-Colonel is very silly, but the person is reasonable enough; she has inspired a strong affection in a very brave man, of high rank, in the Low Countries, whose name is the Marquis of Spinosa.^[245] He is one of the fine gentlemen [galans] of that country. But since I have sent you a very silly letter, I shall make up for it by one that is very well written; if it were not written out of a book, we 540ought to admire it particularly as coming from this person; but let me tell you that she found it word for word in a book. However, it must be allowed that it is phrased very suitably. I beg you to send it back to me; I send it you because I think it will amuse you. Adieu.

F 4 [From Königsmarck to Sophia Dorothea]

Thursday {1693}.

I needed your letter to sustain me in the despair which had fallen upon me. This is what comes of acting openly, and if you had not spoken to me of ... I believe that I could not have held out a day longer. However, I controlled myself excellently; and I wished in the first instance to know what you would say to me; so I did not give way to my anger. Let me tell you then that I was the day before yesterday at Linde.^[246] Mme. la Comtesse was greatly astonished that I did not play with you. I said to her that this required permission; she said, Mme. Léonisse made the Elector ask me; and he replied positively that she might summon her players. Yesterday, before receiving your letter, I was told by Oberg who had seen M. Weyhe at Linde, that his Highness had said it to yourself.^[247] Prince Ernest 541Augustus said to me in these words, that the Elector had said to you, ‘You are bored, Madam; you ought to summon your players.’ It would have depended on yourself, if he had spoken to you in this way. But, Madam, I was greatly relieved when I read your letter, in which you write to me about this matter. I have drawn my moral, which is never begin to fly into a passion about vapours. But, my divine creature, could you not [contrive to] let [me] come, in order that I might have the joy of gazing upon you, and that my eyes and my heart might learn from yours how I stand with them, and whether your love is such as you wrote to me. Your letter of yesterday is charming; it touched me so that I feel more on fire than ever. You write that you see nobody; nothing could be more obliging; but you see the Reformer all the more; which makes me fear that you will accustom yourself little by little to his mediocre caresses, and he will kiss you so often that I die with trouble only to think of it. For the love of yourself, do not accustom yourself to it; always remember the way in which he treats you—you who deserve all proper, obliging and respectful ways. But I see the defects of another man, and I do not see that it is in this that I am the most criminal. You have told me yourself that the Re[former] ... [at times?] was not so unpleasant in his ways as myself. I die to think of it. How unfortunate I am to love you so tenderly, and that this excessive passion makes me so odious. Think no more of the past, I beseech you. Adieu, adieu, alas, adieu!

542

F 5 [From Königsmarck to Sophia Dorothea]

[1693.]

I am much to be pitied, and my ill-fortune persecutes me too much for me to be able to bear it any longer. Yesterday’s letters give us no hope that the Ref[ormer] may take his departure; and until he has gone I cannot and ought not to see you. What a cruel destiny! oh, insupportable misfortune! Can I still breathe after such heavy blows; life becomes insupportable to me; I cannot, nor ought I to, remain any longer in the world, for what can I do in it without seeing you! I have to-day had two unfortunate experiences, of which at present the second seems to me the most cruel, but the first may prove the most terrible. I have fallen out with our old bonhomme, and with Gor too; and, as he told you, if I were to repeat it to those with whom his Highness is displeased, they would be much astonished. Apart from my passion [for you], I know what course I have to take; but, my dear, as I have promised you to do nothing without your consent, I wish to let you know about it beforehand. My intention is to write to him, and to say to him that I was very much annoyed that duty had involved me in a dispute with the person in the world whom I honour most; but, as I had carefully taken note of the words he addressed to me, I had observed at the time that he said [that] if I repeated [it] to all those whom our master holds in contempt, there would be many who would be undeceived; I thought that your Excellency would not be offended, if I asked you to be good enough to inform me privately, whether I am unfortunate enough to have displeased Monseigneur the Elector—in order that I might 543shape my course accordingly. For hitherto I had served him from affection only, and without any interested motive; and, if I was unfortunate enough to have incurred his disfavour, it would be impossible for me to serve him any longer.^[248] This was, in substance, what I wished to say to him, being aware of your opinion. I can assure you that I positively perceived that his rage directed itself against me. I am surprised at my own patience, and I cannot understand how I managed to control myself, for I had it very often on the tip of my tongue to say to him what I intend to write to him. The second misfortune troubles me a great deal more. I saw your windows open; the Ref[ormer] came out of your dressing-room; without [my] seeing you there, though I raised my voice tolerably high, and passed and repassed; but there was nothing—one could not see a living soul there. I suppose that, as it was late, you were already in the room of the Romaine. I should be inconsolable, if I had not the hope of seeing you this evening at 6 o’clock. To what am I reduced! I count it the greatest good fortune in the world to see you a thousand feet off. In good truth, it will be a great consolation to me if I can have this pleasure. That of writing to you is very dear to me, and I would not give it up for a Kingdom. I fear that my Diabolical destiny will deprive me of it; this would be my finishing stroke. I conjure you, take your measures so well that we may not miss this joy. You know, I hope, through your own self that one would not be able to live without this. Alas! why am I not Reden or Hortense^[249]; so long as you are there, it matters 544not if you were to hate me. I shall, however, have the joy of seeing her whom I adore; it is our love which takes the one far away from the other; without my love, I should be wherever you are; but because I love you I am in bad repute, I am disregarded, I am forgotten. But never mind; let them spit in my face, I will not take offence at it.

F 13 [From Königsmarck to Sophia Dorothea]

[Hanover, latter part of 1693].^[250]

In fear of not being able to speak to you, I take the liberty of expressing to you my concern at the misfortune which has happened to you. God knows that my heart forewarned me of it; but my companion was never willing to wait, although I begged him to do so; but, by way of climax to my ill luck, I have to wait till my intimate friend has had the pleasure with his troublesome companion of an interview with you; it seems to me that I have great reason to complain of the Gods, as they are unjust enough to deprive me of all means of being serviceable to you, while at the same time they furnish such means to those from whom I have most to fear. Since this accident strange things have come into my head, and I am foolish enough to believe that the accident which happened yesterday is a prognostic of my ill luck, and that this is the same man who will be the cause of all these troubles to me. The result 545will be that I shall have him watched as closely as possible while I am away, and, if I hear the slightest thing, believe me as a man of honour that I will never see you again, and that I would rather seek out the innermost parts of Lapland than appear before those eyes which [once] enchanted me. I detest my companion, for without this I should have had the pleasure of serving you, instead of my seeing this joy in the breast of a man whom I abhor, and who is impertinent enough to come and tell me of it himself, informing me of the condition in which you were, your déshabillement, without a cap, your hair loose over your incomparable bosom. O God, I am too furious to write any more.

F 14 [From Königsmarck to Sophia Dorothea]

[Hanover, latter part of 1693.]

While I was reflecting on the miserable state in which I found myself they brought me your letter, which I had little expected. My joy was so great that I forgot my sufferings, throwing myself on the letter as if nothing were wanting to me. You have done everything that I wished to see you do; it therefore only remains for me to thank you for your kindness, and to give you every assurance of my fidelity:

Io ti saro fedele,

Ne mai ti tradiro.

Se ben mi sei crudel,

Sempre t’adorero.

If you do not believe me, I am ready to abandon Mother, Kinsfolk, Friends, Possessions and Country, the better to convince you of it; and it will only depend on you 546whether I shall take the journey of which you are well aware. My unhappy condition furnishes me with a good excuse; I shall be able to pretend illness for a long time. If you agree with me, I beg you to let me know; for I will take my measures accordingly; it is the greatest proof [of my affection] which I can offer you at present; so pray accept it, and thus make me happy; for the satisfaction of seeing you far surpasses the ambition which I have of making my fortune. I could not find any greater [good fortune], and that of possessing you is so dear to me that I do not any longer meditate on any of the others. By your letter you have so purified my heart that there no longer remains in it the slightest suspicion of jealousy; the eagerness which you show to know the state of my health sufficiently convinces me that you love me. To meet your wish, I will tell you that I suffer extremely; yet the pain of not seeing you greatly exceeds that of my fall. I expect to be better in four days; but if you accept my proposition, I shall keep my room for ten days longer. This will not prevent me, so soon as I shall be able to walk, from being able to embrace you in the well-known locality; to have news of you, I believe that the safest way is for one of my people (in whom I am able to place confidence)....

F 15 [From Königsmarck to Sophia Dorothea]

[Hanover, latter part of 1693.]

Anyone but myself would put you to the proof, to see whether your love will carry you so far as to come to me; but, as for me, I love you too much to be able to expose you to this risk, and your offer is sufficient for me. However, in order not to lose the occasion of seeing 547you (since I have so little time for remaining with you) I will come to you this evening, if you consent; and I shall wait to hear from you the hour of the rendez-vous. If you think it well that I should appear at court, I will do so, but not otherwise. The joy of seeing you again makes me forget all the trouble that my illness has brought upon me; for the rest, I am well enough pleased with you; I cannot, however, forget how little opposition you have to offer on the subject of my journey, having a good excuse for dissuading me from it; I do not know at what judgment to arrive on the subject.^[251] Only, may God grant that this absence may not prove of deadly import to me! You accuse me of not loving you enough; how can you be so unjust, but I will pass over this point without reply, knowing well that you are too fully convinced of my love, which is the purest that ever existed, and which will last so long as I live. I have often protested this to you in prose; permit me on the present occasion to do it in verse:

While breath within my heart remains, Beloved is votre nom by me; So long as blood runs in my veins, It shall retain the mark of thee; And with the current of my days, Love shall remain with me always.

At 6 o’clock my man shall be in front of the room of the bonne, bonne amie.^[252]

548

F 20 [From Königsmarck to Sophia Dorothea]

[Hanover, latter part of 1693.]^[253]

I perceive the pleasure that I had taken in embracing you vanishes entirely since the Troublesome One has appeared so suddenly. I confess to you that this countenance displeased me very much so soon as I perceived it; a thunderclap could not have surprised me more. But it is fated that there should always be disagreeable faces to prevent a tender meeting like that which all appearances allowed us to think ours was to be. Yes, my idea of it was so full of joy that I could not sleep all the night; but alas! all is vanished, and I have to pass a second night without sleeping, and with grief instead of the joy with which the first filled me; it is certain that, unless you are so kind as to console me, I shall bathe in my tears. Console me then, divine beauty, and comfort a man who is dying for you, and who is so set upon your charms that his head turns:

For a toy [?] of charming beauty

Such flame me doth consume,

That to love her is reason and duty,

Till I am laid in my tomb.

Such is my maxim, and you shall see me carry it out exactly; my greatest satisfaction shall be to prove to you that only death is alone capable of extinguishing my love. But, for the love of God, think of the motto, ‘Nothing impure inflames me’;^[254] adieu!

549

F 21 [From Königsmarck to Sophia Dorothea]

[Hanover, latter part of 1693] 6 o’clock.

I cannot go away from here without thanking you for having rescued me from such a difficulty. Surely I was a lost man without yesterday evening’s conversation. I go away as happy as a man can do who leaves behind what he adores; but what consoles me is that I am well assured of your friendship, and that my absence does me no harm; my soul is so at ease that I am quite a different man from what I was before. I beg of you, no tête-à-têtes—not with anybody, in particular with M. R.^[255] I shall know everything, for I have good friends here whom you do not in the least suspect. Adieu, Bella dea, think of me as much as I think of you. I kiss your knees a thousand times, and am eternally your slave.

550

APPENDIX C NOTE ON THE RELIGIOUS SITUATION IN SCOTLAND, AS IT AFFECTED THE HANOVERIAN SUCCESSION

The Church of Scotland was, in the main, well affected to the Union and the consequences which it entailed as regards the Succession. But the friends of the House of Hanover had to guard against two distinct sources of weakness within the Establishment itself.

(I) Episcopacy in Scotland had never been more than a compromise, even in the districts where it had not been violently opposed. The best instance of this is Aberdeenshire, where protests against the government of Charles II are late in date and are confined to verbal expressions of sympathy with the persecuted Presbyterians. But the Records of the Exercise [Presbytery] of Alford (New Spalding Club, 1897), dealing with the period 1662-1688, show clearly enough that the episcopal function was ordination, and that the government and, in many respects, the public worship of the Church was Presbyterian. The effect of this was that, at the Revolution, Episcopal clergymen were permitted to remain in their parishes on condition of their taking the oath to William and Mary, although they were forbidden to take part in Presbyteries, Synods, or Assemblies. The tendency was for such men to conform to Presbytery, but they formed a distinct ‘left wing.’ They were most numerous in the north-east, and they were well represented in the Universities. Both the Universities of 551Aberdeen, for example, were Jacobite in sympathy. The result was that many ministers shared in, and urged their people to join, the ’15. They were deposed in 1716, and the Universities were ‘purged’ by the Commission of 1717.

(2) A section of the more robust Presbyterians in the Church sympathised with their brethren who had declined to accept the Revolution Settlement, and their feeling was accentuated by a gross breach of faith on the part of the British Parliament—the passing of the Patronage Act of 1712, which disturbed the Church for more than a century and a half. So strong was this tendency that, as late as 1745, the Provincial Synod of Moray considered it necessary to inform George II that ‘with pleasure we reflect that very few of the people who hold communion with us have joined those enemies of your Majesty’s crown and government.’ (Allardyce, Jacobite Papers.)

Episcopalian Jacobitism within the Church practically disappears in 1716, and the clergy, as represented in ecclesiastical and academic records, were devotedly loyal to George I and II, from that date.

The Episcopalians, the largest section of Protestant Dissenters, were, almost without exception, High Tories. They had suffered for refusing the oath to William and Mary, and had undergone some trifling inconveniences as the defeated and unpopular party. The rising of 1715 was, therefore, very largely supported by Episcopalians, who found themselves ranged along with extreme Presbyterians and Roman Catholics. The religious aspect of the ’15 and the ’45 has never been satisfactorily examined. Mr. Blaikie said, not long since, that the ‘45 was much more Presbyterian than is commonly imagined. I hope he will work out the subject.

R. S. Rait.

553