The Georgian Princesses

John van der Kiste, John Van der Kiste

• Publisher: The History Press
• Year: 2002
• Print ISBN: 9780750930512
• eBook ISBN: 9780752494913
• Topic: History
• Subtopic: Historical Biographies
• Index: History

A chronological account of the princesses and consort Queens of the Georgian era. From Sophia who died shortly before she would have become Queen as heir to Queen Anne, to Adelaide, consort to William IV whose failure to provide an heir ensured the succession passed to his niece Queen Victoria. During this period, an array of colourful personalities came and went - George I's ill-fated wife Sophia Dorothea of Celle who was imprisoned for adultery for over 30 years until her death; the equally tragic Caroline Matilda, Queen of Denmark and sister of George III who married an incipient schizophrenic, saw her lover put to death, was divorced and imprisoned, released after pressure from her brother, only to die of typhoid or scarlet fever aged just 23; George IV's notorious consort, his cousin Caroline of Brunswick, who danced naked on tables and was refused access to his coronation; and their daughter Charlotte, whose death in childbirth in 1817 necessitated the hasty marriages of several of her middle-aged uncles in a desperate race to provide a legal heir to the throne.

ONE

‘I should eclipse all my sisters’

SOPHIA, ELECTRESS OF HANOVER

‘I was born, they tell me, October 14, 1630,’ Princess Sophia of the Palatinate, as she was at birth, noted in her memoirs, ‘and being the twelfth child of the King my father, and of the Queen my mother, I can well believe that my birth caused them but little satisfaction. They were even puzzled to find a name and godparents for me, as all the kings and princes of consideration had already performed this office for the children that came before me.’¹ This problem was solved by her parents writing names on slips of paper and casting lots to make a choice, from which they settled on two ladies named Sophia as godmothers, the Countess of Hohenlohe and Princess Sophia Hedwig of Nassau Dietz.

It was an inauspicious start for the life of a princess born in exile of parents who were royal yet comparatively poor. Her father was Frederick V, formerly King of Bohemia and Elector Palatine of the Rhine, and her mother, his wife Elizabeth, daughter of King James I of England and VI of Scotland. Frederick had been called to the throne in 1619 by a country in rebellion against its Catholic Habsburg ruler, but he was defeated within a year at the battle of the White Mountain, deposed, and in recognition of his fleeting reign known thereafter as the ‘Winter King’. He, his Queen and children found refuge in the Dutch republic, and it was at the Wassenaer Court Palace, The Hague, that Sophia was born.

Nobody could have predicted that this Princess, born in such humble circumstances, would become mother of the next royal dynasty of England, and only narrowly fail to become Queen Regnant of England herself. Like her siblings she was brought up at a separate establishment for the first few years. As soon as they could be parted from her, when they were aged about three months, Queen Elizabeth sent all her babies to the Prinsenhof, Leiden, a nursery presided over by Frederick’s former governor, Monsieur von Pless, and his wife Anne, assisted by tutors and sub-governesses.

Frederick was a devoted father, and to the end of their days the elder children always recalled his affection for them and his keen interest in the progress of their education. A thirteenth child, Gustavus Adolphus, was born in January 1632, but by Christmas the surviving ten youngsters were fatherless when Frederick died suddenly of a fever, leaving a last wish that his widow should devote herself to the re-establishment of their family in the Holy Roman Empire.

All the children were expected to learn the living languages of French, German, English and Dutch, as well as Latin and Greek, theology, history, mathematics and law. Sophia disliked her masters and lessons, except for the daily hour given over to dancing. Nevertheless she was as bright as her brothers and sisters, learning ‘everything they seemed so unaccountably anxious for me to know as quickly as possible in order to have done with learning the sooner’.² Ample provision was made for walks and rests between lessons, as well as long sessions of prayer and Bible reading. At an early age she could recite the Heidelberg Catechism by heart, though she admitted she did not understand a word.

Queen Elizabeth’s preoccupation with European diplomacy, as well as her keen interest in artistic and intellectual pursuits, made Sophia feel starved of affection in her formative years. In later life she looked back on her years at Leiden as tantamount to banishment, and felt that her mother had cared more for her dogs and monkeys than her children. As the youngest sister she was shy and lacked self-confidence, thinking herself too thin, pale and ugly, and destined to die young. An English visitor to the court tactlessly remarked to their mother one day on the good health and appearance of the fair-haired, angelic Gustavus Adolphus, comparing him with the plain, thin, less robust-looking Sophia, in her hearing, adding even more foolishly that she hoped the little girl did not understand English. Ironically the poor boy did not live to see his tenth birthday, while she remained sprightly into her early eighties. However, she was devoted to and fiercely protective of him, and she grieved almost as much as their mother when his years of suffering came to an end.

On his death Prinsenhof was closed down. During adolescence her brothers went to study at university or joined the armies of a foreign ruler, while she and her four sisters formed part of their mother’s court. What she lacked in confidence and prettiness she made up for with spirit and intelligence, appreciating that shrewdness and tact would go a long way for a princess without worldly goods. When the family decided to stage a performance of Corneille’s Medea, they felt that she was too young to be able to learn any of the parts. Without telling anyone, and after begging them to assign her one role, she memorized the whole play and performed her part, coached in her gestures by a professional actress.

Though in the estimation of all her daughters she remained a distant, even unfeeling mother to the last, Queen Elizabeth soon recognized the positive qualities of the youngest. When Sophia became of a marriageable age, she suggested a match between her and her cousin Charles Stuart, proclaimed King of the Scots after the execution of his father King Charles I and Cromwell’s declaration of an English republic in 1649. Sophia was the only one younger than Charles, though Queen Elizabeth briefly considered the next youngest daughter, Henrietta, as a possible Queen Consort of England instead. Seven years earlier Mary, Princess Royal of England, had come to the European mainland to be betrothed to Prince William of Orange, and Sophia ‘heard the English milords say to each other that, when grown up, I should eclipse all my sisters. This remark gave me a liking for the whole English nation.’³ During a visit to The Hague Charles paid her some attention as a potential bride, but spoilt his case when he expressed more interest in financial help from Lord Craven, whose fortune had long supported the family in exile, and tactlessly told her that she was ‘handsomer’ than his mistress, Lucy Walter.

After this sobering experience she decided to leave The Hague and settle in Heidelberg at the court of her eldest brother Charles Louis, now Elector Palatine. He was an outspoken ruler who had caused some consternation among the family as well as incurring the undying wrath of his uncle in England King Charles I for praising the Puritans as ‘the children of truth and innocency’, despite the fact that his brother Rupert, nicknamed ‘Robert le Diable’ for his bravery on the battlefield, had a reputation as one of the most loyal and dashing royalist commanders in the English Civil War. Their mother did not welcome Sophia’s departure but knew there was nothing she could do to prevent it, especially as the recently married Elector was now head of the family. Her main objection, that this would spoil any chance of an English marriage – for which Queen Elizabeth had not given up hope, even though Sophia had firmly ruled Charles out – came to nothing as it was pointed out that any necessary negotiations could be carried out from Heidelberg just as well. However, Sophia knew she would probably have a better chance of finding a prospective husband at her brother’s court, and without her mother around, she would have more choice in the matter.

Though Sophia had always got on well with her brother, she soon found that Heidelberg was not the happy home she had hoped for. An industrious young woman who relished mental and physical activity, she took a keen interest in his rebuilding and refurbishing the electoral palaces and gardens, meeting men from the university for intellectual discussions, and visitors who came to the court to see plays and dances, as well as the chance to accompany the Elector and Electress Charlotte on official and private journeys within the Empire. When left to her own devices she was never at a loss for anything to do, as she could keep herself amused with reading, needlework, singing lessons, or long walks which she preferred to riding and playing cards. However, she soon found that family visits gave rise to unpleasantness and quarrels.

The Elector’s marriage was not turning out well, and he fell in love with one of his wife’s maids of honour, Louise von Degenfeld. Charlotte had a suspicious nature and an uncertain temper which made Sophia treat her with caution. She tried to get on well with Charlotte but found they had nothing in common. Charlotte, a fine horsewoman, loved gambling, fine clothes, and talking about herself. Sophia shared none of these interests, found her sister-in-law’s self-absorption a bore, and was aghast when she admitted in a soul-baring mood that she had never wanted to marry Charles Louis and had only done so at her mother’s bidding; she would sooner have had her pick of several admiring young princes rather than ‘this jealous old man’ (who was only ten years older than she). When Charles Louis eventually tired of his bitter, mercurial wife and asked for a divorce in order to marry Louise morganatically, an idea which he was persuaded to abandon, Charlotte was furious, and made spiteful insinuations about an incestuous relationship between her husband and Sophia.

The latter knew that the only way out from this was either joining a convent, as two of her elder sisters had done, or marrying in order to obtain her own independent establishment. Too lively to consider life in a nunnery, she applied herself carefully to the prospect of matrimony. At first pride prevented her from considering marriage with a bridegroom who was not a ruling prince, but at length she allowed negotiations to take place for betrothal to Adolphus John of Zweibrücken, Regent for the German duchy on behalf of his brother, King Charles X of Sweden. The Regent took it for granted that Sophia would accept him as a husband, but he and King Charles were too slow in drawing up the marriage contract, and soon there was a more suitable prospective suitor at Heidelberg.

Late in 1656 George William, Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg, accompanied by his younger brother Ernest Augustus, came to ask the Elector, as head of the family, for his youngest sister’s hand in marriage. Three years earlier they had visited Heidelberg, and Sophia had enjoyed playing duets with Ernest Augustus, while admiring his skill at dancing and his handsome looks, though marriage had not entered her mind. His inheritance, however, was far from dazzling, as his only likely prospects were to be the next Prince-Bishop of Osnabrück, a non-hereditary position. His elder brother George William, the prospective bridegroom, had been ruling Prince of the Duchy of Calenberg-Göttingen since 1648. The Duchy had been unofficially called Hanover since 1636, when the previous Duke had demolished the old Calenberg Schloss and moved his capital to Hanover. Sophia and her brother agreed that this would be a satisfactory match; if it was not one to be embraced with enthusiasm it would be preferable to her being left on the shelf. At the age of twenty-six there was little time to lose. The marriage contract was soon signed, and the brothers continued on their way to Venice.

Once he had arrived there for a final round of bachelor revels, George William decided that he was not ready to consider closing the door on the freedom of a single man. This, Sophia understood, was purely because he had ‘attached himself to the first courtesan he met, a Greek woman who had no other claim to beauty except the clothes she wore’, and she ‘put him in a frame of mind most unsuitable for marriage’.⁴ Nevertheless the delicate matter of extricating himself from such a commitment without tarnishing the honour of his family remained. A simple process of fraternal barter was decided upon, with Ernest Augustus taking his place as bridegroom. In order to placate the Princess and her brother, a convention was entered into and signed by both brothers, by which George William agreed he would not marry, so that Ernest Augustus would be more likely to inherit either the Duchy of Calenberg-Göttingen or that of Lüneberg-Grubenhagen (or Celle for short), in which the family also had an interest. The Hanoverian envoy was anxious to point out that as there were two more brothers, one married but without issue and one bachelor who was thought incapable of producing children, Ernest Augustus would probably inherit both duchies in due course.

While it seemed hardly dignified for her matrimonial future to be decided upon like a game of chess, Sophia was prepared to accept this solution, telling her brother as if to save face that a good establishment was all she cared about. If it could be provided by the younger man, it would be no hardship for her to give up one brother for another, and she would be happy to do anything considered advantageous to her interest. She was given to understand, or managed to convince herself, that George William had contracted venereal disease in Venice and was therefore hardly fit to marry, while Charles Louis gallantly told her that he had always thought Ernest Augustus the better man.

The wedding ceremony was fixed for 30 September 1658 at Heidelberg. Given away by her brother Charles Louis, the bride went to the altar in a dress of white silvery brocade, and a large crown studded with the family diamonds on her head. Her train was carried by four maids of honour, and twenty-four noblemen marched before the bridal couple carrying lighted torches bedecked with ribbons matching the colours of their coats of arms, blue and white for the bride, red and gold for the groom. Cannon fired as Sophia and Ernest Augustus were pronounced husband and wife, then they took their seats on canopied thrones opposite each other. A succession of Te Deums followed, and the bride then formally renounced any claim to the Palatinate, a tradition observed by all Princesses of the house on marriage.

The journey from Heidelberg to their home at Hanover was one long triumphant procession, with Brunswick Dukes and their wives coming to pay their respects at every stop. As they reached the gates of Hanover the four ducal brothers, followed by their large retinues, came out to greet the bride and joined her in her carriage. They entered the city to the sound of cannon fire, and next to join in the personal welcome was Sophia’s mother-in-law the Dowager Duchess of Calenberg.

In the excitement of her marriage, she did not appreciate, and indeed could not foresee, the impact of an event in which the expatriate English community, as well as her mother, had rejoiced at the beginning of September. Cromwell, who had overthrown their kinsman King Charles I and sent him to the scaffold eleven years earlier, was dead. England’s shortlived republican experiment was about to end.

With admirable common sense, Sophia admitted to herself that she did not love the man to whom she was betrothed, but she found him ‘amiable’ and was determined to be a good wife. For his part he made every effort to be the best of husbands, at least for the first two or three years of marriage. Although he was unable to resist temptation, or more precisely other women, and although she was naturally hurt by his infidelity, she steeled herself to make the best of a bad job. Fortunate was the wife whose husband had eyes for her and her alone.

In personality and interests they were well matched. Less intellectual, Ernest Augustus did not share her passion for theology and philosophy, but he was as devoted as she was to music and opera. They both also enjoyed decorating their homes and landscaping the gardens. Sophia was anxious that she might be unable to have children, but her fears proved unfounded. By the end of 1659 she knew that she was expecting a child. Her husband and his brother planned to go to Italy early the next year, and she and her niece ‘Liselotte’ (Elizabeth Charlotte), seven-year-old daughter of Charles Louis, visited Queen Elizabeth at The Hague, but only after she was sure that there was no danger of a miscarriage, and she took care to return home in good time not to risk a premature birth through jolting on the carriage journey. She was back home to welcome her husband and brother-in-law, and her husband’s presence helped her through the long, sometimes dangerous three-day labour which culminated in the birth on 28 May 1660 of their eldest son and heir George Louis.

While the Prince and Princess were giving grateful thanks for the safe arrival of this child, the cousin to whom Sophia might have been married instead was at the centre of another celebration. Three days earlier Charles Stuart, an exile for several years following the execution of his father, had arrived at Dover, and on his thirtieth birthday, 29 May, he triumphantly entered London, the capital city of a newly restored monarchy, as King Charles II. Fewer than half a dozen lives stood between the crown he wore and Sophia with her newly born son.

Early in the new year of 1661 Sophia, expecting her second child, arranged to visit her brother at Heidelberg, baby George and Liselotte going with her. It was an enjoyable stay, though she was anxious lest any of the family, particularly the Hesse-Cassel branch, might take offence if she paid her respects to Louise von Degenfeld and her son and daughter while Charlotte was still at court. However, she managed to visit them discreetly and she adored these illegitimate children, of which there were to be fourteen in all. Their mother, whom Charles Louis married morganatically and created Raugravine, died in 1677 and their father in 1680, after which Sophia took responsibility for them.

In October 1661 Sophia gave birth to a second son, Frederick Augustus. Two months later Ernest Augustus succeeded as ruling Prince-Bishop of Osnabrück and the family moved to the castle of Iburg. Husband and wife relished having a new palace to plan and build.

To her distress, the next four years saw a succession of miscarriages and stillborn children. She blamed herself for not taking enough care of herself early in pregnancy, but anxiety probably contributed to her nerves and perpetual worry. In April 1664, after recovering from a miscarriage of twins, she set out on a long visit to Italy, leaving the boys, ‘Görgen’ and ‘Gustchen’, in the care of her Oberhofmeisterin, or head of staff, Mme von Harling, at Heidelberg. Ernest Augustus had gone on ahead of her. Nearly a year of Italy, travels around the country with longer stays in Venice and Rome, gave her a welcome change of outlook, where she occupied her time with shopping, sightseeing, looking at art collections and meeting interesting people. However, she found that Italian customs, the way of life and their loose morals grated on her, and she regularly suffered from severe stomach upsets which were blamed on the rich food and unfamiliar climate.

Most of all she missed her boys, who were never far from her thoughts. She claimed she would sooner watch their antics than all the plays of the commedia dell’arte, and see their faces rather than all the works of art in Italy. Only the desire to be a dutiful wife kept her so long in a distant country; ‘...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• Sources and Acknowledgements
• Genealogical Tables
• Introduction
• 1 ‘I should eclipse all my sisters’
• 2 ‘Surrounded by people without pity or justice’
• 3 ‘Her will was the sole spring’
• 4 ‘Easy, civil, and not disconcerted’
• 5 ‘Without hope and open to every fear’
• 6 ‘How good and noble she really is’
• 7 ‘An injured wife – a depraved woman’
• 8 ‘So well has she conducted herself’
• Notes
• Bibliography