The Princess spent the month of July at Celle and Wienhausen with her parents. She did not once meet her lover, who remained at Hanover daily expecting orders to start on the campaign against the Danes. For, contrary to expectation, and despite the mediation of an Imperial envoy, who journeyed to Hanover on purpose to arrange matters, the Duke of Celle and the Elector of Hanover came to an open rupture with Denmark and Sweden over the fortifications of Ratzeburg, and Denmark sent troops to demolish them. This, of course, was tantamount to a declaration of war. It was an anxious time for the little court of Celle, for the Danes were far superior in numbers, and if successful at Ratzeburg they might follow up their advantage by entering the duchy and even seizing Celle itself.
It was especially unfortunate for the Princess, who, absorbed in her mad passion and desperately unhappy, had come to the conclusion that she could no longer live at the court of Hanover, or indeed anywhere apart from her lover. She therefore concentrated her energies on obtaining a grant of money from her father, a sum sufficient for her to maintain an establishment of her own. The plea for independence was reasonable enough, for she had been very unfairly treated in her marriage settlement; and at any other time the Duke, ignorant of the real reason for which she wanted the money, might have been disposed to listen, but now, with the expense of raising many troops and the possibility of defeat and ruin, he was quite unable to accede to her wishes. Without money things must e’en go on as before, for separate establishments were expensive, and flight was even more so, and Königsmarck, wealthy though he was, had none at this juncture. He was crippled with gambling debts, he had neglected his affairs, and the King of Sweden threatened to confiscate his estates. The lovers were in despair; everything fought against them; all around was war and rumour of war; while, to add to it all, Königsmarck was now to be sent away on a campaign against the Danes. Yet, as usual, their letters are filled alternately with ardent love and fierce jealousy; their love was not of a nature to give either of them any rest, even if things had gone smoothly. The proximity of Prince Max, despite the fact that he was the Princess’s brother-in-law, was sufficient to arouse Königsmarck’s suspicions (a curious comment on the morals of the time), and she, in her turn, was furiously jealous because he gave a farewell party to which the Countess Platen was invited. But the story of all this is told in the letters, which begin with the Princess’s arrival at Celle and close with her return to Hanover. The Princess sent Königsmarck a few lines to tell him that she had reached Celle (and a little poem unfortunately lost), to which he replied.
“After many days I received a letter from you. It gave me as much joy in reading it as a starving man would have in devouring a delicate morsel when he had not tasted food for days. It satisfied my craving a little, but I still hunger until I kiss you again. I don’t understand in what your father is hard, unless it be in the matter of your separate establishment. If that be so, I am surprised you should have broached the subject so soon, when you had only been home one night. I hope you will succeed, for your mother is on your side, and if your love be true you will work for it.... If you really wrote that song you ought to write some more, for it is very well done, and most kind to ‘Tercis’; he thanks you very much, and when certain fancies are out of his head, he will try to answer it. Though your mother has promised you two thousand crowns, I fear it will be very little good, but it is well to have her on your side—would to Heaven your father were the same! I hope I shall not offend if I implore you, in case your mother warns you against me, not to let her make the least impression on your mind. The officious attentions of Prince Max and of those of whom you do not write, as well as the conversation you had with him, displease me very much. You asked me if you might speak to him, and you did so without my consent. Why did you not tell me?...
“I am a little reassured, for Prince Max has just arrived. Tell me all about the foreigners who have been at Celle. Marshal Podevils asked me yesterday to come and see him to-day, as he had something to say. I went about eleven o’clock. He said that having been always one of my friends, he wished to warn me some one had spoken to him about us, saying: ‘What a row there will be if there should really be an intrigue between them!’ I answered: ‘Monsieur, since the day you warned me of the Elector’s suspicions I have not spoken to Madame la Princesse tête-à-tête’; and I promised him to be very discreet. He said he told the person who mentioned the matter that he would answer for me, and it was better not to speak about such things. He would not give the person’s name, but I think it is a friend of yours and mine, 110.[199] The Marshal firmly believes this gossip originates with La Platen. He is on your side and pities you much, and it is kind of him to have warned me. He declared that the Elector was no longer suspicious, which is a comfort.
“The companies of infantry are marching, but my regiment remains near Hanover for a few days. Whether the Danes advance or not, I shall still have to go with the army. I must start without seeing you unless you can arrange it otherwise. It depends on your mercy and tenderness to say whether I shall be able to kiss your feet, and if my kisses are dear and sweet to you, you will say ‘Yes’. Do not risk anything, for precautions must be taken. We are treading on dangerous ground; but when people love as we love they do not consider trifles, and if one holds the loved one, what matters the cost? Were I to see the scaffold before my eyes I would not swerve.”
“If my letters give you pleasure, yours are the only joy of my life. But I have had one to-day which both rejoices and grieves me. I am desolée to see you are not satisfied with me. If I did not mention I had spoken to Max it was because I had not then done so. I had no conversation with him until the day he left, and this is word for word what passed between us. I said: ‘Max, I thank you for the courtesy you showed me at Luisburg’. He replied: ‘It was only my duty, and I shall always be glad to serve you in all things’. I was rinsing my mouth. Bernstorff and my mother were at the other side of the room, quite near. I vow our conversation ended there. That same evening he took leave of my father and my mother (who was holding my hand). She kissed him, and desired me to do the same. I withdrew my hand abruptly, and went to the other side of the room, whence I asked him in a loud voice to convey my respects to the Electress. Later on, my mother begged my pardon, and I asked her never to suggest such a thing again, as it annoyed me greatly.
“What Marshal Podevils told you surprises me. I thought they no longer suspected anything between us. I am not accusing 110; all my suspicions fall on 103.[200] Had 110 done so, he would have been the falsest of men; for he swore on his honour to warn me of anything that might be said about me, and assured me he never heard anything. Try to find out from Marshal Podevils who told him this gossip, for it is of consequence if the Elector suspects anything afresh; if not, I count it of no importance. They are all very much pleased with my conduct here; the Electress spoke of me in the highest terms. I little expected you to tell me you are still going with the army—if you can. The blow stuns me. Why did you let me think you were going to stay when you all along meant the contrary? I am deeply hurt to think you are going far away from me, perhaps for long. Were you to stay, in three weeks’ time I should be able to see you again. How I long for it! How dull and tedious are the days! You are all my joy. La Confidente and I are always thinking how we can manage things for you to come here; but the difficulties make me feel hopeless. I long for you with passionate longing.
“Grand Dieu! if you go away without seeing me I shall die....”
“I advise you not to speak of me so frequently, and not answer the Prince unless you wish to write to him; in that case you might say that you asked me when I took leave of you why I was not going to Flanders, and I said I had first to raise money to pay my debts in Flanders. I think you can easily say this; it would do neither harm nor good, so please yourself, and do whatever may be most à propos. Pray be on good terms with Bernstorff; but beware! Do not let him see you are estranged from the Prince, and don’t let him guess that you wish the money to retire upon some day, and prevent your mother from making a fuss or saying anything about it. Mind you take my advice. You must not ignore the fact that everything Bernstorff knows La Platen knows; and business of this consequence is liable to be known by them simultaneously. Do not fret about my losses; they are not very great, and if I lose villages I gain a divinity, who is worth more to me than all the kingdoms put together. Your vows of constancy console me for all my troubles.”
“I witnessed yesterday a scene between my father and mother which gave me much food for thought. One could not imagine anything more unkind and bitter than the things they said to each other. Buccow[201] was the cause; my father defended him, which made my mother desperately angry. I trembled to see two people whom love alone united so much exasperated at so little; indeed, they threatened to leave one another. Two hours after they made it up; but my mother was stung to the quick by my father’s words, and with reason. You may imagine she has very little influence if she cannot succeed in a business she has so much at heart. It doesn’t make me hopeful about my affair, for all my trust was in her, and I see it is enough for her to wish a thing for it not to be done. My father is hard beyond imagination. I am far from expecting great things of him, and I see from his manner towards my mother that one cannot believe in his kindness; so I am in a very bad humour to-day....”
“The life I have been leading since the court returned must, I fear, give you cause for much jealousy, for I am playing every night with ladies, and, without vanity, they are neither ugly nor of mean rank. I crave your pardon, but I cannot live without a little pleasure, and one of them is so much like you that I cannot help being in her society. You will be curious to know her name, but I will not tell, for fear you may forbid me to pay her my court. I cannot forget those delectable moments at Brockhausen. What pleasure! what transports! what ardour! what rapture we tasted together! and with what grief we parted! Oh that I could live those moments over again! Would that I had died then, drinking deep of your sweetness, your exquisite tenderness! What transports of passion were ours!... I will always be your true lover, absent or present, wherever you may be, and whatever may befall. La Platen has appeared dressed in a ridiculous yellow cloak.”
“You ask me to give up the campaign. I will obey you blindly without reflecting, but on one condition, if to save my honour I must needs go once more you will give me leave. They tell me that General Pless, in Denmark, is disgraced; and if that be so, that was the post they wanted to give me. The terms were very advantageous, but it does not matter now. The Elector has gone to Brockhausen, that charming place where you were. Will that sweet hour ever come again? One of my manœuvres to deceive my servants is to spend a few nights on the soft grass, unless it rains.”
“I am inconsolable at finding so many difficulties in the way of our meeting, but I could not dream of exposing you to danger, and you know how dangerous it would be. Pity me! I have no comfort in the world but you, yet everything is against us. Your tender caresses still linger in my memory; I feel them still. Ah! how I long for a return of those moments! But the joy would kill me verily. Had I not received a letter from 205[202] before I got yours, you would have put me in a fever by speaking so much of your pleasures and the lady you flirted with; but I am free from anxiety, thanks to her, for she writes to me: ‘Yesterday all the ladies were at court; but they must have been very dull, for I saw our courtiers languishing and not flirting at all. A man must be blasé indeed to be reduced to playing with children. Yet that is what Königsmarck did all the evening; he passed the time making houses with cards for the little princess and the little chevalier.[203] I admired him for it, because he seemed anxious not to give his lady-love cause for jealousy—that is, if he has one, but it is hard to say whether he has or no.’ You may imagine how your ways delight me and bind me more strongly to you. But there is much malice, my very dear one, in leaving a poor woman in such dire anxiety, for you had not the charity to tell me the name of the lady with whom you were enjoying yourself. Except for knowing how admirably you behave, 205’s letter does not give me much pleasure; I am terribly afraid she may suspect something. You ought to be the proudest man going, for every one admires you. You are a universal favourite—even old women bear witness to your charms. As for me, I count it the highest glory to possess such a lover. Love himself is not more beautiful and charming. You unite tenderness and faithfulness with the most perfect manners. Nothing is wanted to complete my bliss but to see you again and never leave you more. I spend many sleepless nights thinking about it all; it would be infinitely more pleasant were I to spend them in converse with you, Beloved. That is a joy I cannot hope to grasp for several days yet; but I am resolved not to delay much longer.
“The Electress told my mother that nothing could be more hideous than La Platen’s yellow cloak. I rejoice that neither she nor her cloak will come in my way. I am thine, my beautiful one. I will die all thine.”
“I am grieved to hear that your mother has quarrelled so with your father about Le Bâtard. It is easy to see which side is the weaker, and I fear we can hope for nothing. You will be compelled to devote yourself more closely than ever to the Prince, and I shall have to seek some corner of the world, and beg for bread that I may not starve. Frankly, your father’s conduct surprises me; there is no doubt it is prompted by La Platen, through Bernstorff, for she rules him absolutely and he is almighty with your father. Your preceding letter cheered me much, for it seemed that Bernstorff wished to interest himself on your behalf; but he is as deceitful as the devil, and thinks to trick you. Do not trust his smooth words, but let him show his good-will in deeds.... The Elector has gone to Herrenhausen. I asked Prince Max where he is to be lodged, and—would you believe it?—he is to be put in your father’s apartments next your own. You may imagine my dismay. I cannot advise you to return, for as soon as you are back they will make me march. When you are at Herrenhausen and Prince Max lodged, for all intents and purposes, in your apartments, and I forced to leave just when I hoped to find joy and satisfaction—when all this happens, what will become of me? I suffer every kind of misfortune—loss of money, family quarrels, and false friends; twenty men who were under me are advanced above me; now they are trying to make me lose my reputation, and, what is worse, I am always sent away from my own love.
“The party was very merry. The little prince and princess danced, but I did not join. I walked with some others by the river, and withdrew early, abandoning myself to my sorrow and tears, which I shed abundantly. When I had undressed I paced alone on the ramparts until one o’clock.... Monsieur Rosse came here yesterday. He brings news that the Danes are marching and will surely bombard Hamburg. You cannot believe the joy this news gives me, for I may see you sooner than I thought. Marshal Podevils has left without any one knowing whither he has gone. That is mysterious. God grant us a happy ending to our troubles, for I am at the end of my tether!”
“The enclosed letter will show you how my affair in Flanders is going on, and I send one also from my secretary; tell me what you think of it. It seems he wishes to free me from my chains, but they are borne with joy; all the arguments in the world will not make me go far away from you. Who are the people who are trying to draw Prince Max again into a troublesome intrigue? and how go things with your father and mother? Does your mother still hope to succeed in your cause, or has she given it up?
“I went to pay my respects to La Platen yesterday, and she proposed une partie pour dîner chez un cabaretier, each man to take his lady. I said promptly, ‘I will take Madame la Capitaine’. La Platen became as red as scarlet, and screamed out, ‘I will take Monsieur Balati’. She was in such a temper all through dinner that every one noticed it. I doubt if she will forgive me the slight; but that is the least of my troubles. So long as you are faithful I count the rest as nothing.”
“I am at last out of anxiety; to-night I received two of your letters. I am grateful for your kindness in granting my prayer about the campaign, and I vow that I will never ask anything that might harm your honour. As they tell you, Pless[204] is disgraced, and they formerly offered you his place; it is certain they will now offer it again. They are sounding you about it. I am terribly frightened every time promotion is offered you, though I am greatly distressed to think that I am the cause of your refusing it. Yet I should die of grief if you were to accept, for it would take you away from me so far that it would scarcely leave any hope of my seeing you again. You know well enough that without you life is nothing to me; you take the place of all. Do not abandon me, for the sake of the love I bear you.
“I tremble at all you tell me about your embarrassments; I feel them more than if they were my own, for you are dearer to me than myself. My father and mother have quite made it up, and are on better terms than ever. I do not give up all hope of getting my wish, and I will not throw up the game even if they refuse me. But I find this a very unfavourable time, for they talk of nothing but the war, and difficulties arise on every side. We must wait until a more convenient season. My father is more affectionate to me than ever, and my mother overwhelms me with kindness; every day she assures me that all she possesses in the world is for me, so I am at rest about that. If only my father were the same I should be free of my troubles. I will die rather than ‘devote myself to the Prince,’ as you think I shall be compelled to do. There is no difficulty I will not conquer to be united to you. It is the dearest wish of my heart, and I think I shall succeed. I trust to the good-will of Bernstorff. My mother urges him every day to make the estates of the duchy give me thirty thousand crowns; but this terrible war will delay the business.
“I gather from your letter that I must not think of coming back to Hanover while Max is lodged near me. We are really very unlucky; everything conspires to vex us, in little things as in great. I hope he will soon tire of staying at Herrenhausen and return here. If that happens, I shall start at once to join you.... You will always be the arbiter of my destiny. The more I read your letter the more I am touched by it. You tell me you will be obliged ‘to seek some corner of the world and beg bread that you may not starve’. Do you count me as nothing? and do you think I will ever give you up, whatever may happen? If you were reduced to that extremity, be sure nothing in the world would hinder me from following you; I would starve with you. Mais, mon Dieu! do not let us give way to such sad thoughts. We may perhaps be happier than we think. Let us love and comfort one another, whatever may befall. Perhaps our sorrows will end as I have foreshadowed; for I hope to get what I wish when things right themselves. I will continually urge it, so that it will be hard to resist me.
“You ask who are those who try to stir Max up again. They are Denmark and Wolfenbüttel. It is quite true, for my father told me, and it is feared he will yield. You have forgotten to send me your secretary’s letter and the one from Flanders; pray remember to do so. I fear if you irritate La Platen too much she will revenge herself. Deal gently with her, but not too gently. I know well she will harm me all she can, but I love you so passionately that I cannot be reasonable.”
“I forgot to enclose the letters I mentioned, so I send them now. The review of my regiment prevents me from sending this by the midday post. My affairs in Sweden are as bad as they can be, and your prospects with your parents are perishing. It is enough to make us despair.... Some officers are just coming in; I am obliged to end. Adieu, mon ange. How dearly I love you! Adieu.”
“Are you not ashamed to write me such short letters? The one yesterday was rude in its curtness. I do not think there are more than ten lines. True, you make excuses about your officers and duties; but I am not satisfied with such reasons, for I have every day more obstacles than you will ever have all your life, yet I overcome them, and write letters so long that I fear they weary you. Your secretary’s letter conceals something which you can easily find out if you like. Farewell, this will be short, after your example.”
“If the Count de Steinbock[205] and Count de la Gardie are still with you, and intend coming here, I entreat you to come with them. It is a feasible pretext. I don’t think any one could find fault. I hope when you get here Love will aid us, and we shall find means of seeing one another. It will be much easier to see you here without any fuss. I shall die if I have not the joy of embracing you. I picture such delights when we meet that I am in ineffable transports. Should you come, let me know beforehand, so that the excess of my joy may not betray me. I tremble lest it may lead me to do some dangerous, extravagant, and ridiculous thing.”
“If you knew the joy the eagerness you show for us to live together some day gives me you would see I have nothing else in my head but to succeed in the business I have in hand. I have always feared it was only your kindness for me that made you suggest it, and your inclination had no real part; but I am quite free of that trouble now, for it really seems you want it as much as I do. Be sure I have nothing so near my heart, and I shall move heaven and earth to succeed. Can you doubt that I would sacrifice with pleasure the whole universe for you? I ask of God only an opportunity to prove what I say. I count all else as nothing: you alone suffice for me. My ambition is limited to pleasing you and keeping your heart true. You take the place of crowns, kingdoms, and thrones to me, and all the universe would not console me for your loss.
“I don’t think I can make Max move from where he is lodged at Herrenhausen; I have no pretext, for our apartments are quite separate, and have no communication whatever except by one door, which I can close if I choose. All my women will be lodged around me.”
“You are glad, I believe, I wrote you that short letter, so that you might have something to scold me about. I did it on purpose, so you might know by experience what it is like. I have more than ten of yours even shorter than mine, but I did not call you rude for so writing. You have licence to call me what you like, but you are unjust not to accept the excuse of my military duties. I know one ought never to admit any obstacle to one’s love, but ma chérie, how many times have you not made excuses—the sentinel, the watch, or some silly tale of people hanging about? Have I ever said a word? have I not shown more forbearance than you? You are very imprudent to play cards with the General and his wife; you certainly will not win much. He is a very gallant general—at least Prince Max told me so—but he forgets his place in praising you so highly. I should like to see you playing with him—with your smiles and graces. How you will receive this attention and that! and what sweet glances you will cast him to reward him! How your eyes will sparkle at his compliments! I fancy I see you: I know your airs. Don’t think I am jealous; it doesn’t matter to me. I know you cannot live without admiration, and therefore it is better that it should come from an old fool than a young fop. I talked to Prince Max about your father’s affection for you, and he agreed with me that it is un amitié de singe, since he does nothing for you. True parental love consists in settling on one’s daughter a comfortable sum; and it is just now that your father ought to do it, for if he should be ruined [by the Danes], on what would you live?”
“If Count Steinbock had been going to Celle I would have accompanied him; but as he is not, I cannot gather from your letter how I am to come. You disguise your hand so much that I can hardly make out what you write. I should dearly love to come and see you; but it is difficult, for Count Steinbock has gone, and they don’t speak about my marching, so I must come incognito. But, before I can come disguised, I must have instructions, and it is not easy unless I am well posted in what I am to do; I might take a wrong step and ruin everything. I cannot gather from your letter what it is you wish, and I cannot make out from the feigned writing which way I am to come, or even where you are, or how I am to keep myself hidden when I get to Celle.”
“As the two counts have gone away, you have no longer any pretext for coming here openly. I did not think the thing was possible otherwise. I am opposed to your coming disguised: it is too dangerous, and, as you say, it might ruin us for ever. Do you think that if I had been able to find some way of seeing you I should have waited for you to ask me how? I should have taken advantage of it long since, and not have pined like this. Do not dream of coming here without my knowledge; it would be a miracle if you escaped, and there are no miracles in the time we live. You seem displeased because I don’t tell you positively about my return. You are absolutely master of my movements, and if you read my letters carefully you will see what I mean. I can quite understand it would not be pleasant for you that I should be lodged so near Max; and therefore I am compelled, in spite of my longing to see you, to stay here. You suspect no end of things; you imagine that if I had a real wish I could find no end of pretexts to come. I thought you would be satisfied with my delicacy about Max. It seemed to me that if you could have induced him to come here, I could seize the advantage by starting the very day he left Hanover. But do you decide, and do not think that any reason or consideration whatever will prevent me from coming to you. I will wait for your answer that I may do as you wish; but, for goodness’ sake! make it so clear and straightforward that I shall not misunderstand.”
THE ELECTOR ERNEST AUGUSTUS OF HANOVER.
From an old print in the British Museum.
“I do not think you will stay long enough in Hanover for me to see you there. My father is in great trouble. The Danes are advancing, and have everything necessary to cross the Elbe. That will put me at a greater distance from you. Everything combines to make me despair. I dare not, in the state matters are, press my father about my affairs, for if the war turns out badly things will go hard with him.
“The beginning of your letter is charming. You assure me you will risk your life to see me. How can I show you my gratitude for all your tenderness? But perhaps you no longer feel like this, and your love has gone. If that be so, I wish for death! Without your love what have I to do with life? It would only trouble me, since it is for you I wish to live. I wrote to you yesterday all that you wish to know; that is why I say no more. Your answer will govern my movements; I may possibly get it to-morrow night very late. I am sure the week will not pass without your having to march; everything they say makes me think so. In case that should be, and I may not be able to go to you, I will point out what you are to do to see me here.”
“My mother tells me to-night that she wishes to take me to Milady Colt’s[206] to-morrow. I fear it may hinder me from writing to you—a grief to me; for, were I to write every moment of the day, my pen would never run dry on the subject of my love. I think of nothing but of seeing you soon; the thought fills me with joy. I asked Chauvet, who came back from Engesen to-night, whether my father would set out this week. He assured me that he would not, and said the Elector and my father would not leave each other; so at last I have arrived within sight of my desire, and no longer fear hindrance in the way of seeing you. I much approve of your advice, and am acting upon it with all possible despatch. I believe we shall be fortunate and have everything we wish. I am beginning to hope that good luck will at last attend us. Every day my affairs improve; I will give you details about them when we meet. Only Max worries me. I will not suffer him to stay where he is at Herrenhausen; but as I go to Hanover first, and not to Herrenhausen until late the next day, I hope to be two nights running in Hanover. Perhaps they will let me spend the remainder of the week there. But I feel sure the Elector and my father will set out together, and in that case Max will go with them. I will do exactly as you wish; you have only to say what I am to do. Let me find you tender and loving. You will be very cold if you resist all the love I shall bring to bear on you. I think I shall die in your arms; my rapture will kill me. Adieu. Do not forget to come to me the very day I arrive. Were you to fail, I should never forgive you as long as I live. Farewell. In the spirit I kiss you again and again; I would give half my blood to be kissing you in reality.”
“I went to dinner yesterday at La Platen’s; she showed me a letter from the Electoral Prince, which was very kind, very long, and rather familiar. I hope this news will not give you ground for jealousy, and I hope, too, the fact that Monsieur de la Sitardie is at the point of death will not make you too sad. The young Countess Platen[207] is very ill, so all the house is in grief. They say the Prince will come back loaded with laurels, so it seems there has been something to do over there after all.... I did all I could to induce Prince Max to go to Celle, but he declared that he had business here which prevented him. I rage about it.... There is no news here about the Danes, which makes me hope I shall not march for some time. I shall certainly go through Celle if we march towards the Elbe, but I mean to have a private audience of you, so prepare yourself for it. It seems to me that going to the comedy every day means that you are enjoying yourself. I do not grudge you pleasure; on the contrary, I am glad, provided the gallants do not come into your box and whisper sweet things in your ear, as I hear certain people do at the comedy. I am delighted you should enjoy yourself, and will try to do the same,—that is why I have asked our ministers to supper. La Platen will not be one of us because of her daughter’s illness. I fear none of them will be so amusing or witty as your company, but I can live without amusement and you cannot.”
“At last I have your answer, the one I have been waiting for impatiently to determine my movements; but I am none the wiser. All I can make out is that you do not want me to come for a few days. At any other time I should have been very angry, but now I am as indifferent as you. You seem to be very phlegmatic about all I do, and I assure you I am equally so as regards yourself. I am rather glad to be in this mood, for otherwise I should have been hurt about the fête you gave last night to La Platen and other ladies. Stubenfol gave a full account of it at the dinner table. ‘Everybody was delighted. No party could have gone off better; everything showed forethought and gallantry.’ I am not surprised you surpassed yourself, the ladies were well worth the trouble, and when a host is inspired by such charming guests he must needs succeed to perfection. It is easy for me to follow your advice. I feel quite content to stay here as long as it pleases you. Many thanks for all the news you tell me. I am not jealous of La Platen because she has had a letter from the Prince. I am delighted to see so fine a union. I also send no end of good wishes for the continuation of your pleasures; I should be quite distressed to interrupt them by my presence. I don’t know how you expect me to reconcile the eagerness you pretend to show concerning my movements with the indifference you display by your conduct. If you had even a little consideration for me you would not behave as you do. Continual pleasure-parties take place. But I am wrong to complain or to find fault with your behaviour; it is my conduct, forsooth, that is open to criticism! I go, you say, every day to the comedy; the gallants whisper in my ear; they caress me in the box! Is it to fill up your paper that you tell such falsehoods? There is not a word of truth in them. Since I have been here they have played a comedy only twice, and each time I have been in my father’s box alone with him. I am always considering your wishes: I am ashamed of it, for I carry consideration much further than you deserve. But I have said enough on the subject; it is so unpleasant that I am very glad to end it.
“You wish me, I believe, to tell you about my affairs. Yesterday I read over my marriage contract; it could hardly be more disadvantageous to me. The Prince is absolutely master of everything, for there is nothing I can dispose of without his consent. Even the clause about my dower is so badly worded that they can easily cheat me and take it away.[208] I was very much surprised at this unexpected blow, and so hurt that tears started to my eyes. My mother was moved, and tried to comfort me; nothing could be more tender or kind than what she said to me. She even went so far as to offer to sell her jewels so as to settle on me some sort of an income. At last we decided it would be better to speak to my father first, as perhaps he would be able to put the matter right. My mother did so this morning, and his answer was favourable. I hope I shall get what I want. My mother advised me to talk to Stubenfol, and ask him to push the thing also, to show him my marriage contract, and point out how unjust it is to me; so that without any one being able to guess my plans, I have the finest pretext ever known.”
“I am even angrier to-day than I was yesterday. The more I think of what you have done the more I find cause for annoyance. You have reason to be thankful for having delayed my return, for had I arrived piqued as I am you would surely have had a piece of my mind. I don’t know why I revert so often to the same grievance, but, though I wish to speak to you on other subjects, I unconsciously fall back on this one. The cause is not hard to find. Your unkindness cuts me to the heart, and, though I ought to get used to it, I cannot help being sensitive. Here are three unkind things all at once, which one surely should not expect from a man who prides himself on his delicacy and values his love so highly. You will remember you went to a feast at La Platen’s two hours after I left Hanover for Luisburg, in spite of the overwhelming grief in which you left me and the sorrow you pretended to show. You had enough self-control to hide your sadness so well at the feast that no one perceived it. The second party, which you say was so innocent, and which I am willing to believe was so, since you wish it, took place a week ago; and your most magnificent and brilliant entertainment the day before yesterday. Here are three parties in a very short time to my knowledge, not counting those I shall never know about, which, being secret, are doubtless all the sweeter to you. I am beginning to get used to your unkindness, and so far from spending the night weeping and wailing, as I was weak enough to do at Luisburg, I sleep very well, and wake up fortified and angrier than ever. I am quite convinced that this is a matter of indifference to you either way, because if you had ever so little regard for me you would have behaved very differently. But I am certain you do not love as I do, and renounce all pleasure; you are incapable of so strong a passion. Do not restrain yourself, I entreat you. Think only of your pleasures; count me as nothing. No doubt all these revelries will terminate in a complete reconciliation between you and La Platen, or some fresh intrigue. If only my wishes are needed to contribute to your happiness, you can have them: there is no joy I do not wish you. It so happens that Fortune, to give me revenge, has sent hither to-day a young baron from Mayence. He is very handsome, well built, and magnificent. You are no doubt willing that, rather than die of ennui, I should amuse myself with him! I believe you to be still too much my friend to refuse me that little comfort. You see, I am franker than you, for though you sent me word of your fête you said nothing about the ladies and La Platen coming to it; yet the whole thing was got up for her! Of a truth, I am well repaid for living like a nun and shunning every one, even men of sixty, mais n’importe. I will say no more! You ought to be ashamed of yourself to act as you do. I will not reproach you; you ought to reproach yourself. But it shows, alas! there is very little love proof against absence. Unfortunately for me, my love does not lessen, and I am too tender and sensitive. Teach me how to learn the secret of indifference. I must end this. In spite of all my resolutions, it might escape me that I love you, and I would rather die than tell you so to-day.”
“My banquet, as you call it, was a very dull affair, though La Platen came with her husband. The young countess is still very ill. Madame Bussche’s coach-horses took fright and bolted, and the ladies were so unnerved by the accident that they scarcely spoke two words, added to which it was very bad weather, for fine rain set in and a great wind arose which made us break up very early: they all went home before eleven o’clock. I did not sit at the centre table, as there was no room; I supped with Harrenburg and a lieutenant of my regiment, and was delighted to have a pretext to escape from my guests. I was a very convenient host; they will not boast much about my attentiveness. But how could I be attentive when I was so distrait and my heart far away with you? I vow I thought more of you than of all my guests put together. My reason for giving the supper was because I am going away soon, and it was the right thing for me to do. I have been so often to their dinners that it was necessary for me to make some return. Do not think I did it to court any one, or with any thought of intrigue. I vow, on my perdition, it was not so. I have told you the true reason; there was none other, I swear to you. Don’t draw unjust comparisons. As a man, I am compelled to do many things which as a woman you need not do. Some one has been telling me I have become so odd that it is no use seeking my company. I said: ‘When good fortune forsakes a man, what would you have him do? I get no promotion and I am losing all my possessions.’ He answered: ‘What about love?’ I replied: ‘I no longer think of it’. But God forgive me, it was the greatest untruth I have ever told in my life.”