The love of an uncrowned queen : $b Sophie Dorothea, consort of George I, and her correspondence with Philip Christopher, Count KönigsmarckWilkins, W. H. (William Henry)
History
The love of an uncrowned queen : $b Sophie Dorothea, consort of George I, and her correspondence with Philip Christopher, Count Königsmarck
Wilkins, W. H. (William Henry)
Königsmarck, Christopher von, 1665-1694; Sophia Dorothea, consort of George I, King of Great Britain, 1666-1726
“If you had followed my advice, you would not have given any
explanation at all to La Platen about your conduct. You would have
answered curtly, ‘I do as I please’; and it would have been better. If
she be pleased with me, it is because I disapproved of my sister’s
conduct and pretended to keep in with her. I don’t disapprove of your
making up your quarrel with her, but I hope you will be wise enough
not to tell her anything that might do you the least harm. God save
you from her. You must look upon her as one of your greatest enemies.
I am not in the least surprised she spoke to you of me—she is brazen
enough for anything. I should like to have seen you together—a haughty
mistress like her with so timid a child as you! I am surprised you saw
her alone. I defy her to tell you the least thing about me which might
shake your trust. If I have said anything pleasant to her, it was only
on very indifferent matters, and at a time when I quarrelled with you.
Do not complain about my temper, I implore you; no one could be
gentler than I am, and I am learning to be patient. You know I hate La
Platen with a deadly hatred, and it is indifferent to me whether she
comes here or not. I am too much occupied in thinking of you. I love
you, I adore you now with as much ardour as I have ever done. Had I
not written to you, you would have been right in saying that I don’t
love you, but this is the third letter I have written on the march. I
could not do more, for I have only been at villages where the post
does not pass near by leagues. I don’t in the least deserve your
reproaches, though I read them with some pleasure; for I see
tenderness mingled with the anger. Ah! if you loved me as I love you,
how happy I should be! But, _ma chérie_, our last evening together was
not all that I would have wished. I could not write before I left
Hanover, for when I got home I found everything packed up and ready to
start, and I was in such despair I jumped on my horse and rode out of
the town as fast as I could.... Farewell. My superior officers have
arrived—Prince Max also.”
“[BY THE ELBE,] _August_ 17/27.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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