Chapter XXI: Appendix: B (4)

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 took 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 I 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 my 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 rather 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 attribute 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....

-----

Footnote 229:

Prince Maximilian, who excited Königsmarck’s jealousy so strongly,
was staying at Brockhausen in June 1692 after his catastrophe at
Hanover (cf. Wilkins, p. 136), Königsmarck being at Hanover. In
June 1693 Maximilian was lodged at Luisburg, in rooms next to the
Princess (cf. Wilkins, p. 259). In July 1693 he was at
Herrenhausen (ib. p. 286). The letter, with its references to the
contiguity of Prince Maximilian’s rooms, and to the Duchess of
Celle’s encouragement of him, seems to belong to the later date.

Footnote 230:

Sophia Charlotte.

Footnote 231:

Probably Christian William von dem Bussche, who became
Adjutant-General of the Elector George Lewis, and died as a
general in 1711. George Christopher von Hammerstein was
Adjutant-General to the Hereditary (Electoral) Prince.

Footnote 232:

The war, begun in 1688 by the French invasion of the Palatinate,
lasted till the conclusion of the Peace of Ryswyk in 1697.

Footnote 233:

Count Niels Bielke, the well-known Swedish politician (afterwards
governor of Swedish Pomerania), seems already at this time as
Swedish envoy to have furthered the French interest, with which he
remained identified. See Colt _ap._ Wilkins, p. 176.

Footnote 234:

Can this have been Melusina von der Schulenburg?

-----

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 two
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 that 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.

-----

Footnote 235:

Cf. Wilkins, pp. 313 sqq.

-----

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 heart, 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 fallen [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 without 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, and, 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
....

-----

Footnote 236:

The familiar second person singular is employed in this and the
next two lines.

Footnote 237:

Atlenburg (mis-spelt ‘Altenburg’ _ap._ Wilkins, p. 314) must be
Artlenburg, in the part of the duchy of Saxe-Lauenburg on the left
bank of the Elbe.

-----

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 the 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 it 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 a 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 ought 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.

-----

Footnote 238:

This old-fashioned toilet-water has hardly gone quite out of use.
Its name is said to have been derived from the fact that the
original formula of the compound (of which the chief ingredient is
rosemary) was presented by a hermit to a queen of Hungary. In his
rapturous letter _ap._ Wilkins, p. 155, Königsmarck begs Sophia
Dorothea to have _de l’eau de la reine d’Hongrie_ in readiness.

Footnote 239:

A member of the ancient family von Spörcken, which possessed
numerous estates in Lüneburg, and from which sprang Field-Marshal
von Spörcken. He was born in 1698, and his mother was a sister of
Field-Marshal von der Schulenburg.

Footnote 240:

The siege of Charleroi by Vauban began on September 15, 1693, and
ended with the capture of the place on October 11.

Footnote 241:

_Sic_ in text (‘_la Dujais d’Hanovre_’ and, lower down, ‘_la
Dujaiÿse_,’ Königsmarck’s spelling), though the date of the letter
admits of no doubt.

Footnote 242:

The remainder of this letter was misplaced in the Berlin copy.

Footnote 243:

Probably the wife of Court-Marshal von Koppenstein.

Footnote 244:

_Gosses de princesses_ in the original. I owe the following
reference to Dr. Braunholtz: _Dans le jargon des voyous, une_
gosse, _une_ gosseline, _c’est une fillette de quinze à seize
ans_.... (L. Rigaud, _Dictionnaire d’argot moderne_, n.e., 1888).

Footnote 245:

I am unable to identify this nobleman. The spelling Espinosa seems
the more common.

-----

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 Augustus 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!

-----

Footnote 246:

Linde or Linden, an estate in the immediate vicinity of Hanover,
purchased in 1688 by Count Platen, who built in its fine gardens a
_château_, frequently mentioned as ‘_la cour de Linden_.’

Footnote 247:

The Obergs were an ancient noble family, whose estates lay in the
bishopric of Hildesheim and elsewhere. A Privy-Councillor von
Oberg is mentioned _ap._ Malortie, _u. s._ pp. 193, 194. Christian
Lewis von Oberg, a general of much distinction in the Hanoverian
service, was not born till 1689. The Obergs were afterwards raised
to the rank of Counts.—The von der Weyhe mentioned in the text was
probably the same who afterwards became a General, and married the
widowed Frau von dem Bussche, Countess Platen’s sister.

-----

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 shape 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 not 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.

-----

Footnote 248:

The meaning of this passage is hopelessly obscured in the original
by the wild use of brackets, and by a reckless interchange between
_oratio obliqua_ and _directa_, and the second and third persons.

Footnote 249:

Von Reden was Chamberlain to the Electress Sophia. ‘Hortense’ is
the Abbé Hortensio Mauro, mentioned in Chapter III. In her
letters, the Electress often refers to him as ‘Ortence.’

-----

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 will 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.

-----

Footnote 250:

This and the following two letters might belong to the spring of
1692; but I think that they may with more probability be assigned
to the latter part of 1693.

-----

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 whether 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 you (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]

-----

Footnote 251:

The reference seems to be to his intention to quit the Hanoverian
service.

Footnote 252:

Fräulein von dem Knesebeck.

-----

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!

-----

Footnote 253:

This and the following letter ought possibly to be dated in the
spring of 1692; but I think the date assigned the more probable
one.

Footnote 254:

The seal on some of Königsmarck’s letters in the Lund
Correspondence represents a flaming heart on an altar, the sun
shining down upon it, with the circumscription, _Rien d’impure
m’allume_. Wilkins, p. 123.

-----

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.

-----

Footnote 255:

I cannot guess at ‘M. R.’ Prince Maximilian’s second name was
William.

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