Ah! who, like me, could taste the joy divine,
My lovely babe! to mix thy soul with mine!
Torn from my breast, I weep alone for thee
Amidst the griefs which Heaven dispensed to me.
The Queen often wept when she thought of her children, and this, indeed, was the only point on which she refused to be comforted. Maternal love was very strong in Matilda’s heart. She took into the castle a motherless little girl of four years old, named Sophie von Benningsen, so that she might give her a mother’s care and training.
To provide the Queen with some diversion the theatre in the castle was fitted up, and a company of players came from Hanover at regular intervals, and gave representations there. To these entertainments the Queen would invite the principal people in Celle, and she always attended, and occupied the ducal box—the same box from which her great-grandmother, Sophie Dorothea, had smiled across the courtiers to Königsmarck a hundred years before. Great care was taken that there should be nothing in the plays which could even remotely resemble the Queen’s sad history; to this end comedies were always acted, and tragedies were forbidden. Nevertheless, once, when some children appeared on the stage, the Queen was overcome by emotion, and hurriedly left her box. It was a long time before she could recover her self-control, and she walked about the gardens, notwithstanding that the night was rough and windy, until she regained it. After this incident no more children figured in the plays at Celle.
One day of the Queen’s life at Celle very much resembled another, and in that it had no history it might be regarded as happy, though the shadow of sadness brooded over all. She rose early—between seven and eight—and, if the weather permitted, took a little walk in the gardens of the castle, or by the side of the Aller. Some mornings she would breakfast in the gardens, at others return to the castle. After breakfast she would dress herself for the day, and appear in her little circle for an hour. Then often she would go out again, either for a drive, or for a walk in the French garden, and come back to dinner at the castle about two o’clock. She dined with all her household, seated at the head of the table, and conversation was generally brisk and lively. After dinner she would retire to her own apartments, and read, or do some needlework, or play on the harpsichord, and sing to it, for she was an accomplished musician. Later, she would again go for a walk in the garden, if the weather was fine. Then she dressed for the evening, and joined the circle of her court at eight, when supper was served. To this meal guests were frequently invited from the town, such as Prince Ernest of Mecklenburg-Strelitz or Madame de Plessen, the colonel of the regiment, or some of the neighbouring nobility and gentry. After supper there would be music, or cards, or conversation in the long gallery; sometimes there was a performance in the theatre. At eleven the Queen would retire to her apartments, and the company broke up. She did not always retire to bed at once, for she was fond of astronomy, and on fine nights would repair to the tower of the castle, where there was a telescope, and gaze for a long time at the starry heavens; sometimes she would recite some poetry. Her favourite poem was a hymn of Gellert’s, which began:—
Nie will ich dem zu schaden suchen,
Der mir zu schaden sucht.
Nie will ich meinem Feinde fluchen,