Yet it was very beautiful. The gardens were laid out in the French fashion with fountains, statues and colonnades; they and the court throughout were an imitation of Versailles; and the Elector behaved as though he were the Sun King himself. There were lavish banquets, balls, garden fetes and entertainments in the palace. It only had to be said that this or that was done at the French court and it was done in Dresden. And everything was presided over by a dark-haired woman whom Caroline's stepfather could not bear out of his sight and whom everyone said w?^ the Electress in all but name.

At first she had been puzzled, for her mother should have borne that title. Of course she did; and on state occasions she would be dressed in her robes and stand beside the Elector; and then immediately afterwards she would go to her apartments, take off her robes, dismiss her attendants, lie on her bed and weep. Caroline knew because she had seen her do this. No one took very much notice of the child; she was expected to remain in the small apartments assigned to her, with her nurse, her governess and one or two attendants. No one was the least bit interested in her; she was merely an appendage of the woman whom nobody wanted. She was even less significant than her mother who was at least actively resented. She might have been one of the benches in the ante room, one of the flowers in the beds about the fountains. Not so useful as the bench, not so decorative as the flower—but any of them could have been removed and cause no comment.

The Electress Sophia Charlotte had talked of Dresden as though she would be very happy there. She could certainly never have been to Dresden. But since Sophia Charlotte had thought it would be so different surely it should have been if something had not gone wrong. Caroline had an enquiring nature. Passionately she wanted to understand what was going on around her—particularly when it concerned herself. Her mother's unhappiness worried her, for although she had never been a gay woman, although she had never been brilliant like Sophia Charlotte, she had never been as sad as she was now.

She had seemed older since she had come to Dresden; dark circles had appeared under her eyes; she had grown pale and thin. '

It was disturbing to be so young and so defenceless; but Caroline knew that before she could do anything to strengthen her position and that of her mother she must understand what it was all about.

She had alert eyes and sharp ears so she decided to put them to use. When servants and attendants whispered together she listened and often scraps of conversation not intended for her came her way. She was secretly amused that grown up people could deceive themselves into thinking that firstly she was deaf and secondly she was stupid; for often they would glance her way, warning each other with a look that they must watch their tongues in her presence; but the desire to talk was almost always—fortunately for Caroline—irresistible.

"They say he has never yet shared her bed."

"Not he! He can't spare the time from his Magdalen."

"Well, she can't say she didn't know before. He made that clear."

"Oh yes, she knew he had no wish to marry a widow with a couple of brats."

A couple of brats! Caroline's natural dignity was offended. She wanted to confront the gossipers and demand to know how they dared refer to a Princess of Ansbach as a brat. As for her brother, he was the heir presumptive to Ansbach, for if their stepbrother had no sons he would be Margrave one day; this was the reason why he remained at Ansbach, otherwise he would be with her to help her fight her mother's battles. And the servants dared refer to him as a brat!

She was on the point of calling to them when she hesitated. What use would that be? She knew exactly how they would act. First they would swear that she had been mistaken; then they would take great care never to say anything in her hearing again which would mean that she would be completely in the dark. So how foolish it would be just for the sake of temporarily asserting her dignity, to lose an opportunity of understanding this peculiar situation.

Meanwhile the voices went on.

"I wouldn't be in Madam's shoes for all the wealth of Germany."

*'Nor me, poor soul. Why it wouldn't surprise me what those two got up to ... with Mamma in the background."

"There's one I should want to watch. No, it certainly wouldn't surprise me either. She's capable of anything to get rid of Madam Eleanor and set up her darling little Magdalen in her place. If I were Madam Eleanor I'd be watchful ... very watchful indeed."

Caroline put her hand over her heart which had begun to leap uncomfortably. What did they mean? Her mother must be watchful. Could they mean that she was in danger? And if so, did she know it?

Caroline had already begun to realize that her mother was somewhat ineffectual and would never be capable of looking after herself. Someone then would have to do it for her. Who? Her eight-year-old daughter?

How could that be when she was only a child, when she was only vaguely aware of the meaning bcliind the intrigue which was going on about her.

How careful she would have to be! She would have to stop being a child immediately, for children could make so many mistakes. Suppose she had rushed out and protested just now, as her first impulse had directed her to do. What she would have missed! She must remember that in future. Before she did anything rash she must stop and think.

During the months which followed Caroline learned more of the state of affairs between her mother and step-father. She knew that it was a miserable marriage, undertaken with reluctance on both sides—on his because he had been forced into it for state reasons, on hers because she had been obliged to seek position and security for herself and her daughter.

In a way, thought Caroline, I am responsible; for perhaps she would never have married him but for me.

There were lessons to be done, but no one cared very much whether she did them or not. Her mother was too much engulfed in her own misery; and why should servants care

whether the little girl from Ansbach grew up an ignoramus or not. She would ride a little with her few attendants, taking care to keep well out of the way; she would walk and sit in the magnificent gardens, slinking away when she heard the approach of a party; from the window of her bedchamber she would watch the open air entertainments; she would listen to the music from the ballrooms, going as near as possible but always making sure that there was a way of escape should she need it.

She kept well out of the way of her stepfather whom she regarded as an ogre and he naturally never noticed her absence; in fact he had forgotten her existence and only remembered it when, on those rare occasions when he was in the presence of his wife, he wanted to taunt her with her useless-ness; and those occasions were growing less for she bored him so much that he found no pleasure even in quarrelling with her.

Caroline found little enjoyment in her mother's company either for Eleanor was in such a state of nervous tension that she could not pay much attention to her daughter; her mind was dominated by her own depressing situation and as she did not believe she could discuss this with her daughter had nothing to say to her.

A whole year had gone by since Caroline's arrival at Dresden, but she felt more than a year older. Nine years old but very knowledgeable in the ways of men and women. She had seen her stepfather with his mistress revelling in the gardens at some fete; she had watched their crude caresses. She had to grow up quickly for there was no one else to protect her mother from a fate which was none the less horrifying because her daughter did not fully understand it.