y.

But Sophie of Hanover by no means dwelt continuously on Alma's heights.
Much of the time she was down among the sewer filth, contemptuous of it
always, but using it, for lack of more durable material, as a temporary
foundation for the steps which she meant should lead her and hers up to
the English throne. If Sophie of Hanover had been a different kind of
person, a gentle, timid, pious woman, or a gay, pleasure-loving,
lust-responding woman, the two characteristic types of her age, Edward
VII. would not be ruling in Great Britain to-day. Neither, for that
matter, would the present German emperor, descended from the electress's
daughter, the gifted Sophie Charlotte, be seated upon the throne of the
Hohenzollerns.

The attitude of the Electress of Hanover to her unhappy daughter-in-law
Sophie Dorothea was unfortunate for both women. Poor little Sophie
Dorothea! In passing judgment upon her, the historians all seem to
forget her extreme youth at the time of her marriage. Of this petted,
spoiled, beautiful child of sixteen, even Thackeray says: "She was a bad
wife;" and he sneers at her even while he is relating facts that should
go far to justify her in any missteps she may have made in trying to
escape from a boorish husband whom she found odiously cruel and selfish.
The girl lived in hell; and she sought, through passionate,
disinterested love, to gain what to her seemed heaven.

Sophie Dorothea was half French. Her mother, Eleanor d'Olbreuze, one of
the very few pure women connected with the court of Hanover in the
eighteenth century, was a Frenchwoman of good family. Eleanor d'Olbreuze
was legally married to Duke George William of Celle, elder brother of
Ernest Augustus of Hanover, although the Electress Sophie did all in her
power to prevent the marriage of her former fiance with the beautiful
Frenchwoman. Sophie Dorothea was a brunette of the most perfect type,
with vivid color and a charming rosebud mouth. Her neck, bust, and arms
were beautiful. By nature she was happy, lively, witty, and
affectionate.

On the morning of her sixteenth birthday, Sophie Dorothea awoke in her
pretty yellow and white chamber with the pleasant consciousness of a
happy day before her. Her betrothal to a neighboring young noble of the
house of Wolfenbuttel was to be celebrated. The girl was not wildly in
love with the youth accepted by her parents. But she was satisfied. She
had known him all her life, and she liked him well enoug