The Princess of Celle

The Rival Courts

THE PEOPLE OF Celle were content with their Duke and his wife. They had naturally been a little suspicious of the foreigner at first, particularly when she appeared to be somewhat fastidious and so elegant. One glance was enough to show that she did not belong to Celle and they had resented this.

But she did not appear aware of their resentment; when she rode through the town she smiled and acknowledged their greeting in a manner which was strange but which could not fail to charm them; and during the first months of their return the main topic of conversation was the Duke and his Madame, as they called her; it was significant that later they changed that to his Lady.

Even the Frenchwoman’s strongest critics admitted that she had wrought a miraculous change in their Duke. He had ceased to be a feckless wanderer, and appeared to care so much about his little community that he rarely left it; and it was comforting to know the Duke and his family were in residence. It was a reminder of those days when Duke William the Pious had been alive, although nowadays the trumpeter did not announce meals twice a day from the tower, and affairs were conducted very differently in the castle. It was all being Frenchified but, say what one liked, that meant elegance, greater comfort and more courteous manners; and the people of Celle were adjusting themselves very happily to the new régime. Then when the child had been born there had been celebrations in which they had all joined and very soon the Duke’s Lady was riding through the town in her carriage and the little girl was with her; she enjoyed listening to compliments on the child’s health and beauty.

She had decided that there should be alterations to the old castle; and the Duke, ever willing to indulge her, had agreed. This had meant the employment of local workmen and an era of prosperity began. All those who went to work at the castle were charmed by the Lady who seemed to be interested in them and their way of life; and although she was gradually changing everything so that the Castle of Celle resembled a miniature Versailles instead of a rather comfortless German schloss, they were interested and eventually delighted. It was gratifying to think that their castle, their Duke and his Lady were different from others.

It was so pleasant merely to look at her in her silks and velvets; and the little girl who was becoming so pretty, and very like her, was a delightful creature too. The Duke doted on them both and it was easy to see that he could scarcely bear them out of his sight. How extraordinary when they considered how other Dukes kept mistresses and lived in a state of extravagant coarseness. Their Duke was a faithful husband – and his romance with the charming Eléonore was smiled on throughout the principality.

There was another delight enjoyed by the inhabitants of Celle which was denied others. Eléonore had opened a theatre in the castle and with the help of her sister Angelique she arranged that plays and musical entertainments – such as those played before Louis XIV – should be performed in Celle. And not only were the castle staff admitted but the townspeople too.

Yes, the people of Celle were pleased with the state of affairs at the castle; George William was forgiven his earlier neglect and it was not forgotten that his reformation had been brought about by this charming Frenchwoman.

During the five years since the birth of Sophia Dorothea, while she had been gradually winning the approval of her husband’s subjects, she had given birth to other children who had not lived and it became evident that Sophia Dorothea was going to be an only child. This necessarily meant that all her devotion was given to this girl – and because George William followed Eléonore in everything, he also adored the child almost to idolatry.

There was one element of unhappiness in Eléonore’s life; she had known it would be thus and it was the very reason why she had withstood George William’s pleading for so long. Loved as the little girl was, she was illegitimate, and this fact was going to bar her from making the brilliant marriage which Eléonore wanted for her.

As they sat on the terraces, or wandered arm in arm through the gardens, this was the continual theme of their conversation. Again and again George William reproached himself for his impulsive act in signing away his birthright; again and again Eléonore assured him that he must not blame himself.

‘Regrets are useless,’ she said. ‘We must plan. Fortunately you did not give everything; and you are richer now than any of your brothers. Money is very useful, my dearest. We must use it to buy the best for Sophia Dorothea.’

A kinsman of George William’s, Anton Ulrich, Duke of Wolfenbüttel, had written telling them that he proposed calling on them and was bringing with him his son Augustus Frederick who was sixteen. He thought they might have interesting matters to discuss.

‘It can mean one thing,’ said Eléonore. ‘He wants a betrothal between Augustus Frederick and Sophia Dorothea.’

George William agreed that if this were so, it was an excellent proposition, for Wolfenbüttel was a senior branch of the House of Brunswick; and if Duke Anton Ulrich was contemplating marrying his son to their daughter, it could only mean that he was ignoring the little girl’s illegitimacy.

‘You would agree?’ he asked.

‘It would be an excellent match. I should want her to be happy though … as we are. I would never wish her to marry against her will, however brilliant the match.’

George William leaned towards her and kissed her. The servants had grown accustomed to these gestures of affection; they thought them odd in a German Prince, but regarded them as the French influence, and in any case they were an outward sign of that harmony which it was to the advantage of all to maintain.

‘But,’ went on Eléonore, ‘I am pleased that Anton Ulrich should make the suggestion. We shall consider it with pleasure.’

He laughed indulgently. How like this Eléonore – who, in law, had no standing, whose beloved daughter was illegitimate – to talk of considering an offer from a German Duke who was of a senior branch of the Brunswick family.

The sounds of arrival were in the courtyard. How calm she was, how unhurried!

When Anton Ulrich appeared she rose to greet him with the grace of a Queen; and Anton Ulrich who had been prepared to dispense with certain ceremonies in the circumstances, found himself quickly reverting to them.

‘Welcome to Celle,’ said Eléonore.

Anton Ulrich presented his son – a pleasant youth who was completely captivated by the beautiful Eléonore and unable to hide the fact.

‘We are honoured that you should visit us,’ said George William.

‘We have heard such accounts of the court you hold here that we could no longer stay away.’

It was indeed a little court, thought Anton Ulrich. The banquet was not only magnificent but tastefully served.

He noticed that although the lackeys still wore the Celle livery – yellow stockings, blue coats trimmed with grey lace, and gold or silk buttons according to their rank – as they did in the days of William the Pious, they looked different. He suspected their liveries might have been new for this visit. Yes, George William of Celle was a rich man; they must get round this matter of the daughter’s illegitimacy in some way for the child – bastard or not – would inherit all this wealth which could be put to good use in Wolfenbüttel. Moreover, it was always advantageous when principalities were joined, and even the estates which remained George William’s allied with theirs would make one very powerful unit.

The table talk was elegant and although the German dishes were served there were others – rather mysterious but far more pleasant to look at than sauerkraut and smoked sausages and the usual red cabbage, ginger and onions. There was wine – French wines too – as well as the cloudy beer they drank so much in Germany.

And after the banquet there was a theatrical performance in which the Lady and her sister took parts – as did the enchanting little Sophia Dorothea. A precocious child, Anton Ulrich noted, as children were apt to be who were very certain that they were doted on.

‘An excellent entertainment,’ he said. ‘Why, cousin, you’re a regular little King in this court here in Celle.’

‘It’s a good life,’ admitted George William, ‘and I ask no other.’

When Anton Ulrich found himself alone with George William and Eléonore he came to the point of his visit.

‘Your daughter is a child as yet but you will wish her to marry early. I thought we might consider the advantages of a match between our children.’

‘Augustus Frederick is ten years older than Sophia Dorothea,’ pointed out Eléonore.

‘A mere nothing, my dear cousin. She is bright and intelligent beyond her years. She will be ready for early marriage.’

‘You suggest that we should examine the advantages,’ went on Eléonore. ‘There is no harm in doing that.’

Anton Ulrich glanced at George William. Did he then allow his wife to manage his affairs? It seemed that he did for he was nodding his assent to all that Eléonore said.

‘It would please me very much to see a marriage between our houses. Your daughter would acquire rank and I’ll be perfectly frank, cousin, I doubt not that she would bring with her a good dowry.’

‘All that we have will be hers one day,’ admitted George William solemnly.

‘Well then, let us consider these matters.’

As they talked a flush appeared beneath Eléonore’s smooth skin. This could mean only one thing. Duke Anton Ulrich did not regard Sophia Dorothea as illegitimate, for by the German law a prince of a sovereign family could only marry a princess or a countess.

Did this mean that this was how Sophia Dorothea was regarded throughout Germany? Did it mean that the morganatic marriage was regarded as a true one?

It was too much to hope for. Anton Ulrich needed the wealth Sophia Dorothea would bring. But the betrothal must be accepted, Eléonore decided; and it must be soon, for the future of Sophia Dorothea depended on it.

When they were alone in their bedchamber she spoke to George William about the importance of this.

‘I believe,’ she said, ‘that Anton Ulrich expects us to do something about having our daughter legitimized. Augustus Frederick could not marry her unless she were. I fancy he was telling us that by the time she is marriageable this must be done.’

‘If only I had not been such a fool …’ sighed George William, sitting on the bed and staring at the tips of his boots.

Eléonore sat beside him and slipped her arm through his. How often had she heard him say those words! He meant them sincerely; but this situation demanded more than words.

‘There is one who, would he but give his word, could make it possible for us to marry.’

‘You mean …’

‘Your brother Ernest Augustus.’

‘But …’

‘We would take nothing from him. We might even pay for his consent. That should attract him. If he would release you from your promise not to marry, that is all we would ask – and if he did release you, then nothing would stand in our way. We could marry, Sophia Dorothea would be legitimized … and that is all we would ask.’

‘You think he would?’

‘Not easily. He would have to be heavily bribed, I doubt not. But your brother the Bishop is very … bribable.’

‘Do you propose that I should go and talk to him? My dearest, I have hinted it a thousand times.’

‘No, let us send Chancellor Schütz. He is a loyal minister and will make a good ambassador. Let him sound your brother, and if we fail …’

‘Yes,’ he said, ‘if we fail … oh, my love, how could I have been such a fool!’

‘You were not a fool. How much worse it would have been if you had married Sophia.’

‘God forbid.’

‘How much more difficult our position would have been then. No, do not reproach yourself, my love. What is done is done. It is the future with which we have to concern ourselves. And if this fails then we will try something else. If I have to plead with the Emperor himself, I intend to have my daughter recognized as legitimately yours.’

‘You will succeed, my love. Do you not always?’

Eléonore was determined to, and soon after Anton Ulrich rode away from Celle, assured that Sophia Dorothea would be legitimized by the time she was of marriageable age, and that George William’s wealth which was increasing year by year, would be hers, Schütz left too, and his destination was Osnabrück.

Sophia was seated with her six maids of honour embroidering an altar cloth, for she had never approved of idleness. One of the maids read aloud as they worked, for, decreed Sophia, although the fingers were busy the mind should also be occupied.

In actual fact she was paying little attention to what was read, for her thoughts darted from one thing to another. Was the allowance of one hundred thalers given to these maids of honour too much? The household accounts which she examined herself were always a shock to her. The tirewomen, the chambermaids and the maids of honour … to think of a few, were so costly. And then, more so than ever, the gentlemen of the household. That was Ernest Augustus’s affair, but this was one characteristic they shared; they both deplored the high cost of the household. But since George had returned to Celle and set up his elegant Frenchified court there, the court at Osnabrück must have some standing.

It was perfectly easy to see, Sophia had pointed out to Ernest Augustus, that George William wanted visitors to go to his castle and think of him as the head of the house. And since they would find Celle so much grander than Osnabrück, they would begin to get it into their heads that Celle was the leading court of the house of Brunswick. Hence, Osnabrück must vie with Celle – and a costly business it was. Cupbearers, chamberlains, gentlemen-in-waiting – and the thalers mounting up.

In addition there were the nursery expenses. Over the last years the inhabitants of this important part of the household had increased. George Lewis, now eleven years old, and Frederick Augustus aged ten, had been joined by Maximilian William, now five, Sophia Charlotte, three, and Charles Philip, two. They must have their governors, tutors, fencing masters, dancing masters and pages as well as their attendants.

Thalers, thalers, whichever way one looked, thought Sophia.

She sighed and said: ‘That’s enough.’

The maid of honour who had been reading, promptly closed the book and Sophia, setting aside her needlework and signing to another of the maids of honour to put it away, left them and went to the nursery.

She was rather anxious about that eldest son of hers. He was intelligent enough, but so unattractive. His brother Frederick Augustus was charming in comparison and Sophia secretly wished that he had been the elder.

She found George Lewis, instead of sitting at his lesson books, directing a campaign across the schoolroom table – his brother Frederick Augustus in the role of opposing general. Little Max William and Sophia Charlotte had evidently been assigned other rôles in the campaign and, poor little mites, they did not appear to be enjoying them.

Frederick Augustus sprang to his feet when his mother entered and made the courtly bow which he had been taught; but Sophia’s eyes were on George Lewis, whose brown face had flushed a little as he lumbered awkwardly towards her, and clumsily made his acknowledgment.

Sophia made a note: I must speak to Platen about him.

‘Where is your Governor Platen?’ she asked.

George Lewis shook his head implying that he did not know.

‘Do not shake your head at me, sir. Have you no tongue?’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Have what?’ demanded Sophia.

‘A tongue.’

‘Should you not give me some title when you address me?’

‘Yes … Madam.’

‘I am glad you deign to do so. I never saw such manners. And what is this game you are playing?’

‘I am a general,’ piped up Frederick Augustus. ‘You see, Mother, my men are facing those of George Lewis but I fear he has manoeuvred his forces into the better position.’

‘It is a pity he cannot manoeuvre his manners a little more expertly.’ Sophia gave a loud laugh. ‘I want to see Platen. You go and find him and take him to the antechamber. I will be there shortly.’

Frederick Augustus went off and Sophia gazed in dismay at her eldest son who continued to stare down at his feet. ‘George Lewis,’ she said impatiently, ‘why do you stand there? Why don’t you say something?’

‘What do you want me to say?’ he mumbled.

Sophia Charlotte had toddled up to her mother pulling Charles Philip with her; and Max William was waiting hopefully for his share of her attention.

‘I want you to say something which will tell us that you are not the complete oaf and boor you seem to be.’

She turned to Sophia Charlotte.

‘Mamma …’ said Sophia, her pretty face flushed with excitement. Sophia picked her up. How pretty she was! and Charles Philip was pulling at her gown too.

Sophia sat down and took the young ones on her lap while Max William sidled up.

‘Well, my son,’ said Sophia, ‘what were you doing in the campaign?’

‘I was a general … a little one.’

‘And you have left the battle?’

He rubbed his finger on the soft material of her skirt and smiled up at her shyly.

‘Perhaps that is because you were only a little general, my son.’

Max William lifted his shoulders and laughed childishly. Sophia laughed with him; and the little ones joined in.

They were delightful, these children of hers … all except George Lewis who had no manners, no grace; he had now gone back to the table and was moving the toy soldiers there with a concentration that meant to imply he found them more interesting than anything else in the room.

He should be whipped, thought Sophia indignantly. He was a boor. How had it happened? His tutors and governors were to blame. But were they? She had told Ernest Augustus that she was beginning to suspect no one could make anything of George Lewis.

When he had been a baby she used to say she loved him because he was so ugly. It was amusing perhaps for a baby to be ugly, but when the baby grew up and became an uncouth, ill-mannered boy that was another matter.

Frederick Augustus came back and said that their governor was awaiting the Duchess’s instructions and was in the antechamber when she wished to see him. So Sophia took leave of the children and went to join their governor.

Baron Frank Ernest von Platen was a mild man, but an ambitious one, determined to raise himself in the royal household. He saw an opportunity of doing this when he was appointed to the post of governor to the children of the reigning house. Being cautious he had become wealthy, and Ernest Augustus was inclined to favour him.

‘Ah,’ said Sophia, ‘so here you are.’

‘At your service, madam.’

‘I want to talk to you very seriously about George Lewis.’

Platen looked grave.

‘You may well look as you do. I find his progress most unsatisfactory.’

‘He is not as bad as he seems, Madam.’

‘I hope not, for then I should despair; but it is necessary for a Prince to appear better than he is … not worse. Don’t you agree?’

‘I am in complete agreement.’

‘And yet this pupil of yours is a boor without the grace to behave with ordinary good manners.’

‘Madam, he is George Lewis. If he makes up his mind to act in a certain way then he will do it. Let me say this, that his knowledge of military history is good; that I am sure he has great courage. But there are some subjects in which he has no interest. And he refuses to try to excel in light conversation.’

‘He is eleven years old. I should not have thought it was for him to lay down rules as to what he should and should not do.’

‘He is a Prince, Madam. Already he knows his mind.’

‘Then he will have to learn, will he not, that it is not his place to make decisions?’

‘He can be very stubborn,’ said Platen. And vindictive too, he thought, when he is crossed. George Lewis would remember a score for years, Platen was sure; and that was a point to remember when it was certain that one day he would rule in place of his father.

‘Something will have to be done. How is his English?’

‘I am uncertain, Madam. Perhaps you would wish to speak to his tutor?’

‘I would,’ she said.

‘Then, Madam, if you will excuse me, I will find out and send him to you.’

Glad to escape, Platen went out and in a few minutes returned with John von dem Bussche, the Princes’ chief tutor.

‘Now,’ said Sophia, ‘I am asking how my eldest son progresses with his English.’

‘Not at all, Madam, I fear.’

‘Not at all! But he must speak English. It is almost his native tongue.’

‘He has no aptitude, Madam. He is tolerably good at other languages but English seems to be beyond him.’

‘He must speak English. It would be such a disgrace if he did not. He is part English, as you know. I wish him to study not only the English tongue, but English history, for that is the history of my family.’

The two men caught each other’s eye. Sophia’s preoccupation with England and the English were well known through the palace. It might even be that the recalcitrant George Lewis knew this and that was why he shut his mind to all things English … and in particular their tongue.

‘Well, you will see that he learns his English. And I am most disgusted by his awkwardness. If you wish to keep your posts at least teach him how to bow and move with some grace. He may have to go to England one day and I would be most ashamed for my relations there to see my son as he is today. I can tell you this, that my cousin the King of England is one of the most charming men in the world. His manners are perfect … and they always were. I would wish my son to be as my cousin.’

‘In this matter of manners?’ murmured John von dem Bussche with a daring which made Platen wince. Really, he would have to be a little more careful if he wished to keep his post. To refer to the blatant immorality of Charles II before his cousin Sophia was a little dangerous.

Sophia saw fit not to notice the lapse.

‘Let this be attended to,’ she said.

Then she left them to go to her husband, for this matter of her son’s unfortunate character weighed deeply on her mind.

Ernest Augustus was sleeping after a heavy meal; she could smell the sauerkraut about his clothes and person as she approached.

‘Ernest Augustus,’ she said, ‘Wake up. I am disturbed.’

He started and looked at her in surprise. ‘My dear, this is hardly the time …’

‘You were very preoccupied when I wished to have a chat with you before.’

This was a reference to his current intrigue with Esther, one of Sophia’s femmes de chambre. She was mildly irritated, wishing that he would look a little higher in his amours.

‘Well, what troubles you?’

‘George Lewis troubles me, and he should trouble you too.’

‘Is anything wrong? I thought he was in good health.’

‘His health’s rude enough – the trouble is so is he. His manners are disgusting; he makes no progress with the English tongue; he shambles like an idiot; he gapes, and stammers … In other words, he is an oaf, a boor … and something should be done about it.’

‘What?’

‘Perhaps he should be sent abroad on a grand tour.’

‘Well, that might be possible. I suppose you’re thinking of sending him to England.’

‘To England!’ cried Sophia. ‘I should be ashamed. To my own people … and him such an oaf! You know Charles with his gracious manners!’

‘I have heard he performs superbly in the bedchamber.’

‘He is a King and must have his diversions. He is not the only one who spends much time and energy in that room.’

Ernest Augustus was quiet. He marvelled at her tolerance. It was one of her greatest virtues in his eyes. But he did not want to abuse it.

Sophia went on: ‘George Lewis is not ready yet to go to England, but I trust in good time he may be. It would seem that my cousin Charles’s wife is a sterile woman, and that he’ll get no issue from her.’

‘He does very well outside the marriage bed. Ha, ha.’

‘Which shows that the fault does not lie with him. We are not a sterile family. I wonder if he ever remembers that I was once promised to him. That would give him food for thought when he considers my nursery.’

She was a little indignant that Charles had not asked her hand in marriage, and in spite of the fact that she was so proud of her connection with him she bore him some resentment. Yes, she was a proud woman. Ernest Augustus was glad to discover her vulnerability.

‘He seems carefree enough and he has a brother.’

‘Yes,’ said Sophia, ‘with two daughters. Who knows, one of them might do for George Lewis.’

‘That would delight you! An English wife for George Lewis!’

‘And, has it occurred to you, if one of those girls were Queen it might be the crown of England for George Lewis.’

‘You set your ambitious ideas very high, Sophia.’

‘That’s what ambition is, my dear husband. I want George Lewis to be ready … if fortune should be good to him. His boorish manners shock me deeply. Something must be done. I think that as soon as it can be managed he and Frederick Augustus should do a tour of Europe. Not England … no, no… . He must improve before he goes there. But perhaps Italy … France… . What do you say?’

‘I think you’re right, as you invariably are. If there was more money, if they were a little older …’

‘It is a matter to be considered then?’

‘Most certainly.’

As they were discussing the possibilities this might open up for their sons, a messenger came to tell them that Schütz, Duke George William’s ambassador, had arrived at Osnabrück.

Ernest Augustus had rarely seen Sophia so angry as she was when Schütz stated his case.

‘My lord Chancellor,’ she said, ‘I am sure my husband the Duke will willingly show you the documents which your master has signed, in which he swears never to marry.’

‘I know of the existence of such documents, Madam, but my master is asking your indulgence.’

Ernest Augustus put in: ‘But there is no releasing him from his vows. If I did so he would still have to face his conscience.’

‘My master has satisfied his conscience, my lord Duke. His great concern is for your help in this matter.’

Sophia nodded at her husband who said: ‘What you ask is quite impossible.’

‘We are surprised, Herr Schütz,’ added Sophia, ‘that you should have allowed yourself to be the carrier of such a request.’

‘Madam, I follow my duty which is best to serve my master.’

‘By advising him to break his vows!’

‘All he asks is that his marriage may be recognized as legal and his daughter legitimized.’

‘All he asks is to break his solemn vow,’ cried Sophia. ‘And my husband and I are agreed on this: the answer is no.’

Schütz returned to Celle to report that it was useless to hope for any help from Osnabrück because both Duke Ernest Augustus and Duchess Sophia had made up their minds to do everything to stop the marriage.

‘Well,’ said Eléonore, ‘at least we know what to expect. As a matter of fact, I very quickly learned that Sophia was an enemy. She never forgave you for passing her over to Ernest Augustus and me for winning the affection you could not give to her.’

‘So,’ sighed George William, ‘it is useless to fight.’

‘There I cannot agree,’ said Eléonore. ‘This is where the fight begins.’

‘But if Ernest Augustus will not release me …’

‘We shall go higher than Ernest Augustus.’

‘You mean?’

‘The Emperor.’

‘Eléonore!’

‘Why not? What harm can it do? I am sure he will be sympathetic if I state the case precisely. In any case, it is what I intend to do.’

‘My dearest, you are a very determined woman.’

‘I have to be. I have my daughter’s future to think of.’

To the surprise of George William, Eléonore received a reply to her letter from the Emperor Leopold.

He understood, he said, and he sympathized; and what she asked was by no means impossible. He was, however, very busily engaged. He was faced with wars which had to be his main pre-occupation. He had to fight the Turks and the King of France – to whom he knew Eléonore, although a Frenchwoman, had no reason to be grateful. He was sure that Eléonore’s husband would be as glad to help him as he would be to help Eléonore if he had the opportunity. Firstly of course he must settle his pressing affairs. He was in need of men and arms. If the Duke of Celle could help him, he could rest assured that he would do everything in his power to repay such a service.

When Eléonore read the letter she gasped with surprise. To write to the Emperor had been the defiant gesture of a desperate woman and she had never dared hope for such a reply.

Well, here it was. George William must first send men to help the Emperor – and then his reward should be considered.

She ran to George William who read the letter in amazement.

Then he looked at Eléonore, his eyes shining with pride.

‘You are a wonderful woman,’ he said.

‘And you will do this?’

‘My dearest, the Emperor can make a bargain with you; rest assured that I shall do everything … just everything in my power … that you ask of me. Leopold shall have his troops.’

This was the first step, thought Eléonore. She was certain that she would take the rest unfalteringly to victory.

Sophia from Osnabrück declared open warfare, no longer pretending to be Eléonore’s friend.

She blamed Ernest Augustus for not striking an even harder bargain when he had had the chance. He should have robbed George William not only of his right to marry and some of his estates but all of them.

For the dismal truth had to be faced that George William was much richer than they were and although he kept his Frenchified court he had not a nursery full of children with their necessarily expensive household to keep up.

All they had was their idolized petted Sophia Dorothea.

‘She must be a spoiled brat!’ fumed Sophia. ‘And if Eléonore has no more children she will be a very rich one when she inherits all they have.’

And not content with making her the richest of heiresses Eléonore was trying to bestow legitimacy on her as well. No wonder Anton Ulrich was licking his lips. She dareswore he was cursing the fact that the pretty little thing was not of an age to be snapped up right away.

Sophia wrote to her niece, Elizabeth Charlotte, who having married Louis XIV’s brother was now the Duchess of Orléans. She had known Eléonore when she was at the Court of France and being of a malicious and mischievous nature she was delighted to write to Sophia about her, inventing scandal, which seemed to be what her aunt wanted.

These letters passed frequently between them and Eléonore was the subject of them. They gave vent to their hatred by referring to her as ‘that piece of flesh’, ‘that clot of dirt’, and remarking how scandalous it was that she should be trying to make a position for herself in the court of a German prince – even though a minor one.

‘You had better tell me all you know of this woman,’ Sophia wrote, ‘for can you guess what she is trying to do? She is trying to make her marriage to my foolish brother-in-law legal so that little bastard of hers can have a title and make a brilliant marriage. We owe it to our house, to our blood, to prevent this.’

Elizabeth Charlotte, not finding sufficient scandal on which to feed her salacious and ever greedy mind, was not averse to inventing it. What had been her duties in the household of the Princesse de Tarente, did Sophia think? What was the Princesse de Tarente doing in Breda? Anyone who lived in her house automatically cast aside their reputations. Did Sophia know that? Elizabeth Charlotte could tell stories of a certain page at the court of Louis XIV. Eléonore had done everything she knew – and that was a great deal – to marry him; she had failed of course and now was doubtless glad since she had succeeded in making a fool of the Duke of Celle. And in the household of the Princesse de Tarente – what had been the relationship between the Princess’s husband and that clot of dirt?

With delight Sophia read these letters to Ernest Augustus who did not believe them.

‘Whether you believe them or not we must do our best to make others do so.’

‘Do you think you will? You only have to look at her to know that she is quite incapable of such acts … not only for virtue’s sake but for that of her dignity, which is very great.’

‘Well, we shall see.’

When the rumours reached Celle Eléonore knew whence they came. Still she was distressed and, to show his utmost belief in her, George William decided to buy more estates which, because they were outside his inherited territory, he would be at liberty to leave where he wished. These he would leave to Eléonore. But even before he could make the purchase it was necessary to get the consent of Ernest Augustus to make the transaction.

George William was sad to see the change in his brother. When he called to tell him of his wishes, he reminded him of the old days when they had wandered about Europe together.

‘Why, brother,’ he said, ‘then you would have done anything in the world for me.’

‘Then,’ replied Ernest Augustus, ‘we hadn’t a care in the world. And if I have changed, then so have you. You used to be adventurous, ready for anything … now you have been a quiet old married man.’

‘Well, I have responsibilities.’

‘And so, brother, have I.’

‘I did not think you would ever be so hard.’

‘I did not think you would ever be so sedate.’

‘It but shows what circumstances will do to us. Now this matter of Wilhemsburg …’

‘You propose to buy the island so that you can leave it to Madam von Harburg.’

‘That is my idea.’

‘It is a very rich and fertile island.’

‘That is why I wish to acquire it.’

‘If this deal goes through I should need a little … commission. I am making a great concession in agreeing to the purchase … and I have a big family to keep, George William.’

George William sighed.

Yes. Ernest Augustus had certainly changed.

Having acquired the island George William then set about making a pedigree for his Eléonore. He sent for a French genealogist and offered him a high price if he could prove that Eléonore was descended from the Kings of France. This was expertly done and made public.

When Sophia saw it she burst into loud laughter and immediately sent a copy to the Duchess of Orléans, who saw that the matter became a great joke at the French Court. The Duchess thereupon set about drawing up a genealogical tree for her cook to prove, she said, that she had descended from Charles the Bold. Eléonore realized that she and George William had been rather foolish over this matter, but the rift between the Osnabrück and Celle courts was wider than ever.

Eléonore and Sophia ceased to meet unless it was absolutely necessary, and then their demeanour towards each other was glacial.

Time passed after Sophia Dorothea’s informal betrothal to Anton Ulrich’s son, but Eléonore did not waver.

Eventually she was going to win the Emperor’s consent to legitimizing her marriage and the birth of her daughter.

To make sure of this George William himself took a troop of his men to fight under the Emperor when it was made clear that this was the wish of Leopold.

Eléonore endured the loneliness without him; even this, she thought, is worthwhile for the sake of Sophia Dorothea.