by Jean Plaidy
George William read through what he had written. It appeared to embrace every point. Now he must sign it and seal it in the presence of his brothers; and then the matter would be settled, apart from informing the Princess Sophia of the change.
The three brothers were waiting in the apartment of Christian Lewis for the arrival of the fourth. John Frederick had no notion as to why he was being summoned, but as George William had said, it was of no great concern of his for as the third brother he had nothing to lose by the transaction.
‘At last!’ cried George William as John Frederick entered. ‘Welcome, brother. An important ceremony is about to take place.’
‘It is evidently a pleasant one,’ replied John Frederick, ‘judging by the look of you and Ernest Augustus.’
George William glanced at his youngest brother. Good God, he thought, he is ambitious. He wants to produce the heir to the house. He wants to marry Sophia.
And he had been imagining this was a sacrifice his brother had been making for his sake!
So Ernest Augustus was ambitious! Well, George William was a generous man and it always pleased him better to give than to take. He was pleased therefore that Ernest Augustus was more than reconciled – gratified and delighted.
‘I am all eagerness to hear,’ pointed out John Frederick.
Christian Lewis nodded to George William. ‘Explain to him,’ he said.
‘Well, brother, it is like this. I was betrothed to the Princess Sophia.’
‘You mean you are no longer betrothed?’
‘No longer so. I have decided to abdicate in favour of a brother.’
Eagerness shot up in John Frederick’s eyes.
‘You understand,’ went on George William, ‘that I have no wish for marriage.’
‘I have always known that – and therefore it is right that you should pass on the opportunity to a brother.’
‘Then we are all in agreement.’
‘Of course it would be necessary for you to pass on not only the bride but certain monies.’
‘That has all been thought of. The bridegroom will have nothing of which to complain. I have drawn up the necessary documents and we shall sign them immediately.’
‘And the Princess has been acquainted with the change?’
‘Not yet. We thought it necessary to have the agreements signed and sealed before acquainting her.’
‘I will ride to Heidelberg tomorrow.’
‘You, John Frederick?’
‘As the future bridegroom …’
‘It is Ernest Augustus who has agreed to take over the marriage.’
‘Ernest Augustus! But he’s the youngest!’
‘I have made the arrangement with him and he has given me his promise.’
‘But I am the next in seniority. I should be the one.’
Ernest Augustus took a few paces towards his brother and said: ‘It’s too late, John Frederick. Everything is settled now. I am going to marry Sophia.’
‘I’ll not agree.’
‘You will have to. The three of us agree and you would be one against the rest.’
‘I agree to changing the bridegrooms, but I consider that my place in the family entitles me to be the marrying one.’
‘Too late, too late,’ said George William. ‘I have come to an agreement with Ernest Augustus.’
John Frederick seized his young brother’s arm. ‘You will stand aside for me.’
George William took John Frederick by the shoulder and wrenching him away from his brother threw him across the room.
‘Enough of this nonsense,’ he said. ‘I have the document here and I shall sign – and that is the end of the matter.’
John Frederick glowered; Ernest Augustus held his breath; he could scarcely wait for the signature to be put to the paper. Those few strokes of the pen would make him in a sense the head of the house. For the first time in his life he despised his handsome, amusing elder brother. George William was a fool. He was throwing away his birthright for a mess of potage. Pray God he did not realize this until his name was at the foot of that important paper.
George William laid the paper on a table and took up his pen.
‘George William,’ he wrote, ‘Duke of Brunswick and Lüneberg, April 11th, 1658.’
He stood up. ‘There!’ he cried. ‘The deed is done. Here, brother, is your assurance.’
As Ernest Augustus took the paper, John Frederick tried to snatch it from him. The paper fluttered to the floor to be picked up by George William while the two younger brothers, caught in an angry embrace, rolled on the floor.
George William stood laughing at them for a few seconds. Then he cried: ‘I’ll not have this solemn occasion changed into a brawl.’
He put the paper on the table and went to the aid of Ernest Augustus, and together they succeeded in thrusting John Frederick from the room.
George William locked the door and stood leaning against it.
‘Well, brother,’ he said, ‘there’s your security. Now go to.’
Christian Lewis looked grave.
‘Come, cheer up,’ admonished George William. ‘This is for me a gay occasion. I want to celebrate my freedom.’
‘I like it not,’ murmured Christian Lewis, ‘when brothers quarrel.’
The Elector Palatine sent for his sister.
‘I have news for you,’ he said. ‘News from Celle.’
Sophia sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap, but her heart beat uncomfortably. Was he going to attempt to wriggle out of his agreement? He had been lukewarm. She had recognized that. This couldn’t be yet another disappointment. How could she endure to go on living, single, at her brother’s court with no hope of ever improving her position!
‘Duke George William has decided that he is not fitted for matrimony.’
Thank God she had always been able to cloak her feelings! So he found her repulsive. He had taken a look at her, had reluctantly agreed to marry her, and then gone away – presumably to one of his mistresses – and changed his mind, and so determinedly that he had had the effrontery to jilt her. It was unforgivable.
Still she sat calmly, hands in her lap.
‘But,’ went on her brother, perhaps enjoying keeping her in suspense, ‘they have a bridegroom for you.’
She lifted her head sharply then and said in a cold voice: ‘What is the meaning of this?’
‘Duke George William declines to marry you, oh, not you personally. It has nothing to do with that. It is marriage itself to which he objects. Ernest Augustus, however, has no such objections.’
‘He has no such prospects either.’
‘That is not so. George William resigns more than you to him, sister. He has given him a promise not to marry, to pass over certain estates to his brother and the heirs of your body shall become the heirs to the entire estate.’
‘So then, nothing is changed but the man.’
The Elector laughed. ‘You’re a cool one,’ he said.
‘Tell me, brother, is it not the Brunswick-Lüneberg estates I am marrying? Should you give your consent to my marrying one of your subjects?’
‘Assuredly not.’
‘Well then, I shall have all that was promised me – the only difference is that they will be handed me by a younger brother. A good establishment is all I care about and if it can be secured through the younger brother, I am indifferent to the change of man.’
‘You’re a wise woman, Sophia, and I’m glad. You can’t afford to be aught else at your age. Mind you, I think you’ll get on better with the younger brother.’
‘And why so?’
‘He seemed to me more amenable. You’ll make him dance to your tune, Sophia. I doubt whether you would have been able to have done the same with the other.’
‘Then there is nothing in the way of going ahead with the marriage?’
‘Nothing at all. I will write this day to Ernest Augustus and tell him that you will be delighted to take him to be your husband. I see no reason
for delay, sister. You can begin making your preparations at once.’
He looked after his sister as she left the room.
Cold, he thought. Ambitious. But she would make a good wife for this Ernest Augustus. She was reasonable too, which saved a great deal of trouble.
Sophia dismissed her servants and sat down by her mirror studying her reflection.
So I do not attract him! she thought. He took a look at me, weakly agreed to have me, and then went away and changed his mind.
Good God! How repulsive he must find me since he is ready to throw away a large portion of his estates and his chances of ever having legitimate children – all to be rid of me.
She was not as cold as they believed her to be but as romantic as any young woman might expect to be. Before the smallpox she had not been uncomely – perhaps if he had seen her then …
But he had, when they were children, and he had danced with her and played the guitar to her and she had, in the manner of the very young, conceived a romantic fancy for him. When she had heard she was to marry him, she had been exultant; she had changed, become more feminine, dreamed of the future. And when she had seen him, although he had been cool to her and made no pretence that he was in love with her, she had continued to dream.
But he would not have her. Moreover, he was ready to pay a great price to discard her.
Very few women could have been so insulted. She should be grateful that the engagement had not been made public – but it would be known, of course, throughout all the German principalities and throughout Europe. Cousin Charles would hear … in Breda or wherever he was … roaming about the Continent, waiting for a chance to get his kingdom back. And he would commiserate with George William; he would say: ‘I understand the fellow’s reluctance. She was offered to me, you know.’
She would never forget how George William had insulted her.
But by good fortune there was Ernest Augustus and as nothing helpful could come of brooding on her disappointment, she must take what she could get.
Ernest Augustus! He had come to Heidelberg with his brother when they were boys. He was not unpleasant; he had some charm; it was merely that George William eclipsed him. Ernest Augustus had been interested in her, at that time; he would have willingly been very friendly indeed. But she had looked on him as a younger brother with few prospects and had no intention of allowing her name to be coupled with his, a matter which might work to her detriment if other suitors were being considered.
That was when she was young, of course, before her complexion had been spoilt, when her mother still hoped that she would capture the Prince of Wales.
And now he was to be her husband. He was not unlike his brother. When one did not see them together, he would appear very like him. In any case she had to make the best of him. She could endure no more delay. She wanted marriage quickly and children to make her position sure.
She must insist on her brother’s making absolutely certain that the documents were in order; and then she must receive her bridegroom as though she was just as happy to have him as his brother.
She would do it, she had no fear.
It was only in the solitude of her own bedchamber that she allowed herself to give way to thoughts of bitterness and disappointment.
Ernest Augustus came with all speed to Heidelberg and before there could be any more delays the Elector arranged that the marriage should take place.
There were balls and banquets to celebrate the event – which the Elector informed his sister in private, he could ill afford.
‘At least,’ she retorted, ‘you will be rid of me now. So this is the last expense you will have to bear for me.’
The Elector did not answer, but in his heart he knew she was right.
So the wedding took place and Sophia was not entirely displeased with her bridegroom. They were the same age; and Ernest Augustus seemed to have grown both mentally and physically since he took over his brother’s commitments. He was shrewd and ambitious; and that was what Sophia would expect her husband to be.
He assured her that he considered his brother’s defection as the greatest luck to himself. He proved to be a passionate lover and Sophia, being an ambitious woman, reciprocated, being pleased that the foundations of her life were now settled. It was not what she would have wished; she still thought a great deal about England – but of course that country was closed to her ambitions now. She had a princely husband, who was young and lusty; and she believed that when she had her children – sons to start with, to make sure of the succession – she would be a contented woman.
They left Heidelberg – first for Hanover and then settled at Osnabrück; and it was here that Sophia was able to give her husband the joyful news that she was pregnant.
Sophia lay on her bed, and those who served her believed that she would never leave it. She had calmly awaited this event all through the difficult months of pregnancy; and now she was battling not only to give birth but for her own life.
As she lay between spasms of agony she thought of the past, of her hopes, of her dread that she would never marry and make a destiny for herself and her children. It could not end like this.
‘I’ll not allow it,’ she told herself as she lost consciousness.
She heard the cry of a child and joy enveloped her, taking away her pain, leaving her limp and exhausted but triumphant.
‘The child?’ her lips moved, but no sound came.
And then – infinite joy – someone spoke. ‘A boy … a healthy boy.’
She lay lightly dreaming; then she was was aware of someone at her bedside. It was Ernest Augustus.
‘Sophia,’ he said, and his voice seemed far off. ‘We have him. We have our son.’
‘So!’ she whispered. ‘Then you are well content?’
‘You must lie quiet. It has been a trying time.’
‘But he is well … he is strong …’
‘Listen. He has a good pair of lungs, they tell me. He’s trying to tell you now.’
‘Show me,’ she whispered.
And he was brought to her and put into her arms.
The pain had been worthwhile, she thought. Gloriously worthwhile. This was the meaning of life. She would scheme for this child, plan for him; her first born.
They called him George Lewis.
Romance in Breda
GEORGE WILLIAM WAS restless. He had no desire to return to Venice. He was free to go where he would, for Ernest Augustus and Sophia were doing their duty for the Guelphs. They now had two sons, George Lewis was healthy, although excessively ugly, and little Frederick Augustus had joined him in the nursery.
It was amusing to watch Ernest Augustus as a father and head of the house. How he had changed! He no longer looked up to George William as he once had. He was the ambitious man on the alert to establish the position he had won by taking his brother’s place, anxious to make little George Lewis’s inheritance a worthy one.
He had recently succeeded to the Bishopric of Osnabrück, that See which was founded by Charlemagne. It was a strange selection, but the Treaty of Westphalia had decreed that the Prince Bishops of Osnabrück should be alternately Roman Catholic and Lutheran; and that the Lutheran Bishop should be chosen by the chapter from the house of Brunswick-Lüneberg. Thus was Ernest Augustus selected, and as it was an office bringing with it power as well as riches he had been delighted to accept. He had immediately moved his family to the Castle of Iburg and decided to make this his headquarters.
He was enjoying life. I should have made him pay me for what was done, mused George William. He made no sacrifice.
They were growing apart. Ernest Augustus was so much the married man, George William the confirmed bachelor. The only quality they shared was their deep sensuality, for although Ernest Augustus was married he was by no means a faithful husband. He did his duty by Sophia, giving her every opportunity to bear children, but it was not to be expected that one woman could satisfy him. He was determined to live his own life and
made it clear that while every respect was paid to Sophia by his subjects, while she might rule the household as chatelaine, he must be allowed to go his way. Sophia understood this; she never complained at the mistresses he took; she had control of the children and the household, and was queen in her domain. Very well, she would not ask for the impossible.
So Ernest Augustus had done well. He even managed to travel a little – although not too far, nor did he stay away too long. He could see that George William was doing himself no good by his constant absences. He liked hunting, eating, drinking and sleeping with women. While he could get these and beget a family he was content.
Not so George William. Restlessly he flitted about the Continent until eventually he came to Breda, which had become known as the home of exiles, for in this pleasant town they congregated and lived recklessly and hopefully, as exiles will.
There was a royal set in Breda – exiled Princes and Princesses, Kings and Queens and the nobility who had reasons for wanting to leave their native countries, settled there. Some were rich; many were poor; and those who might not be able to compete with the rich hostesses of the Court of Restored Royalty in England or that glittering opulence of Versailles, set up house in Breda and contented themselves with offering hospitality to persons who, at the moment, were in the shadows but full of hope of returning to power, in which case they might remember the friends of their needy days.
