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.