His head disappeared. There were exclamations and giggles from the open window. This was a little dangerous, thought Ernest Augustus. It was all very well to go whoring outside their own home, but they should be more careful in Celle. If Christian Lewis should hear of their adventures … Not that he did not know that such adventures were indulged in; that was not the point. Christian Lewis himself was no monk – although life in the castle went on in the old monastic way under him as it had under their father. Yet one did not philander in Celle. That was the difference.
A movement from above and George William was at the window again. He appeared to somersault; there he was one moment, deftly gripping the sill with both hands, and the next on the ground.
‘Well done, brother,’ said Ernest Augustus. ‘I never saw a man leap from a lady’s bedroom as skilfully as you.’
‘An art acquired through long practice. You will come to it in time. My horse.’
Ernest Augustus, who was holding it, nodded his head and George William leaped into the saddle.
The castle was stirring when they rode into the courtyard. The grooms tried to hide their smiles. They knew where the young men had been. There was, after all, nothing unusual in these nocturnal adventures. This was just another of them.
Since the death of Duke George, Christian Lewis had become the head of the household. The brothers were good friends; they were all lusty, but all in agreement that nothing must stand in the way of their house’s continued prosperity. One of them would marry and produce the heir to the entire estate; it was the accepted plan.
On the day following their night adventure Christian Lewis sent for his two brothers and told them he wanted to talk to them seriously.
‘You were a little noisy at the inn this morning,’ he announced. ‘You were seen leaving. I have already heard of it … from the town. A certain man and his wife, rising early to go to church, saw you leave and heard your ribald comments on the night’s adventures.’
George William grimaced and looked at Ernest Augustus, who burst out laughing.
‘It is no laughing matter when the townsfolk disapprove,’ Christian Lewis reminded them. ‘Why don’t you two each find yourselves a good mistress and settle down.’
‘We have one taste in common,’ replied George William. ‘It is a love of variety.’
Christian Lewis sighed. ‘That’s understandable. But a good mistress here would displease no one and then you should go abroad for your variety.’
‘Abroad,’ echoed George William. ‘I confess the prospect pleases me. Abroad … where the women are supremely elegant. French ladies! Italian ladies! They are more elegant than our Germans. Yes, I should be very pleased to find a friend or two among them.’
‘I am going to marry,’ Christian Lewis told them. ‘They’re forcing me to it. It is time we produced the heir, they say. That leaves you two free. I envy you.’
‘Dear brother, it is noble of you to take on the burden,’ said George William.
‘I am the eldest. It is my duty,’ answered Christian Lewis mournfully.
‘I hope, brother,’ put in Ernest Augustus, ‘that you will have a comely bride.’
‘A woman of virtue and good background. Worthy to enter our family. We are deciding on Dorothea of Holstein-Glücksburg.’
‘Good fortune, brother! May you beget many sons and a few daughters.’
‘Thank you. I shall do my duty.’
‘We shall pray for you,’ said George William.
‘And,’ went on Christian Lewis, ‘since I shall marry and you cannot live, it seems, without a variety of adventures, perhaps you should seek them outside our territory. You and your brother should do a little travelling.’
‘An excellent plan. Why should we not travel together?’
‘That’s what I would wish. Make your plans. Have your adventures – wild as you like – provided that in your own land you conduct yourself with decorum.’
Ernest Augustus’s eyes were shining with anticipation. There was little that could appeal to him more than a trip abroad in the company of his handsome and versatile brother.
After the wedding of Christian Lewis the two brothers set out on their travels journeying south into Italy until they came to Venice, and so enchanted were they with this beautiful city that they decided to rest there for a while.
They took a house on the Grand Canal and were welcomed into Venetian society: two young German Princes whose manners were, at the beginning, a little uncouth, but this gradually changed after contact with what the Venetians called the civilized world. The beauty of the city – particularly by night – enchanted the two men; Venice was at that time at the height of its glory – one of the gayest cities in Europe; rich, elegant, artistic, civilized. The young Germans had always loved music and this interest they were able to indulge to the full.
‘Who would live in Celle,’ demanded George William, ‘when he could live in Venice?’
And as usual Ernest Augustus agreed with him.
After a series of love affairs George William entered into a more permanent arrangement with a young Venetian, Signora Buccolini – a woman of beauty and a nature sensuous enough to match his own. They set up an establishment together and Ernest Augustus – always accommodating – moved from his brother’s house and set up a household of his own. But while George William lived with one mistress, Ernest Augustus failed to find one who could satisfy him completely, so he had many.
It was a pleasant existence and the brothers asked for nothing better. They revelled in their good fortune in being born younger sons while they spared time from pleasure now and then to pity poor Christian Lewis, who as the eldest, had to bear the burden of the estates.
Sometimes they would talk of Celle and laugh – the laughter of complacency – recalling the monastic nature of life in the castle and poor Christian Lewis sitting at the head table in the hall at precisely nine in the morning and four in the afternoon. They had heard that he was drinking heavily – it was his one vice, it was said. So presumably he did not waste much time outside the marriage bed. Poor Christian Lewis! What a sad duty to be forced to produce the heir!
‘Soon,’ said George William, ‘we should be having news of the birth of our nephew.’
But there was no news; and it was not easy to go on remembering dull Celle in glittering Venice.
Signora Buccolini became pregnant and that was a matter of great interest; particularly when in due course a son was born. He was a charming child with his mother’s beauty, and it was amusing to be a father.
As soon as his mistress was recovered George William gave a ball to celebrate the occasion – a masked ball with gaiety and frivolity, and the canals were brilliant with beflowered and beribboned gondolas of the guests; and the culmination was the unmasking at midnight in St. Mark’s Square.
It was a dazzling ball – but one of many in that gay city and the brothers were settling down to consider Venice their home. They were beginning to speak the language well, to act and think like Venetians. It was true that Signora Buccolini was becoming a little too possessive. She seemed to believe that having borne little Lucas she should demand absolute fidelity, and it was scarcely in George William’s nature to grant that. There were passionate quarrels and even more passionate reconciliations, and so the days passed.
But this pleasant way of life could not be expected to go on for ever. Although the brothers appeared to forget this, they belonged to Brunswick-Lüneberg, and it was from these far-off estates that the money came which enabled them to enjoy this sybarite existence; and one day when George William sat on the terrace of his palazzo one of his servants came out to tell him that a messenger had arrived with a letter for him.