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.
Sophia’s mother, the ex-Queen of Bohemia, had stayed at Breda; so had Charles Prince of Wales who had now returned to England where, he had said, he was greeted so warmly that it must have been his own fault that he had stayed away so long.
Through the streets the carriages of the once-great or near-great rattled; ladies dressed in the latest French fashions acknowledged the greetings of gallant gentlemen as their carriages passed along. Every day seemed to be the occasion for some brilliant ball or masquerade. The people of Breda were proud of their foreign population which had brought such prosperity to the town.
George William was welcomed. He was no exile but came purely for pleasure; his servants found a worthy lodging for him and in the first few days he received a message from the Princesse de Tarente inviting him to a ball.
George William was delighted. Breda soothed him; here was grace and charm which might have come straight from Versailles. It was different from Venice. The climate was not so clement; the romantic canals and the delight of a masque which ended in St. Mark’s Square was missing; but there was an excitement about Breda which Venice lacked; and he felt his spirits rising. As his servants dressed him for the ball he knew that he had been wise to hand over everything to Ernest Augustus. Freedom was worth anything.
It was a splendid ball and he was received effusively by the Princess.
‘My dear, dear Duke!’ she cried, holding out both hands to welcome him. ‘What a pleasure this is! We are almost related now. You were indeed a wicked one to refuse my niece. You look astonished. Did you not know that the Duchess Sophia is my niece?’
‘It is impossible. I had thought you might be sisters.’
‘Now you would flatter me. Or has marriage aged dear Sophia so much? I hear she has two splendid boys! How happy the dear Bishop must be! And you … oh no, you are a born bachelor and still determined to remain one. I hope you are not contemplating a short stay in Breda. We are two Germans, remember. After all, I am only French by marriage. But you will meet some delightful people … delightful …’
She was ready to greet the next guest and he passed on. Such enchanting women! He danced; he flattered; and it was like a hundred other balls he had attended until he found Eléonore.
She was tall and her dark hair, which was very abundant, was piled high on her head, although one curl was allowed to fall over her shoulder; she had a dazzling complexion and sparkling dark eyes; and George was struck by her air of dignity, which was rare in one so young, and of modesty which was even more rare.