The Princess of Celle: (Georgian Series) (2 page)

‘Was
your
friend so disappointing then?’ asked George William.

‘Oh come, brother, you know we should be back at the castle before daylight.’

A woman appeared behind him. She was young and comely. Trust George William to select the best. Ernest Augustus had become accustomed to taking what was left – one of the penalties of being a younger brother. But he bore no resentment, he would always rather be with George William than anyone else.

‘I’ll join you soon. Be patient a little longer, brother.’

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.

George William stared at the houses opposite; he was aware of the blue sky, of the handsome woman waving a hand to him as she passed in her gondola; and an icy shiver touched him, for he knew before he asked whence the messenger came.

‘My lord will see him?’ asked his servant.

‘In a while,’ he said. ‘Give him refreshment first.’ What he
asked for was a few more moments to enjoy this sunshine, this gay, enchanting scene, just a moment when he could delude himself into believing that the messenger did not come from Celle and the letter he brought was not from his brother and did not demand his instant return. Instead he had come to announce the birth of a son to Christian Lewis and to bring an assurance that George William could live for ever in this paradise.

It was hopeless, of course. What good did postponement ever bring? What was the use of gazing across the broad water, along to the Rialto. He had to leave it some time, he knew.

The messenger was standing before him.

‘You come from Celle?’ asked George William unnecessarily.

‘From His Highness Duke Christian Lewis. And it is his express wish that I put this letter into no other hands but yours, my lord.’

There was no escape. George William sighed and took the letter.

It was even worse than he had feared.

What was he doing in Venice? Did he not realize that he had his duties at home? The people were growing restive. The council were sending him an ultimatum. Either he returned home without delay or his allowance would be stopped. There was even graver news. Dorothea was proving to be barren, George William was the second in age, and it was his duty not only to return without delay, but to consider marriage, for the heir had to be produced somehow and since Christian Lewis and Dorothea could not, it must be George William and his bride.

‘Marriage!’ groaned George William. ‘Who would have thought that such an evil fate would ever overtake me?’

He sat for a long time, the letter held listlessly in his hand while he stared across the canal, but this time he did not see the beauties of the city he loved; he saw the castle of Celle. Sermons and prayers regularly each day; he heard the trumpet sounding from the tower. ‘Come to the table and eat! Stay away and starve!’ What an uncivilized way to live.

He read the letter. Was there no way out? He could see none.

He walked down to the canal and signed to his boatman. He must go to Ernest Augustus and tell him that the days of pleasures were at an end. They must both prepare to leave without delay for Germany.

There was trouble with La Buccolini.

‘And shall I be left with the child to bring up? And how shall he live in accordance with his rank?’

He could pacify her with gifts and promises, but she was loath to let him go.

How should she know that he would keep his promises?

He swore that he would; he had kept from her the fact that he was returning home to marry; but he promised himself and Ernest Augustus that he would come back to Venice.

It was two sad young men who journeyed northward.

‘You grieve only for the loss of sun and gaiety,’ mourned George William. ‘Not only shall I lose them, too, but I have to put my head into the noose as well. Marriage! Oh, brother, to think that I should ever be called on to accept such a fate.’

‘I shall be with you,’ answered Ernest Augustus. ‘Have we not always been together? And if I settle with a mistress, I shall be expected to live with her and to be to some extent faithful, which will be almost as bad as marriage.’

‘Nothing,’ retorted George William firmly, ‘could be as bad as marriage.’

The old castle rising before them, the sun touching its yellow walls, looked like a prison to George William. The people he had seen on the road looked stern and dour – quite different from the Venetians. The girls at the inns where they had rested had been amusing for a time, but how different from the passionate Buccolini.

He gazed at the drawbridge and portcullis, the moat filled with the waters of the Aller, the strip of grass between it and the tall grim walls. A prison indeed!

In the courtyard he looked at the sundial at which, in the days of his childhood, he had told the time of day; the pigeons fluttered up in a cloud of white and purple from their lofts;
listlessly he was aware of their cooing call.

Nothing had changed. He felt it would go on in the same manner, day after dreary day.

The grooms were rushing to his service, genuinely glad to see him back. He was the best-loved of all the brothers because he had a natural charm which the others lacked. He was less stolid, taller, more slender than his brothers, possessed of a natural grace; the others were heavy on their feet; he could dance well; he could play the guitar; he was good-natured and easy-going. He was elegantly dressed in a manner strange to them; the cloth of his coat was finer than that which they were accustomed to see; he wore rings on his fingers and a jewelled chain about his neck; and in his train he brought foreign servants. The days must necessarily be enlivened by the return of Duke George William.

He went into the castle, Ernest Augustus beside him – straight to the apartments of Christian Lewis and Dorothea.

The brothers embraced and after the exchange of a welcome Dorothea left them and they were joined by John Frederick, the third brother who was a year younger than George William and four years older than Ernest Augustus.

John Frederick’s welcome was cool. He considered his brother George William lazy and lacking in a sense of duty; as for Ernest Augustus he was just a dupe who had no will of his own.

A precarious state of affairs for the House of Brunswick-Lüneberg, thought John Frederick, when the eldest had married a barren wife and the second son had no desire but to live abroad and squander his patrimony. Passionately John Frederick wished that he had been born the eldest.