The news of the birth of a daughter was not welcome to them, but they consoled themselves with the thought that the child was the fruit of a morganatic union, and, after they had cracked a few coarse jokes, dismissed the subject from their minds. But they were soon reminded rather rudely. The infant was given the names of Sophie Dorothea, and the christening was celebrated with much ceremony and many festivities and rejoicings. Ernest Augustus angrily remarked that if the infant had been a princess instead of only the daughter of his brother’s _madame_, they could not have made more fuss about it; and that was true, for, from the first moment Sophie Dorothea drew breath, though in strict law she was a person of no importance, expressly excluded from holding any rank at Celle, the same honours were paid to her as if she had been heiress to the duchy. From this time onward the rift between the Duchess Sophia and Eléonore gradually widened into an open feud. As long as she had to think only of herself Eléonore had borne patiently Sophia’s insults and humiliations; but now that a child was born, she determined to spare no effort to raise herself and her daughter to a recognised position. She played her part with consummate skill. She had to fight against not merely the uncompromising hostility of Ernest Augustus and the jealous hatred of his Duchess, but the forces of custom and precedence which bind the petty German courts with an iron band. She had to beat down the jealousy and prejudice against herself as an alien and a stranger, and win the support and recognition not only of her husband’s subjects, but of the neighbouring princes, and even of the Emperor himself. When we consider the forces against her, we are lost in admiration of the courage, patience, and sagacity of this woman, who year after year toiled for the end she had in view, and at last found her efforts crowned with success.