CHAPTER IV
Notwithstanding the carnival, notwithstanding the enormous buildings in course of construction with which the King tried to amuse himself, notwithstanding the magnificence by which he was surrounded, Augustus II began to be wearied. They wanted him to marry for the sake of distracting his thoughts--he yawned and laughed; he had no wish for a wedding, for they were expensive, and the wedding worthy of such a monarch was bound to cost much. His foot pained him, he was sad. The world had no interest for him; he tasted of so many pleasures, that at the bottom of the cup, there remained only dregs. The most beautiful girls ceased to attract him, in his memory there passed in review an endless number of lovely forms, shining for a moment and withered so quickly. The Princess Tubonirska was old, the Countess Cosel locked up, the others scattered throughout the world. Unable to be happy, he wanted to be great. Therefore he sent servants to Africa and built.
Enormous barracks were built in New City, rebuilt by him in the Old City, the Catholic church and palaces were in course of erection.
The King would go to Königstein to look at the walls and find them gone; he would go to Hubertsburg and be wearied; he would give orders that he was to be driven to Moritzburg and there find nothing to interest him. Dresden simply bored him. Had anyone suggested it to him, he would probably have ordered the town to be fired, in order to build it again, though the idea was not new.
While he was in Poland his affections were with Dresden, but when he was in Dresden he was longing after Warsaw. November the second, the day of St Hubert patron of hunting, was always celebrated with a great display; the two courts, that of the King and that of the Prince went to Hubertsburg. The grand huntsman of the court was Herr von Leibnitz, the grand falconer the Count Moszynski.
But the King found St Hubert too old-fashioned and the hunting monotonous. He was seized with restlessness. On New Year's day the market at Leipzig attracted him; the horse dealers promised to bring splendid horses, but the King found they were hacks; and the actresses brought from Belgium had false teeth.
On the sixth of January Augustus returned to Dresden for the opening of the carnival, and at the first ball he perceived that the faces of the women were withered, that their eyes lacked fire, and their lips were pale. He thought that he would enjoy Poland better, therefore he left the carnival, for the Prince and Padre Guarini and ordered the carriages to be got ready to convey him to Warsaw.
Brühl was in constant attendance. Others had disappeared, changed for fresh faces; but he, who from a page had become the minister, was indispensable to the King. The money flowed to the Treasury, the heavy taxes filled the coffers.
The noblemen grumbled, but there was a remedy: the court was filled with foreigners, Italians, Frenchmen, Dutch, Danes, Prussians, Bavarians flourished at the court and the Saxon noblemen returned to their estates to make money for the King.
Brühl's opinion was that his Majesty was right in maintaining that those made the best servants whose whole career depended on the favour of the King.
On the tenth of January the courtyard of the castle was full of horses, carriages and people. The Polish and Saxon courts were ready for the journey. The rooms were filled with those who were to accompany the King. Augustus II was taking leave of his son and his wife.
The former majesty in his face was replaced by impatience and weariness. The Prince was tender towards his father, while his wife, the Princess Josepha, was majestic. Frederick looked into his father's eyes and smiled sweetly. Brühl entered: there were some papers to be signed and money to be taken for the journey.
The King looked sharply towards the Secretary of the Treasury and asked:
'Brühl, have you the money?'
'Yes, your Majesty!' answered he bowing.
The lord's face brightened.
'Look,' said he to his son, 'what a servant! I commend him to you--he is the man who relieved me of my money troubles. Remember! I am indebted to him for the order that prevails.'
Frederick looked into his father's eyes, as though wishing to show him that he promised to obey.
'Had I a few more men like him in Poland,' continued the King, 'I should have restored order in the republic and introduced the same system as I have in Saxony. Ah, those Polish, so-called friends and faithful servants, suck as Lipski, Hozynsz and others, are all afraid of the nobility, and they fool me. But let us be patient, I shall end all that, several heads shall fall off and then everything will be quiet. I cannot bear a public that dares to murmur when I command.---Enough of it.'
The interrupted leave-taking was continued: Frederick kissed his father's hand. Lackeys, pages and servants were ready in the ante-room. The officials and clergy stood quietly in a corner. The King smiled to all. He repeated to the huntsmen his order to take care of the twelve bisons brought from Bialowiezer and kept in Kreirn near Moritzburg and moved towards a carriage standing ready.
The postillions were already mounted; in the courtyard stood bareheaded burghers, at whom the King only glanced and whom he commanded to pay their taxes: a moment later everything was quiet in the castle and in Dresden.
Everyone had plenty of time to rest until the King returned, when it would fall to their lot to amuse him again.
The whole retinue, escorted by a detachment of cavalry, had already reached the bridge, while Brühl's carriage still stood in the courtyard of the castle. The King's favourite came out thoughtfully and saw Sulkowski. Brühl's face brightened at once; he seized Sulkowski's arm and conducted him to one of the nearest rooms.
Brühl's face expressed the tenderest friendship. Sulkowski was indifferent.
'How happy I am,' said Brühl, 'to be able once more to win a place in your affections.' And his voice was as sweet as his words.
'Brühl, listen!' Sulkowski interrupted. 'I also remind you of our agreement. In good fortune or bad, we shall remain friends.'
'Do you need to remind me?' exclaimed Brühl. I love you, I respect you, I am grateful to you, I am your friend.'
'Give me a proof of it.'
'As soon as I have opportunity! Pray, give me that opportunity! Dear Count, I am yours! Do not forget me! You know what I mean--'
'Fräulein Kolowrath!' said Sulkowski laughing. 'Grand bien vous fasse, you shall have her. Her mother is in your favour.'
'But she?'
'Oh! don't be afraid, nobody will stand in your way. One must be as brave as you to attain to such bliss.'
'I missed a greater and the only bliss,' said Brühl, sighing.
Sulkowski slapped him on the shoulder and said laughing:
'I see that Moszynski is right in hating you.'
'Nonsense!' protested Brühl.
'Oh! don't deny it. It's difficult to conceal anything at court. You and the Countess Moszynski are better friends than if you were married.'
Brühl shrugged his shoulders. 'My heart owns only Frances Kolowrath.'
'Her hand is waiting for you.'
'Her mother herself will propose her to you. And it is time that Frances was married, for her eyes shine strangely.'
'Like stars!' Brühl exclaimed.
'What would the Countess Moszynski say to that?'
Suddenly Brühl seized Sulkowski's hand.
'Count,' said he, 'do not forget me and speak in my favour to the Prince. I fear whether I sufficiently showed my respect and attachment to him, as well as towards the pure and saintly Princess.---Tell him--'
'You speak for us to the King,' interrupted the Count, 'and I will do the same for you with the Prince. And then, my Brühl, you will not be without protectors. Padre Guarini tries to convert you, the Countess thinks of you as her future son-in-law, and I should not be surprised if you had still another friend at court.'
'All that is nothing if you are not with me,' said Brühl.--'I would give up Guarini and Kolowrath in your favour.'
'But you would not give up Moszynski,' said Sulkowski laughing. 'And now good luck to your journey; remember me in Poland to all my countrymen.'
'Not to their wives and daughters?'
'Yes, should some of them ask after me--but I doubt it. I prefer German women.'
'I too!' said Brühl.
They had already reached the door.
'Eh, bien, à la vie, à la mort!'
They shook hands. Brühl hastened towards the carriage. At the farther end of the courtyard Padre Guarini was standing, making the sign of the cross over Brühl as he drove off, following his master to Warsaw.
CHAPTER V
It was the beginning of January 1733. In the morning Prince Frederick returned from hunting at Hubertsburg. Sulkowski was with him. In the evening the incomparable Faustina was going to sing in the opera. The Prince was as great an admirer of her voice and beauty as his father. The singer would tyrannise over her competitors, would persecute those who had not the good fortune to please her, and when she deigned to sing there was quiet in the hall as in a church; if anyone dared to sneeze he might be sure that she would become his bitterest foe. The opera called 'Cleophia' was announced and Prince Frederick enjoyed the prospect.
In the afternoon, the Prince, dressed in a splendid robe de chambre, was sitting in an armchair, digesting with that pleasant feeling produced by a strong stomach and excellent cooking.
Sulkowski stood opposite him. From time to time the Prince would look at his friend, smile, and smoke on in silence.
The friend and servant looked with pleasure on his happy master, sharing his happiness silently.
The Prince's face beamed, but it was his habit, when in a happy mood, to speak very little and to think. Nobody knew what about. Sometimes he would raise his drooping head, look at Sulkowski and say:
'H'm! Sulkowski?'
'I am here.'
Then he would nod and that was the end of it. A quarter of an hour would elapse and the Prince would call him again by his Christian name, or caressingly in the Italian language. The Count would reply as before that he was there and the eloquent silence would follow.
The Prince spoke but little and only when obliged to do so. He disliked anything unexpected. His life must flow quietly, monotonously. The afternoon hours, when he only received his most familiar friends, were those he enjoyed best. In the forenoon he was obliged to give audience, to listen, to talk, to sign papers. After such efforts the afternoon siesta was delightful to him. When there was no opera he would go to Princess Josepha, listen to some music, and the day would end with a supper.
Never before did the courtiers have a lord more easy to entertain. He was satisfied though one day resembled another as two drops of water.
That day the afternoon siesta had just begun; the Prince was smoking a second pipe, when Sulkowski, noticing something through the window, hesitated a moment and then went towards the door. The Prince's eyes followed him.
'Sulkowski!' he said softly.
'I return at once,' answered the Count, opening the door and disappearing through it. In the anteroom two pages and some servants were waiting.
'Don't let anybody in without my special permission,' said Sulkowski.
All heads bowed.
Sulkowski went out, rushed down the stairs, and stopped in the doorway petrified.
'Brühl? You here?'
Wrapped in a fur cloak covered with snow, cold, tired, pale and troubled, there stood the favourite of Augustus II. In the courtyard one might have seen a carriage with two tired horses; the postillions had already dismounted and were also so tired that they could hardly keep on their feet.
Brühl did not answer: he made him understand by his look that he wished to enter and to rest. This sudden arrival had something so mysterious about it, that Sulkowski, being very much troubled about it, led the way to a room situated on the ground floor. The servants recognised Brühl, and pressed forward, but he dismissed them with a wave of the hand and entered the room with Sulkowski. Brühl quickly divested himself of his furs. The Count stood waiting.
'For Heaven's sake, Brühl, what news do you bring?'
Brühl sat down on a chair as though not having heard the question, and leaned his sorrowful head on his hand. The favourite of the Prince, uneasy and impatient, stood before him, but pride prevented him from insisting.---He waited.
Brühl rose and sighed, looked around, wrung his hands and cried:
'My most gracious lord, the King, is dead!'
Over Sulkowski's face there passed like lightning an expression difficult to define--fear and joy mixed. He moved as though about to run, but stopped.
'Nobody come before me from Warsaw?' asked Brühl.
'Nobody.'
'Then the Prince knows nothing?'
'No, he does not even suspect anything,' said Sulkowski. 'The Prince must be notified at once,' continued the Count. 'But tell me, how was it? The King was in good health.'
Brühl sighed pitifully.
'On the sixteenth we came to Warsaw,' he said quietly. 'The road was most abominable: in some places snow drifts, in others mud. The King was tired and impatient, but catching sight of Warsaw, his face brightened up. We sent couriers ahead; the reception was splendid notwithstanding the wretched weather, the cannons boomed, the regiment of musketeers was splendid. The carriage stopped at the door of the Saxon Palace. As the King alighted he knocked his foot against the step, in the place which has troubled him continually since Weiss amputated his big toe. We noticed that he grew pale and leaned on his stick. Two pages ran to help him, and leaning on them he entered the palace, where the clergy, the lords and the ladies awaited him in large numbers. The King was obliged to sit down immediately and he told the Grand Marshal to shorten the reception as he did not feel well. As soon as he entered the chamber he ordered Dr Weiss to be called, complaining that he felt his foot hot and wet. They cut the boot; it was full of blood. Weiss grew pale: the foot was already swollen and discoloured; yet notwithstanding that--'
'Cut it short,' cried Sulkowski. 'Someone might tell the Prince that you have arrived.'
Brühl came near to him.
'Count,' said he, 'I--we should come to some understanding before we venture to do anything. The Prince loved his father dearly, the shock he will receive--will it not be necessary to prepare him for the news?'
'Yes, but how?'
'My advice is,' said Brühl, 'that we should do nothing without first consulting Padre Guarini and the Princess.'
Sulkowski looked at him with ill-disguised discontent.
'But it seems to me,' said he, 'that the Prince needs neither the Princess's help nor the spiritual consolation of his confessor.'
'I should think--' said Brühl, and suddenly confused he looked towards the door which opened and Padre Guarini appeared. It was difficult to guess how he could have learned so quickly of Brühl's arrival. He walked straight to him; his face was sad although it was difficult for him to change its naturally cheerful expression; he opened his arms as though he would like to embrace him. Brühl would probably have kissed his hand had there not been a witness. Therefore he only advanced and drooping his head said:
'The King is dead.'
'Eviva il re!' answered the Jesuit quietly, raising his eyes. 'God's designs are impenetrable. Does the Prince know it?'
'Not yet,' said Sulkowski drily, looking at the Jesuit askance.
Guarini purposely averted his gaze.
'My wish,' said Brühl, 'is to spare the Prince's feelings and take the advice of the Princess.'
Guarini nodded and Sulkowski shrugged his shoulders and looked at Brühl with discontent.
'Then let us all go to the Princess,' he said, 'for there is not a moment to be lost.'
Brühl glanced at his travelling clothes.
'I can't go as I am,' said he. 'You both go to the Princess; I shall order my clothes to be brought here and dress first.'
Sulkowski agreed in silence to the proposition, Guarini nodded in the affirmative, and they turned towards the door. Brühl threw himself into a chair, as though unable to stand on his feet.
Sulkowski followed the Jesuit quite unwillingly, leaving Brühl who leaned his head on his hand and became thoughtful.
This resting and thinking did not last very long; as soon as the two disappeared in the dark corridor of the castle, Brühl rose quickly, hurried to the door, opened it, and looked into the ante-room.
There stood a lackey as if waiting for orders.
'Send page Berlepsch at once to me.'
The servant went off and five minutes later a boy, wearing the uniform of the King's pages, rushed in out of breath.
Brühl, standing near the door, put his hand on the boy's shoulder.
'Berlepsch, I hope you have confidence in me; don't ask any questions but go to the Prince's apartments, and on your own responsibility, understand, on your own responsibility tell the Prince that I have arrived. Listen! If anything prevented you all would be useless.'
The intelligent boy looked into Brühl's eyes, did not say a word, and went out. Brühl again sat at the table and covered his face with his hands.
It was quiet about him, but he trembled at the slightest noise. There was some stir and bustle on the upper floor, and on the stairs one could hear someone rushing down; a good-looking man, with an ironical smile, appeared in the doorway, and said:
'His Royal Highness, the Prince, having learned by an accident about your arrival, commands you at once to bring him the dispatches.'
Brühl pretended to be embarrassed.
'I am not dressed.'
'Come as you are.'
'Such is the order?'
'Word for word.'
Brühl rose as if he were forced, but he was satisfied inwardly.
They both went silently upstairs.
The door opened, Brühl entered slowly with such a sorrowful expression on his face, that the Prince dropped his pipe and rose.
The door closed and Brühl fell on his knees.
'I bring to Your Majesty the saddest news, but first bow down at the feet of the new King. Our most gracious lord, the King, is dead.'
Frederick stood for a while as if turned into a block of stone; he covered his face. There was a moment of silence; at length Frederick gave Brühl his hand to be kissed and made a sign to him to rise.
'Brühl, how and when did it happen?'
'On the first day of February, the King Augustus the Great died in my arms and entrusted me with his last will, with the jewels of the Crown and secret papers. I, myself, brought the jewels and the papers and I deposit them at the feet of your Majesty.'
Frederick again gave him his hand to be kissed; Brühl bent very low and pretended to be crying; covering his eyes with a handkerchief, he sobbed. The new King also took out a handkerchief and began to weep for his father, whom he loved and respected.
'Brühl, tell me, how did this misfortune occur?' he said quietly.
In a muffled voice, trying to master his emotion, Brühl narrated the circumstances of the illness, its course, and told of the King's patience and peace at the moment of death. At length he took out a letter and handed it to Frederick, who impatiently tore open the envelope. After having read it, he kissed it.
The letter contained the blessing and recommendation of his most faithful and best servant, the messenger of his last will. Frederick looked at Brühl and sighed.
'I will do as my father advises and commands me.'
The letter was still lying on Frederick's knees, when the door leading to the Princess's rooms opened, and there entered Josepha dressed in black, Sulkowski and Guarini.
How surprised they were at seeing Frederick crying, Brühl in his travelling clothes standing at the door, and the opened letter!
Frederick, still sobbing, threw himself into his wife's arms; she began to cry also, according to the Spanish etiquette prescribed to rulers and their courtiers as the form of sorrow and expression of grief.
Sulkowski looked at Brühl with disapproval and whispered to him:
'You told me, you would wait for me.'
'Someone betrayed the secret of my arrival; they called me; I was obliged to obey.'
'Who did that?'
'Watzdorf.'
Sulkowski seemed to be trying to remember the name.
The five people gathered in that room made an interesting group. Frederick alone was really sorrowful. Accustomed to respect and love his father, overwhelmed by grief and the fear of the burden that now fell on his shoulders, Frederick's face was very much changed. Usually serene and quiet, it was now twisted with grief which he could not conceal. Josepha's sorrow was more simulated than true; she never forgot for a moment her dignity and etiquette. Sulkowski was thoughtful and gloomy, as a man who, coming into power, calculates how to begin. His great self-esteem never left him even in the presence of the lady, to whom his respect was due.
Padre Guarini bent his head, closed his eyes, and twitched his face with an expression well assumed for the moment. Brühl while not forgetting that he should appear to be overwhelmed by sorrow, could not abstain from glancing from time to time at those present, especially at Sulkowski. He seemed to see an adversary.
While the Princess tried to comfort her husband, Sulkowski mustered up courage and coming nearer proposed that he should call the dignitaries for a council and announce to the capital and the country, by ordering the bells to be rung, that Augustus II was dead.
Josepha looked at the intruding adviser with some aversion, whispered something to her husband, and majestically directed her steps towards the same door through which she had entered a short time before, Guarini following her.
Those who remained were silent for a time. Brühl waited for orders which the new King did not dare to give; Sulkowski gave Brühl to understand that he had better leave them.
Brühl hesitated, and then he left the room. Frederick did not notice him go out. They remained alone, till suddenly Frederick took the handkerchief from his eyes and said:
'Where is Brühl?'
'He went out.'
'He must not leave me. Pray command him to stay here.'
Sulkowski wished to protest, but then he opened the door, whispered through it and returned.
'One must bear God's will as a man and king,' said he familiarly. 'The King has no time for sorrow.'
Frederick only made a gesture.
'The council shall be called at once.'
'Then go and preside at it; I can't,' said the King. 'Call Brühl here.'
'But why is Brühl necessary?' said Sulkowski in a tone of reproach.
'He? In his arms my father died. Father recommended him to me, I wish to have him, let him come.'
'They have sent for him,' Sulkowski said shrugging his shoulders impatiently.
'Joseph, don't be angry,' said Frederick in a plaintive tone.
As he said this the bells began to ring mournfully in the churches of the capital of Saxony. Frederick kneeled and prayed. Sulkowski followed his example. One after the other the bells rang out, the solemn sounds forming a gloomy choir, accompanied by the whispering of the people, whispering to each other the sad news.
CHAPTER VI
While the preceding events were taking place in the castle, preparations were in progress at the opera for the performance of 'Cleophila.'
The splendour with which the operas were put upon the stage, a hundred horses and camels appearing with numberless artistes in gorgeous oriental costumes, and the fairy-like effects produced by elaborate machinery, combined to attract as large an audience as did the charming voice of Signora Faustina Bordoni.
Faustina, the first singer of those times, famous for her victory over the equally famous Cuzzoni, was prima donna in the full meaning of the word, on the stage, behind the scenes, and beyond. Signora Bordoni, although married to the great composer, Johanet Hasse, could forget him. The marriage had been broken the next day by command of the King, who sent the musician to Italy to study there.
As the carriage bringing Brühl and the sad news of the death of Augustus the Strong neared the castle Faustina was sitting in the small drawing-room arranged for her near the stage, and having removed her furs was about to issue her orders.
The prima donna was not very young, but notwithstanding her Italian beauty, which blossoms and withers quickly, she preserved her voice, the charm of her figure, and the beauty of her face, the features of Juno with which nature had endowed her.
She was not a delicate woman, but strong and majestic, with the form of a statue, as though made from one block by the energetic chisel of Michael Angelo.
Her beauty was equal to her voice. Everything was in harmony with her character; her head of a goddess, bosom of a nymph, hand of a Bacchante, figure of an Amazon, hands and feet of a princess, abundant black hair like the mane of an Arabian horse. In her face, notwithstanding the classical beauty of her features, there was more strength than womanly sweetness. Not infrequently her black eyebrows contracted in a frown, her nostrils dilated with anger, and behind her pink lips her white teeth gleamed angrily.
Her manner was that of a woman accustomed to command, to receive homage, fearing nought, daring even to hurl her thunderbolts at crowned heads.
The drawing-room was elegantly furnished with gold, the furniture upholstered with blue satin, and the dressing-table, covered with lace, was loaded with silver and china. The wardrobes for her dresses were ornamented with bronze, and from the ceiling descended a china chandelier like a basket of flowers.
Three servants stood at the door waiting for orders. One could recognise that two of them were Italian women, for they had not given up their national coifure. Faustina glanced at the clock, threw herself on the sofa, and, half leaning and half sitting, played with the silk sash of her large, silk robe de chambre.
The servants were silent.
There was a knock at the door. Faustina did not move, but glancing towards a good-looking young man who appeared in the doorway, greeted him with a smile.
It was the tenor, Angelo Monticelli. It was easy to see that he was also Italian; but while Faustina was the personification of Italian energy and liveliness, he was the embodiment of almost womanly charm. Young, remarkably handsome, with long black hair falling over his shoulders, he seemed to be born for the rôles of innamorati, of lovers and gods. The classical Apollo, playing the lute, could not have been more charming. Only he lacked the pride and energy of the god.
He bent to salute Faustina, who hardly nodded to him.
'Angelo!' said Faustina, 'you run after those horrid German women--you will lose your voice. Fie! How you can see a woman in those German girls! Look at their hands and feet!'
'Signora!' said Angelo, placing one hand on his chest and looking into a mirror, for he was in love with himself. 'Signora, non è vero!'
'You would tell me, by way of excuse,' said Faustina laughing, 'that they run after you.'
'Not that either; I am longing for the Italian sky, Italian faces, and the heart of an Italian woman--I wither here--'
Faustina glanced at him and made a sign to the servants to leave the room.
'Ingrato!' whispered she. 'We all pet you, and yet you complain.'
Then she turned her gaze to the ceiling taking no notice of Monticelli's devouring eyes.
'Has Abbuzzi come?' she asked.
'I don't know.'
'You do not wish to know about Abbuzzi!'
'I don't care about her.'
'When you are talking to me! But I am neither jealous of her nor your Apollo-like beauty; only I hate her, and I can't bear you.'
'Why not?'
'Because you are a doll. Look at the clock and go and dress.'
As she spoke a new face appeared in the doorway; it was the cheerful Puttini.
'My humblest homage,' said he. 'But perchance I interrupt a duet; excuse me.'
He glanced at Angelo. Faustina laughed and shrugged her shoulders.
'We sing duets only on the stage,' said she. 'You are all late to-day. Go and dress.'
She jumped down from the sofa; Angelo moved towards the door; Puttini laughed and remained where he was.
'My costume is ready, I shall not be late.'
The door opened noisily and in rushed a man dressed in black; his round face, with small nose and low forehead, expressed fear.
Faustina who was in continual dread of fire, shrieked:
'Holy Virgin, help! Fire! Fire!'
'Where? Where?'
The new-comer, much surprised, stood still. His name was Klein, a member of the orchestra, Faustina's great admirer, a friend of the Italians, and an enthusiastic musician.
His Christian name was Johan, Faustina changed it into Giovanni and called him Piccolo.
'Piccolo! are you mad? What is the matter with you?' she cried.
'The King is dead! King Augustus the Strong died in Warsaw.'
At this, Faustina screamed piercingly, covering her face with her hands; the rest stood silent. Klein left the door open and the actors began to crowd in. The great majority of them were already half dressed for the performance of 'Cleophila.' Abbuzzi rushed in with naked bosom. Her beauty was striking even when compared with Faustina; only she was small and still more lively.
Catherine Piluga, with a crowd of Italians and French, half dressed, with frightened faces, followed Abbuzzi. All pressed round Faustina exclaiming in all possible voices: 'Il re è morto!' Their faces expressed more fear than sorrow. Faustina alone was silent, and did not seem much afraid of the news. All looked at her hoping that she would speak, but she would not betray her thoughts.
The bells resounded throughout the whole city.
'There will be no performance to-night, go home!' she cried imperatively.
But they did not obey her; frightened, they stood as though rivetted to the spot.
'Go home!' repeated Faustina. 'We have nothing to do here; we shall not play for some time.'
The crowd began to withdraw, murmuring. As soon as the last had gone, Abbuzzi also disappeared, and Faustina lay on the sofa not seeming to notice an elderly gentleman standing quietly apart.
He coughed softly.
'Ah! It's you?'
'Yes,' said the German, indifferently.
It was Hasse, Faustina's husband.
'What are you thinking about? About a new Requiem for the dead King?'
'You have guessed almost right,' answered the composer. 'I was wondering if the mass: Sulla morte d'un eroe, which I composed some time ago, would be suitable for the funeral service. I am a musician, and even grief turns with me to music.'
'But what will become of us now?' sighed Faustina.
'Chi lo sa?'
They were both silent; Hasse walked to and fro, then stopped in front of his wife.
'I think we need not fear,' said he, 'for there is hardly anyone who could be put in my place, not even such a one as Popora, and there is absolutely no one to rival Faustina.'
'Flatterer,' said the Italian. 'Faustina's voice is like a candle that burns brightly--it will be extinguished one day.'
'Not very soon,' answered the thoughtful German, 'you know that better than I do.'
'But that quiet, pious, modest, ruled-by-his-wife new King--'
Hasse laughed.
'E un fanatico per la musica, e fanatico per la Faustina.'
'Chi lo sa?' whispered the singer thoughtfully, 'Well, if he is not all that you say, we must make him so.' A bright idea flashed through her brain, 'Poor old Augustus is dead,' said she in a lowered voice. 'I should like to make a beautiful speech over his grave, but I can't.'
Hasse shrugged his shoulders.
'There will be plenty of funeral speeches,' he said almost in a whisper, 'but history will not be indulgent to him. He was a magnificent tyrant and lived for himself only. Saxony will breathe more freely.'
'You are unjust,' Faustina exclaimed. 'Could Saxony be more happy, more brilliant, more favoured? The glory of that hero is reflected in her.'
Hasse smiled painfully.
'He may have looked like a hero, when from his box in the opera, covered with diamonds, he smiled upon you, but the whole country paid for those diamonds with tears. Joy and singing resounded through Dresden, moaning and crying throughout Saxony and Poland. In the capital there was luxury, in the country misery and woe.'
Faustina sprang to her feet, she was indignant.
'Tace! I will not permit you to say anything against him; your words betoken horrid jealousy.'
'No,' said Hasse quietly, looking at her. 'My love was absorbed by the music, I loved the beautiful Faustina for her voice, and was entranced when I heard it or even thought of it.'
At that moment the door opened a little way, and then closed again immediately, but Faustina had perceived who was there and called him in. It was Watzdorf, the same who had called Brühl to the Prince. His figure and movements resembled those of the bandit of the fancy dress ball. For a courtier the expression of his face was unusual, an ironical smile, merciless and biting, overspread his features, which were illumined by piercing eyes.
'I thought,' said he, entering and smiling to Faustina, 'that you had not yet heard what had happened.'
'But it was announced urbi et orbi by the sound of the bells,' replied the Italian approaching him.
'Yes, but the bells ring all the same for funeral or wedding; you might even suppose that a princess was born and that they called you to rejoice.'
'Poor King,' Faustina sighed.
'Yes,' said Watzdorf maliciously, 'he lived long, had at least three hundred mistresses, scattered millions, drank rivers of wine, wore out plenty of horses' shoes, and cut off many heads--was it not time after such labour to lie down to rest?'
None ventured to interrupt the speaker; Hasse eyed him furtively.
'What will happen next?' asked Faustina.
'We had an opera called Il re Augusto, we shall now have a new, but will it be a better one? The daughter of the emperors, Padre Guarini, Padre Salerno, Padre Toyler and Padre Kopper. Faustina shall sing as she used to sing before; Hasse shall compose operas as he composed before. It will be worse for us court composers when the first rôles are taken by foreign pages and foreign lackeys.'
Hasse bowed and said in a low voice:
'Enough! Enough! Suppose someone should be listening at the door. It is dangerous even to listen to such a speech as yours!'
Watzdorf shrugged his shoulders.
'Where were you in March last year?' asked Faustina carelessly.
'I? In March? Wait--well--I don't remember.'
'I see you were not in New Market Square where the drama entitled "Major d'Argelles" was played.'
Watzdorf said nothing.
'Don't you remember that d'Argelles who spoke the truth invariably, sparing no one? I could see him from a window. I pitied the poor man whom they put in the pillory surrounded by the crowd. The executioner broke a sword over his head, gave him two slaps on the face, and thrust into his mouth a bunch of his libellous writings. Then he was incarcerated in Kaspelhouse in Dantzig till his death.'
'An interesting story,' said Watzdorf ironically, 'but I pity more the man who acted so cruelly towards Major d'Argelles.'
Watzdorf looked at Faustina triumphantly and continued,
'Signora Faustina, during the morning you will be able to rest and get strength for your voice so as to be able to charm the new king and rule over him as you ruled over the deceased. And I can tell you that it will be an easier task. Augustus the Strong was a great seducer, whilst his son is fond of smoking the same pipe; when they hand him a new one he shakes his head, and if he could he would be angry.'
He laughed and continued:--
'Well, I am not needed here, you know all about it, and I must hasten to get my mourning suit ready for to-morrow. I must show my sorrow outwardly if I cannot within; no one can see into my heart.'
'I have forgotten,' said he suddenly turning from the door to Faustina, 'to ask you how you stand with Sulkowski? To-morrow he ascends the throne, and to-morrow also Brühl will either return to Thuringia or accept the position of a lackey in order to overthrow him at the opportune moment. Brühl and Padre Guarini are the best of friends.'
Hasse called 'hush!' Watzdorf suddenly covered his mouth with his hand.
'Is it not allowed? I am silent then.'
Faustina was confused. 'Signore,' said she, coming near him, 'you are incorrigible. Be careful.'
She placed a finger on his lips.
'I fear nothing,' said Watzdorf sighing. 'I have no other ambition than to remain an honest man, and should they put me in Königstein I will not be tempted to change my opinion, it is worth something.'
'I hope you may not be your own prophet,' said Hasse clasping his hand. 'Think what you please, but say nothing.'
'There would be no merit if I did not try to spread my thoughts among people,' answered Watzdorf already at the door. 'I wish you a very good-night.'
And he disappeared.
'There is no doubt that he will end in Königstein, or if there should be no room for him there, then in Sonnenstein or Pleissenburg.'
And Hasse sighed.