CHAPTER VII
The next morning one could hardly see any signs of grief or mourning in the town, but a general feeling of uneasiness and curiosity had been aroused.
Small groups of people might be seen near the castle and in Taschenburg trying to guess what was going on.
There was unusual animation but the order of changing guards was unchanged. Carriages with drawn curtains and closed porte-chaises went to and fro through the streets. It was a quiet, subdued animation, however. The official signs of mourning did not yet appear, and there was no grief visible on any face. Every courier on horseback was an object of curiosity to the crowd who tried to guess his errand. The people whispered but did not dare to speak aloud. Königstein was near, and it seemed that at the head of the government the same officials would remain, carrying out the same policy, for the Prince, the present Elector, out of respect to his late father would not introduce any strangers, and he was too fond of peace and quiet to be bothered with changes. They guessed only that Brühl might fall and that Sulkowski would rise above all. But no one knew how he would exercise his power.
Round Brühl's house situated in the New Market Square everything was quiet. They only knew that, the day before, he had brought the crown jewels and the King's secret archives.
The whole day passed in this apparent quiet. The smaller officials did not know to whom they should bow or whom avoid.
Henniche, Brühl's confidential man, that ex-lackey whom although promoted to the rank of councillor the people still called by that name, was sitting in his house situated near that of his protector.
At the time of his marriage Henniche never dreamt of how high he might rise, for he had married a servant, whose only claim to his favour was youth and some slight beauty. To-day, when both had disappeared, Henniche's wife although a good woman was a veritable torture to her husband, for she bore such evident traces of her low origin, that he could not bring her forward. Notwithstanding her love for her lord and master, she tormented him by her talkativeness and petty ways. He had only just got rid of her and yawned leaning on his elbows, when there entered his room, without being announced, a good-looking man, elegantly dressed--although already in mourning--and evidently a courtier.
From, his face one could not guess much more than that he was an intelligent and cunning man, two qualities necessary for a life among intrigues, which, like the wheels of passing carriages, might catch and crush a man.
The new-comer threw his hat on a chair, took out a snuff-box and handing it to Henniche, who looked at him inquisitively, said:
'Well, what do you think, how will it be?'
'I don't think anything; I wait and watch,' answered Henniche quietly.
'You think, Brühl?'
They looked into each other's eyes.
'What does the world say?' asked Henniche.
'Everybody says that which he wishes for; some say that Brühl will be driven away and perhaps imprisoned; others say that Brühl will remain and drive out the rest. And what do you think?'
'I told you, I don't think anything,' answered Henniche. 'Should they succeed in overthrowing Brühl, I shall help them: should Brühl be successful in overthrowing them, I shall help Brühl. Thank God, I am not yet in so high a position, as to break my neck, should I fall down.'
The new-comer laughed.
'The fact is that the only safe policy is to wait and not mix oneself up in anything.'
'Yes, yes, my dear councillor Globig,' said Henniche rising, 'it's dangerous to go forward as well as to remain in the rear; the wisest course is to remain in the middle. But, between ourselves, I wager you anything you like--even my wife against another better-looking one, for she tried me to-day by her prattle--that Brühl will not fall and that nobody will be able to rival him: from to-day begins the reign of Brühl I, and let us pray that it lasts as long as possible. We shall both be satisfied. But you must have come from the castle? What news there?'
'Nothing, quiet as the grave; they prepare for mourning, that's all. Padre Guarini passes from the Prince to the Princess; Sulkowski watches them closely, and as to Brühl, I don't even know what has become of him.'
'He will not be lost,' said Henniche.
'It seems that the Princess will not be satisfied if she becomes only the wife of an Elector.'
'Brühl shall make her a Queen,' said Henniche laughing.
At that moment horses' hoofs resounded in the street; both men rushed to the window, in time to see a detachment of cavalry gallop to the castle. A court lackey entered the house. Henniche ran to the door; Globig took his hat. There was a knock and the lackey appeared holding a letter in his hand. Henniche glanced at it and Globig looked inquisitively at the message but could not read it, for their host put it into his pocket and dismissed the lackey.
Again they remained alone.
'There is no secret,' said Henniche smiling, 'a great deal of money is needed. It is not forthcoming but must be had.'
Globig advanced towards the door; Henniche took up his hat.
'Henniche, I hope we shall always pull together.'
'Even if we have to fall,' said the host smiling ironically.
'That is not necessary,' answered Globig quickly. 'On the contrary, if one of us should fall, the other must remain and help him to rise. We must climb together.'
'And if we fall, push each other down.'
'No, we should require no help from each other for that.'
They shook hands.
Henniche was just going out when he met a new-comer in the ante-room; this was a tall man with thin arms and long legs and an ugly but intelligent face.
'Look, he is here also,' said Henniche laughing.
The tall man entered bowing.
'Well, what news? Do we fall or rise?'
'You must be patient and wait,' said the host.
'When there is the question of our skins!' answered the new-comer.
'My dear councillor Loss, our skins sown together would not cover a comfortable seat. Everything rests on someone who has broader shoulders than ours. Have you heard anything?'
'Just what everyone expected; Sulkowski is prime minister.'
'Very interesting indeed!' Henniche hissed. 'Sulkowski, being a Catholic, cannot preside at state councils in Protestant Saxony, unless he becomes a Lutheran, and should he do this the Prince would spit in his face, not to speak of the Princess.'
'You are right,' said Councillor Globig, 'I never thought of that.'
'You forget,' said Loss showing a row of long teeth, 'that his majesty can change the law.'
'Without convocation of the diet?' asked Henniche.
'Yes, here he is ruler,' replied Loss, 'and Saxony is not Poland, where the nobles do as they please and the King is obliged to bow to their will.'
Henniche cleared his throat, for steps were heard at the door and at that moment there appeared a large, fat man, who without taking off his hat, looked at the three men.
He was another councillor. Hammer.
'What is it, a diet?' said he slowly uncovering his head.
'This is quite unexpected,' said Henniche angrily 'speaking frankly, one would think that we conspire.'
'Who does anything to-day? The work will not begin till to-morrow,' said Hammer. 'To-day everyone thinks of himself and makes a compromise with his conscience, lest he should seem to be against the rising sun by saluting the setting one; it is well known that if one turns one's face towards the West, one turns something else to the East.'
They all laughed.
'Hammer,' said Globig, 'you who know everything, tell us, what news have you?'
'Bells, bells, bells!' answered Hammer. 'Even if I knew anything I would not say, for who knows to-day, who is his friend and who his foe? One must be silent, one must cry with one eye and laugh with the other and be silent, silent! Henniche has his hat,' said he after a pause, 'are you going out?'
'I must,' said the host, 'duty!'
^Yes! it is the most important thing,' said Hammer. 'To-day, everybody
serves himself--there is no more exacting master.'
'Don't you know anything new?' said Globig in a low voice coming near Hammer.
'On the contrary, I have much news, but I shall not tell it, except one item.'
All drew nearer.
'We Saxons do not count at present, Poles are the most important. They are sure of the succession to the principality of Saxony, but to get the Polish crown Sapiechas, Lipskis, Czartoryskis, Lubonirskis, Moszynskis, and Sulkowskis are necessary.'
'You have put Sulkowski last?'--asked Loss ironically.
'For this reason, that he should be at the head,' said Hammer; 'and now, gentlemen, I wish you good-bye.'
He put on his hat and went out first followed by the others. The host remained behind evidently wishing to go alone.
At the door of the house everyone of them looked round cautiously, and they all went in different directions.
In the square could be seen groups of people and soldiers marching. The same curiosity was aroused in other houses of the capital of Saxony, but until the evening nobody could say anything for certain.
The dusk was falling, when a porte-chaise stopped at the house in which Padre Guarini lived. He was in the same room in which we saw him previously with Brühl. Here, the confessor to the Prince and Princess, the most powerful although the most modest man in the court, received his friends. The modest old man would have contented himself with a couple of rooms, but as he was obliged to receive many distinguished guests, he occupied the whole house. According to the rank of his visitor, he received him either in his study or his drawing-room, the latter being beautifully furnished and ornamented with pictures by old masters.
A tall man alighted from the porte-chaise dressed in dark clothes and wearing a sword. By his face one could see he was a foreigner; his features were delicate, aristocratic but faded. A sweet smile brightened his face. His forehead was high and white, his eyes were large and dark; a Roman nose, thin lips, and a clean shaven face showed that he was a man of gentle birth. He wore a black cloak and white lace cuffs to his dress.
He ran upstairs, rang the bell, and when Guarini's old servant opened the door, he entered without asking any questions and without giving his name. The old servant hastened to open not the door of the study but that of the drawing-room.
The room was dark and unoccupied, but Padre Guarini entered almost at the same moment; not a little surprised at seeing the new-comer, he bent his head humbly and crossed his arms on his chest.
The stranger drew near and they kissed each other's shoulders, Guarini bending almost to his hand.
'You didn't expect me,' said the guest, 'I did not know myself that I should come to-day. You can guess what brings me here--the present situation is of the greatest importance.'
'Yesterday I sent a letter asking for instructions,' answered the host.
'I have brought them to you. Lock the door. We must be alone.'
'It is not necessary,' answered Guarini, 'we are quite safe here.'
'Then let us not waste time! How do things stand? What is going to happen? Are you afraid of anything? Do you need any help? Speak and let us be advised beforehand.'
Guarini became silent, weighing that which he was going to say. Although the stranger wore civil dress, he said to him:
'Most Reverend Father, you know as well as I do the state of affairs at the court. The Prince is a zealous Catholic, the Princess, if it were possible, is still more zealous. The first favourite Sulkowski is also a Catholic. Everyone about them confesses to our holy faith.'
'But Sulkowski! I heard that he will be the most important figure in the future. The Prince is good, of weak character, and lazy, consequently someone must rule for him. Can we trust Sulkowski?'
Guarini became thoughtful, looked into the eyes of the stranger, put one hand on his mouth and shook his head.
'He is a Catholic,' said he after a pause, 'but he is cold, his ambition is stronger than his faith; his longer influence would be perilous both for us and Catholicism. There is no doubt.'
'But, as far as I know, it is impossible to overthrow him,' said the guest. 'Is the Princess strong enough?'
'By her face and character?' whispered the Jesuit. 'Do you think, then, that in that quiet nature of the Prince, there will ever arise the blood and the passions of Augustus the Strong? Is it possible? Then of what account would the Princess be? Sulkowski will suggest other women to him, in order to rule through them.'
The stranger frowned.
'Your views are too gloomy,' said he 'we must find some remedy.'
'I have thought it over beforehand,' began Guarini seating his guest on the sofa and taking a chair beside him. 'We must have near the Prince a man whom we can be sure will serve us, who would also depend upon us. Frederick is lazy, we must make him a soft bed, provide him with his favourite amusements, give him operas, hunting and pictures. Who knows, perhaps something more,' said he sighing.
Again the stranger frowned.
'It is too bad,' he interrupted, 'that for so great a purpose, we must use base means; it is sad--'
'Cum finis est licitus, etiam media licita sunt,' quoted Guarini quietly. 'We cannot limit the means: they are different in every case.'
'I understand,' said the guest, 'it is of the greatest importance that we do not expose ourselves to calumny. The question is about the salvation of our souls, about holding our position here, where previously Luther was omnipotent. We have tools, it would be sinful if we dropped them for the sake of scruples, we must rather lose one soul than sacrifice thousands.'
Guarini listened humbly.
'Father,' said he quietly, 'I have told myself the same a hundred times, and that is why I serve as best I can, not always in the direction conscience would direct, but often like a pulcinello of the Prince, like an impresario behind the stage, like a councillor there, where advice is necessary. When the question is how to take a stronghold, and when one cannot take it by force of arms, one takes it by strategy. Media sunt licita.'
'We don't need to repeat that to each other,' said the guest. 'Tell me all about your plans.'
'We must act with caution,' began Guarini. 'You must not be scandalised at our actions; sometimes you will have cause to sigh over our wickedness, but weak people must be guided by the cords of their own passions.--We are sure of the Princess; our first duty is, if possible, to make her influence stronger. But that most pious lady, I am forced to admit, is the most unbearable in private life, and the King must have some distraction, for he could not live without it. If we do not furnish it, he will supply it for himself--'
He paused and then continued:
'Sulkowski will not listen to anybody, he will sacrifice everything for himself; in order to keep the King under his domination, he will give him everything he wishes for. We never can be certain of him; we must overthrow him.'
'By what means?'
'I shall come to that; Providence has given us a tool. We have a man. Brühl is that man.'
'Protestant,' said the stranger.
'He is a Protestant in Saxony and publicly; but in Poland and in his private life he is a Catholic. We must permit that; you know what our Maldonatus says:--Onando vobis dissimulantibus religio vera aliquod detrimentum acceptura sit aut aliqua religio falsa confirmaretur, alias ittam dissimulare licet, aliqua causa legitima interveniente.[1] Brühl shall be or rather is a Catholic. We shall find him a Catholic wife, whom he will accept from the Prince's and our hands; we shall help him to overthrow Sulkowski; with Brühl we are lords here. Nobody will suspect that we have had a hand in the matter, for nobody could suspect us of helping a Protestant against a Catholic.'
'But are you sure of him?'
Guarini smiled.
'He shall be dependent upon us; should he attempt to betray us, he would fall to-morrow; we have plenty of means to accomplish that.'
'I cannot deny that the plan is excellent,' said the stranger after a moment of thought, 'but the execution of it seems to me doubtful.'
'Yes, just at present,' said Padre Guarini, 'it may take us one or perchance two years' work, using all possible means, but with God's help victory is certain as far as in human affairs one can be certain of anything.'
'Do you count on the Prince's character?'
'Yes,' answered Guarini, 'having been his confessor for so many years I know him well.'
'What about the Princess?' asked the guest.
'She is a worthy lady and a saint, but God has not endowed her with any feminine charm. She will not satisfy the Prince.'
'For God's sake! I hope you will not persuade him to lead the lascivious life that his father did!'
'We need not restrain him from that,' said Guarini, 'his natural disposition will not allow him to create a public scandal, but it would be impossible to put a bridle on his passions. They will be secret but stubborn. We must overlook many things in order to make him remain a Catholic.'
The stranger became sad.
'What an awful thing it is to be obliged to soil oneself for the sake of the holy truth!'
'Well, there must be some scapegoat, such as I,' said Guarini jocosely. 'The people envy me--'
'Not I,' interrupted the visitor, 'not I!'
'What are your orders?' asked Guarini.
'Your plans shall be considered by our council,' answered the stranger. 'In the meanwhile you must act. We shall send you our instructions soon.'
'Brühl shall remain. The Prince, with tears, has promised his wife to fulfil his father's last wish. Sulkowski shall only be the apparent ruler, Brühl shall be the true one, and then--'
'You think you will be able to overthrow him?'
'We are certain; we all act against the man, who has not the slightest idea of danger, and Brühl's ambition is the best weapon in our hands.'
'But Brühl!'
'He is a devil in human form, but a devil who prays and is equally ready to crush his enemy, and suffers from no qualms of conscience. Then he is sweet, polite and winning to the highest degree.'
They became silent, the stranger thoughtful.
'Any progress in conversion?' asked he after a moment's pause.
'In this nest of heresy?' said Guarini, 'here, where Protestantism dominates? The progress is very small, and the souls, which our fishermen's nets pull to the shore, are not worth much. Their descendants may pay for our labour. And then there is a new heresy spreading rapidly, the fight against which may be more difficult than against the others.'
'What is it?'
'Nothing new, any more than other heresies; but the apostle of it is a powerful, exalted, self-satisfied man. We have to fight not only a dogma, for with him dogma is of secondary importance, but a new social organisation, which he proposes to build. Falsehood takes the brightness from truth. In the woods beyond the town, the committee of the Moravian Brothers, something like a monastic order without any rules, was organised and prospers.'
'Tell me more about it,' said the guest, with animation. 'I have heard nothing about it.'
'A strange fanatic, not of religion but of the social organisation and the way of living, attempted in the name of Christ and his teaching, to create a new State. Christ is the King of that republic. Separated, but living in the same spot, there dwell troops of women, girls and children. They are united by joining in common prayers and meals. The powerful lord, Count Zinzendorf, granted land to the community and became its minister and preacher. Work and prayer, strict discipline and brotherly love, rule over the Moravian Brothers of Herrnhut.'
The stranger listened attentively.
'And you permitted the spreading of heresy?' he exclaimed.
'I tried to stop it, but in vain,' said Guarini. 'Investigations were made, and I hope Zinzendorf will be banished.'
'But they must have committed some abominations!' said the guest.
'The most careful investigations failed to discover anything vicious. Those people confess different creeds, but they are united in one strange community, in which there is no private property, no poor people, no orphans; they constitute one family, the father of which is Christ.'
'Horrendum!' exclaimed the stranger. 'And the marriages?'
'They are strictly observed, but as they believe that they are directly ruled by Christ, you may guess how marriages are contracted. The young men draw their wives by lots and the couples live an exemplary life.'
'You tell me of strange things. But may they not be false rumours?'
'I was there myself, and I saw the praying bands of maidens with purple sashes, of married women with blue, and of widows with white.'
The guest sighed.
'I trust you will not suffer the sect to grow.'
'We must cut off its head,' said Guarini. 'Zinzendorf shall be banished, then the community will scatter.'
'Have you seen this Zinzendorf?'
'Yes, several times, for he does not avoid the Catholic priests: on the contrary, he discourses willingly with them, not about theology, however, but about the first Christians, their life and our Saviour's love, the axle-tree, according to him, round which the Christian world ought to revolve.'
At this moment the old servant appeared in the doorway. Padre Guarini, having excused himself, went to the ante-room where he found one of the King's lackeys. The Prince had sent for his confessor.
It was necessary to take leave of the guest, to whom paper, pen and ink were given, and he settled himself to write as though in his own house. Padre Guarini took leave of his guest and preceded by the lackey, hastened to the Prince.
Frederick was sitting in the same room in which he had learned about his father's death. He held a pipe, his head drooped, and he was silent as usual. Only the wrinkles of his forehead indicated that he was thinking hard.
When Padre Guarini entered the Prince wished to rise, but the Jesuit held him gently to his chair and kissed his hand. At a little distance stood Sulkowski, who would not leave his master even for a moment. His face was beaming triumphantly but he tried to be sad officially.
Padre Guarini could take more liberties; he knew that notwithstanding the official mourning, a little distraction would be necessary; consequently his manner was almost jovial, he took a stool and sat near the Prince, and looking into his eyes, spoke in Italian with animation.
'We must pray for our late King, but it is not proper to mourn too much over that which is natural and necessary. Too intense grief is injurious to the health, and then your Royal Highness has no time for it. It is necessary to rule and to keep in good health.'
The Prince smiled.
'I saw Frosch in the ante-room,' continued the Jesuit, 'he looks as if someone had put him into vinegar; he cries because he cannot play tricks on Horch.[2] They sit in opposite corners and put out their tongues at each other.'
'It must be very amusing!' whispered the Prince: 'but it would not be decorous for me to see it; it is the time of mourning.'
The Jesuit was silent.
'Frosch is very amusing, and I like him,' added the Prince, and looked at Sulkowski, who walked softly to and fro. The Padre tried to read the Count's face, but saw only pride and self-satisfaction. The Prince pointed at him and whispered--'Good friend--all my hopes are centred in him--but for him I could not have peace.'
The Jesuit nodded in sign of approval
Sulkowski knowing that to prolong the conversation would bore the Prince, came to him and said:
'It is difficult to find amusement for your Royal Highness amid so many troubles.'
'I think,' said the Jesuit, 'that with your good-will everything can be done.'
'Yes, in Saxony,' answered Sulkowski at whom the Prince was looking and nodding affirmatively, 'but in Poland--'
'Our late King left many friends and faithful servants there. What does Brühl say?' asked Guarini.
The Prince looked at Sulkowski as if authorising him to answer. The Count hesitated a moment, then said:
'Brühl assured us that our friends there will work zealously at the coming election. But who knows that Leszezynski, France and intrigues will not stand in our way? For that we need money.'
'Brühl must furnish it,' said the Prince. 'He is very able at that.'
Sulkowski became silent.
'We shall all do our best and put the crown of a king on the head of our gracious lord.--'
'And Josepha's,' added Frederick quickly. 'It is due to her; she cannot remain the wife of the Elector of Saxony.'
Both men nodded; the Prince smoked his pipe and became thoughtful. It seemed that he would talk further on the same subject when he bent to Guarini and whispered:
'Frosch sitting in the corner must be very amusing; you say they showed each other their tongues?'
'I am certain I saw two red tongues, but I don't know whether they showed them to each other or to me.'
The Prince, forgetting himself, laughed aloud, then he put his hand to his mouth and became silent.
And it was not until after a long while that Frederick bent again to Guarini's ear and whispered:
'Have you seen Faustina?'
'No,' answered the Jesuit.
'Ah? No? Why? Assure her of my favour, only she must take care of her voice. I appreciate her very much. E una diva! She sings like an angel! No other can rival her. I shall be longing to hear her. Now she must sing in church, there at least I may listen to her.'
Sulkowski disliked that whispering: he moved aside, and then came near the Prince. Frederick again pointed him out to the priest.
'He will be my prime minister--my right hand.'
'I am glad to hear such good news,' said Guarini, clapping his hands softly. 'Saxony is to be congratulated at having at her head such a man and such a good Catholic as the Count.'
The Prince looked round.
'If my Saxon subjects object to having a Catholic as my prime minister, Brühl will do whatever I command.'
'I have nothing against Brühl,' said the Jesuit, 'but he is a stubborn Protestant.'
To this the Prince answered: 'Pshaw!' and waved his hand.
Sulkowski looked suspiciously at the Jesuit, who assumed a humble and quiet mien.
At that moment Moszynski was announced, and the Prince ordered him to be shown in.
'I wished to take leave of your Royal Highness,' he said bending to kiss Frederick's hand. 'I am going to Warsaw: we cannot neglect the election.'
'Very well, go then,' said the Prince sighing. 'Although Brühl assures me--'
'Brühl knows neither Poland nor the Poles,' said Moszynski with fervour. 'It is our affair.'
Suddenly, Frederick rose, and exclaimed as if he had recollected something:
'By the bye! You are going to Warsaw! Pray remember about those hounds that were left in Wilanow. I must have them! Send someone by porte-chaise with them. There are no better hounds than they are. You know--'
'Yes, they are black,' said Moszynski.
'Jupiter, Diana, and Mercury,' enumerated the Prince. 'Pray send them to me at once.'
'I think they had better stay there,' said Moszynski. 'When the Prince becomes King----'
'My dear Count, send me also Corregio's Madonna! Take it from the Saxony Palace and send it! It is a masterpiece!'
Moszynski bowed.
'Any further orders?' asked he.
'Greet the musketeers; my father was very fond of them.'
The remembrance of his father made him gloomy, he sat down. Sulkowski, always anxious that his master should have that of which he was fond, went to tell a lackey to bring a fresh pipe. The Prince seized it quickly and began to smoke.
All were silent. Guarini looked attentively at Frederick; Moszynski waited in vain, for the Prince was so much absorbed in his pipe that he forgot about everything else.
At length Moszynski kissed the Prince's hand and took his leave. Frederick smiled on him affectionately, but said not a word more.
Sulkowski conducted Moszynski to the ante-room; the Prince remained with Guarini. Hardly had the door closed when the Prince turned to the Jesuit.
'That's nothing,' he whispered, 'when they only show each other their tongues, but when Frosch begins to abuse Horch, and the latter begins to kick, and then when both go under the table and fight, then one can die of laughter.'
Guarini seemed to share the Prince's appreciation of the comical attitude of two fighting fools.
'No,' continued the Prince, 'one cannot let them into the dining-room to-morrow; but later on, for they must not forget their excellent tricks.'
Guarini got up; it seemed that he was hastening to return to the guest he had left at his house. The Prince changed the subject of conversation, and said:
'Don't be angry, that I propose to make Brühl a minister although he is a Protestant. He shall be quickly converted, for he is an intelligent man, and I shall command him--you shall see.'
Guarini made no answer; he bowed and went out.
CHAPTER VIII
During the reign of Augustus the Strong, Dresden was not lacking in beautiful women. Notwithstanding sad experiences of the King's instability, every beautiful woman hoped to be able to attract his attention, although they well knew that it would not be for long. Among the young ladies there was not however, one more beautiful, more coquettish, more vivacious, or better able to please, than the young Countess Frances Kolowrath, the same who, several years before, received Brühl in the Taschenberg Palace, the same, whom we saw in one of the booths during the fancy dress ball in the castle. The high rank of her mother, who was the principal lady-in-waiting at the court of the Princess, gave her the privilege of precedence before all other ladies except the princesses of the ruling houses: the favours of Princess Josephina, hopes of a brilliant future, her family name, all made the girl proud and self-willed. The older she grew the more difficult it was for her mother to control her. An only child and much petted, notwithstanding the Princess's severity, she was able to throw off the court etiquette, and form many acquaintances and love intrigues. She did not seem to care much about the future. She looked upon matrimony as upon freedom from a yoke which she could not bear.
A few days after the news of the King's death, when the court was obliged to go into mourning and all amusements were stopped, Lady Frances was bored more than ever. The black dress, which she was obliged to put on, was becoming to her, but she disliked it very much. That evening she stood in her room before her mirror and admired her beautiful figure and features.
As dusk fell she rang the bell and ordered lights to be brought. She was alone, for her mother was at the court, and she did not know what to do with herself. Walking to and fro she noticed a box and took it from a little table. She brought it near the light and opened it with a little key she carried in her pocket.
The box was full of small jewels and pieces of paper. One could guess that these were letters addressed to herself.
Some of them she put aside with a smile, the others she read and became thoughtful. Then she locked the box and lay down on the sofa, looking at a little ring that glistened on her finger. It was an old, black enamelled ring, with an inscription in gold on it: A hora y siempre.
In the young lady's room, besides the door leading to her mother's apartment, there was another little door concealed in the wall, leading to some side stairs. Just as she became thoughtful over the ring, the door opened quietly and someone looked through it cautiously: the young lady turned her head, saw who it was, and rose from the sofa with an exclamation. The good-looking young Watzdorf stood before her. We saw him at Faustina's comically joking, and ironically sneering. To-day his face, usually ironical, bore quite another expression; it was almost sad and thoughtful.
The beautiful Frances, as if afraid at his appearance, stood silent.
Watzdorf seemed to beseech her forgiveness with his eyes.
'Christian, how could you!' she said at length, with a voice in which there was true or artificial emotion. 'How could you do this, when there are so many people about? Someone will see you and tell about it. The Princess is severe, and my mother--'
'Nobody could see me,' said Watzdorf coming nearer. 'Frances, my goddess! I have been waiting for hours under the stairs, in order to see you alone for a moment. Your mother prays with the Princess, there is nobody in the house.'
'Ah! those stolen moments!' cried Frances. 'I don't much like such secret happiness.'
'Patience, till the other comes,' said Watzdorf taking her hand. 'I hope--'
'Not I,' interrupted the girl, 'they will dispose of me, against my will, as they would dispose of a piece of furniture. The Princess, the Prince, my mother, Padre Guarini--I am a slave.'
'Then let us run away from here!'
'Where?' asked Frances laughing. 'To Austria, where we shall be caught by the Emperor's police: to Prussia, where the Brandenburgian would stop us. Let us run! That is all very well, but how and with what? You have nothing, except your salary at the court, and I have only the favour of the Prince and Princess.'
'But your mother's heart--'
'That heart will search out happiness for me in diamonds--it understands no other.'
'Frances, my goddess! How cruel you are to-day, you take all my hope from me!'
'I can't give that which I don't possess myself,' said the girl coolly and sadly.
'For you don't love me.'
The lovely girl looked at him reproachfully.
'I never loved anybody but you!' said she. 'I shall never be able to love anybody else, and because I love you, I should like to speak frankly with you.'
Watzdorf cast his eyes on the floor.
'I understand,' he muttered.--'You wish to convince me, that because you love me, you cannot be mine, and that I must give you up. Such is the logic of love in courts. Because you love me, because I love you, you must marry another man--'
'Yes; I must marry the first one they give me; but that man shall not have my heart.'
'It's hideous!' interrupted Watzdorf. 'You do not wish to sacrifice anything for me.'
'For I do not wish to bring evil on you,' said the girl. 'They would catch us to-morrow if we fly today, you would be sent to Königstein, and they would marry me to the man whom they have selected for me.'
'I think I shall go to Königstein in any case,' said Watzdorf. 'I cannot shut my mouth looking at this horrible life, at this despotism of a lackey. I say what I think, and that is, as you know, the way to get there, where one speaks only to four walls of the prison.'
'Listen, Christian, instead of talking, we ought to be silent,' said the girl, 'instead of wishing to improve them, we ought to despise them and rule them.'
'Giving in to their fancies, and lying for a lifetime, cheating them, and soiling oneself--' said Watzdorf. 'What a lovely life!'
'Then is it better to give up everything?' said the girl laughing. 'I, a woman, I am not so tragical, I take life as it is.'
'I despise it,' muttered Watzdorf.
The girl put out her hand to him.
'Poor enthusiast!' she sighed. 'Ah! how I pity you and myself; there is no hope for us--and if we could catch a moment of happiness, it is amidst falsehood and lying.'
She came near him, put one hand on his shoulder, and the other she put round his neck.
'Ah! this life!' she whispered, 'one must be drunk in order to bear it.'
'And be a cheat!' added Watzdorf, who seized her hand and kissed it passionately. 'Frances, you don't love me; you love the life more than me; the world and the golden fetters.'
The girl was silent and sad.
'Who knows?' she said. 'I don't know myself. They brought me up, cradling me in falsehood and teaching me how to lie, in the meanwhile arousing in me a desire for sensation, distraction, luxury and enjoyment. I am not certain of my own heart, for I was corrupted before I began to live.'
'Love ought to make us both better,' said Watzdorf looking into her eyes passionately. 'I was also a courtier before I loved you--by that love I became a man; I became purified in its flames.'
The girl laid her head on his shoulder and spoke to him in a whisper; they both seemed to forget about the whole world. Their eyes spoke more than their lips; their hands met and joined.
They forgot themselves to such a degree that they did not notice that the same door by which Watzdorf had entered opened, and the threatening, pale and angry face of the girl's mother appeared through it.
Seeing her daughter with a man whom she did not recognise at once, she was struck dumb. She made a step forward and pulled Watzdorf by his sleeve. Her lips trembled and her eyes were full of awful anger; the girl turned and perceived the thunder-bolt look of her mother. But she was not afraid. She retreated a step, while Watzdorf not knowing yet who had disturbed them, mechanically searched for his sword.
Only when he turned and saw the Countess did he become pale and stood silent like a criminal caught red-handed in the act.
The Countess could not speak, because of her great anger: she breathed heavily, pressing her bosom with one hand, with the other pointing imperiously to the door.
Watzdorf before obeying bent over the girl's hand and pressed it to his lips; the mother pulled it from him, and trembling continually pointed to the door.
Watzdorf looked at the pale girl and went out slowly. The Countess fell on the sofa--her daughter remained cold and indifferent like a statue. The Countess cried from anger.
'Shame on you!' cried she, 'you dare to receive that man in your room!'
'Because I love him!' answered the girl calmly.
'And you dare to tell me that!'
'Why should I not say what I feel?'
The Countess sobbed.
'And you think that because of your stupid love for that good-for-nothing man, who is hardly tolerated in the court, I shall sacrifice your future? Never!'
'I did not expect that I could be happy and honest,' answered the girl coolly.
'You are mad!' cried the mother.
The girl sat in the chair opposite her mother, took a flower from the bouquet standing on the table, and raised it to her lips. Cold and ironical resignation was depicted on her face; the mother looked at her and was frightened.
'Happily, he could go out without being noticed,' she murmured to herself. 'To-morrow I shall order that door to be fastened, and I shall lock you in like a slave. Could I ever have expected to see such a thing?'
The girl, biting the flower, seemed to be ready to listen to any reproaches her mother might heap on her. The disdainful silence of her daughter made the Countess still more angry. She sprang from the sofa and walked rapidly across the room.
'If Watzdorf shall dare to speak, or look at you, woe betide him! I shall fall at the feet of the Princess, I shall pray Sulkowski, and they will lock him up for ever.'
'I don't think he would like to expose himself to that,' said the girl. 'To-day I took all hope from him. I told him that I may not dispose of myself; that they would treat me like a slave; that I shall marry the man they destine for me, but that I shall not love him--'
'You dare to tell me that!'
'I say what I think. The man who would marry me, will know what to expect from me.'
The Countess looked at her daughter threateningly but she was silent. Suddenly she wrung her hands.
'Ungrateful!' she cried more tenderly. 'The moment I try to secure for you with our lady the most brilliant future, you--'
'I am quite aware that I shall be led like a sacrifice, dressed in brocade,' rejoined the girl laughing bitterly. 'Such a future is unavoidable.'
'Yes, for you know that you cannot resist the will of your mother and that of the Princess and the Prince.'
'Who has no will whatever,' said the girl ironically.
'Silence!' interrupted her mother threateningly. 'I came to tell you about happiness, and I found shame!'
'It was not necessary to tell me of that which I was aware. Sulkowski is married, consequently I must marry the other minister, Brühl. I expected that. Indeed, it's a great happiness!'
'Greater than you deserve,' answered her mother. 'What could you have against the nicest man in the world?'
'Nothing whatever; I am as indifferent to him as if he were the most stupid and the most horrid. He or another is just the same to me, if I can not marry the one whom I love.'
'Don't dare to pronounce his name: I hate him! If he dares to make one step he is lost!'
'I shall warn him: I don't wish him to come to nought: I wish him to avenge me.'
'Don't you dare to speak to him! I forbid you!'
The girl became silent. The Countess, having noticed that she was five minutes late for her duties at the court, said:
'You come with me; the Princess commanded you to come. You know how you should behave.'
A few minutes later both ladies went out. It was supper time. The strict etiquette introduced from the Austrian court and severely observed by the Princess Josephine did not permit anyone to sit at the same table with the Prince and Princess, except the ministers. The other dignitaries of the court, who were present during meal times sat at another table in a separate room. That day the Prince supped alone with his consort. Padre Guarini sat on a stool apart to keep them company. Before the court went into mourning he would amuse the Prince by joking with Frosch and Horch, who usually would fight, while the Prince would laugh to encourage them, and be in his best humour. The new mourning did not permit the fools to perform, but in consideration of the necessity of distraction for the Princess, Guarini allowed Frosch and Horch to be present in the dining-room, but they were not permitted to play their usual jokes. They were placed in such a way that the Prince would notice them immediately.
The table was set magnificently and lighted profusely. Frederick entered with his consort whose common features were in striking contrast to the serene and beautiful although cold face of her husband. The type of the Hapsburgs was not well represented in Josephine, who although still young had none of the charm of youth; the hanging lower lip, gloomy expression, something common and severe in her face, made her repulsive.
Whilst Padre Guarini recited the benedicite, the Prince and Princess stood with piously clasped hands, the servants waiting. As Frederick sat down he caught sight of Frosch and Horch who had assumed such a dignified and pompous mien that they were more ridiculous than ever.
Frosch was almost dwarfish; Horch tall and thin. They were both dressed alike. Although the court was in mourning the fools wore red tail coats and blue trousers. Frosch's wig was curled like a sheepskin, while Horch's hair was flat. Frosch stood in the position of the Colossus of Rhodes, with hands placed behind his back. Horch stood stretched like a soldier, with arms straight down his sides. Both were very amusing.
The Prince having noticed them smiled. While eating and drinking with a famous appetite, Frederick looked from time to time at his favourites; he was sorry he could not permit them to play their jokes, but they would have been too noisy. The sight of them alone made the Prince happy, but he had another source of happiness in that Sulkowski and Brühl were such good friends. Brühl willingly resigned his appointment as Grand Marshal of the court, which dignity the Prince bestowed upon Sulkowski, and was content to be the president of the ministers and Secretary of the Treasury. It was only a matter of form, as Sulkowski was expected to keep everything under his own control.
But the future was not certain.
Brühl seemed to be Sulkowski's best friend, and the latter being sure of the Prince's favour did not fear him as a rival.
Having put the whole burden of ruling on these two men, the Prince felt at ease to lead his own monotonous life. He only longed after the opera, after Faustina, and after hunting. But all that was bound to return after the mourning was over. In Poland the Count Moszynski, the Bishop Lipski and others were working hard to assure the Prince's election as King, and Brühl guaranteed that it would be done.
A few days after the news of his father's death, Frederick declared that he would not change anything. But Saxony expected some improvements, and was soon disillusioned and informed that she must not expect anything. The taxes were as heavy as ever.
That evening when the Prince went to his apartment, Sulkowski and Brühl followed him.
In another room some courtiers were grouped round Josephine, and between them was the joking Padre Guarini. The Princess, having remained to talk to them for a time, retired to her own room followed by the Countess Kolowrath, who told her daughter to follow her.
Josephine stood in the centre of the drawing-room as though expecting something. The young girl entered without the least sign of fear. The Princess asked her to come near and said:
'My dear girl, it is time to think of your future--I am willing to do something for you.'
The mother fearing some improper answer said:
'We shall ever be thankful to your Royal Highness.'
'I know that you are a good Catholic,' continued the Princess, 'therefore, I must assure you before all, that your future husband, although not born in the Catholic faith, shall embrace it. Consequently you shall have the merit of gaining one soul for God.'
The girl listened quite indifferently. The Princess looked at her but failed to see any emotion in her face.
'I congratulate you,' added she, 'on the choice made for you by myself and your mother; the man destined for your husband is very pious, of great character and keen intelligence-it is the Secretary of the Treasury, Brühl.'
Josephine looked again at the girl, who stood silent.
'You must permit him to approach you, so that you may get to know each other, and I hope you will be happy.'
The mother pushed the girl towards the Princess; Frances resented being pushed, bent her head and moved aside.
Thus the day ended, memorable in the life of the girl, who looked so indifferently on her future.
The next day, probably by permission of the Countess, Brühl paid his respects to the young girl who was sitting alone. After a moment's reflection she allowed him to be shown in. She received him in the same room in which yesterday, leaning on Watzdorf's shoulder, she had said good-bye to happiness.
The mourning was very becoming to her: her beauty seemed still greater on the dark background of her black dress. Besides paleness there was no other sign of suffering on her face; cool and brave resignation lent something imposing to her features.
Brühl, who was one of the most refined dandies of his time, attributed great importance to dress, and was dressed that day with particular care. The sweet smile did not leave his too delicate face even for a moment. In the same proportion that the young lady wished to be sober and thoughtful, did he wish to be joyful and happy.
He advanced quickly to the table behind which she was sitting; she nodded slightly and pointed to a chair standing near.
'I see,' said Brühl, 'that you have assumed a sad expression to be in harmony with your mourning, while I--'
'You are more lively to-day than ever,' interrupted the young lady. 'May I ask what makes you so happy?'
'I hope you are aware of the cause,' said Brühl raising his hand to his heart.
'Let us not play a comedy,' said Frances, 'neither you can deceive me, nor I you. They commanded me to marry you, while I love another man; they command you to marry me, while you love another woman. Those are not very joyful things.'
'I, in love with another?' said Brühl, with well-assumed surprise.
'For a long time you have loved, and passionately, the Countess Moszynski; of this both she and her husband and everyone else, is aware, and you think that I, living in the court, do not know it?'
'If you wish me to confess that I was in love with her--'
'Oh! the old love is lasting.'
'But you tell me that you love.'
'Yes, I don't conceal that I love another man.'
'Whom?'
'There is no need to betray his and my secret.--Suffice it that I am sincere when I tell you of this.'
'It is very sad news for me!' exclaimed Brühl.
'It is still sadder for myself. Could you not find another woman, with whom you could be happy?'
She looked at him: Brühl grew confused.
'It is the will of the Prince and Princess.'
'As well as Padre Guarini's,' said the young lady. 'I understand. Is it then irrevocable?'
'Madam,' said Brühl, 'I hope that I shall win your regard--I--'
'I have no hopes, but as our matrimony is inevitable, it would be well to prepare ourselves for that which we must expect.'
'I shall try to make you happy.'
'Thank you, but I think I had better take care of my happiness myself, and you of yours. I don't forbid you to love Moszynski, for even were I to forbid you to do so, it would be useless. Cosel's daughter inherited her mother's beauty and power--which unfortunately, I don't possess.'
'You are cruel.'
'No, I am sincere, that's all.'
Brühl, notwithstanding a great faculty for conversation, felt that words failed him. His situation became painful, while the young lady did not show that she was disturbed in the least.
'Notwithstanding all, I am not in despair,' he said after a pause. 'I have known you ever since you were a mere child, I have been your admirer for a long time; that which you said about the Countess Moszynski was only a fancy, already passed and forgotten. My heart is free, and it is yours. I hope you will be able to throw off your aversion to me.'
'I have no aversion to you; you are a matter of perfect indifference to me,' the young lady interrupted.
'Even that means something.'
'It means, that you might awaken my aversion, while wishing to awaken love.--It is very possible.'
Brühl rose; his face was burning.
'Perchance never a wooer met with a worse reception,' he said sighing. 'But I shall be able to overcome this impression.'
'Do as you please, but remember, that if I become a victim, I shall marry you, for I must, but you know now what awaits you.'
Having said this, she rose; Brühl smiling as sweetly as he could, wished to take hold of her hand, but she withdrew, and said:
'I wish you good-bye.'
The secretary left the room: his face was sweet and serene as ever, and nobody could have guessed his defeat.
While walking with elastic step across the drawing-room, he met the Countess Kolowrath, who, before speaking, looked at him sharply--but discovered nothing.
'Have you seen Frances?' she asked.
'I return from her.'
'How did she receive you?'
Brühl did not answer at once.
'As one receives someone who is not welcome,' he said at length.
'Ah! you have plenty of time.---For many reasons I should not care to hasten the wedding.'
'I am not of your opinion, for I know that it is easiest to conquer the heart, when one is sure of the hand,' said Brühl. 'The approach of the wedding would give us a chance to know each other, and I hope that your daughter knowing me better, and my sentiment--'
The Countess smiled.
'Enough for to-day,' said she, 'cela viendra. Frances is so beautiful that it is impossible not to worship her, but she is proud and high-spirited like a goddess. If our old King were living, I should fear for her, for she could make an impression even on him.'
Brühl, having made some further remark, left her with a sweet smile. When he entered his post-chaise, waiting for him at the door, his face became gloomy.
'I should like to know,' said he to himself, 'whom she loves. She had always so many admirers, and was so sweet to them all, that it is impossible to guess who succeeded in winning her heart, but her beauty is necessary to me. Who knows! The Prince may not always be faithful to his wife,--and in that case--'
He finished his thought with a smile.
'She may not love me, but our common interests will make us friends. Then they know about Moszynski; it is difficult to conceal love.'
Drowned in his thoughts, Brühl did not notice that his post-chaise had stopped before the door of his house.
Numerous servants waited for him. The moment he alighted his face was sweetly smiling.
He ran upstairs. Henniche was waiting for him. The faithful servant looked better and more healthy than usual. His face was smiling ironically. Brühl entered the office, where he found Globig, Hammer, and Loss. All rose to greet his Excellency, followed by Henniche.
The secretary was ready to look through some papers, when Henniche whispered.
'You are wanted there.'
And he pointed to the door of the drawing-room. There, Padre Guarini, dressed in a grey coat was walking to and fro.