Count Brühl

CHAPTER IX

The Prince could rest quietly; in Poland numerous adherents were working for him, in Dresden Sulkowski and Brühl, equally ambitious, though the former was more sure of his position. The Prince loved him and, what was more important, was accustomed to him. He had been with Frederick ever since they were mere boys. Together they received their first impressions, together they became men. Sulkowski knew his master, for he had watched him as he grew. Brühl divined him.

When Augustus II became a Catholic in order to get the Polish crown, the Pope Clement XI, made every effort that the son might not follow his mother, a zealous Protestant, but that he should follow his father's religion, a matter of indifference to the King who did not believe in anything. For Augustus the Strong was an irritating problem to the Church.

It was uncertain which way the election would go in Poland; in Protestant Saxony Catholicism was an obstacle and a peril. Then the mother, Queen Eberhardin, nèe Beirenth, and the grandmother Anna Sophia, the Danish Princess, watched that the son and grandson might not follow his father. Both ladies were Protestant fanatics. But this is certain, that Augustus II, in his efforts to make a hereditary monarchy of Poland, even if he were obliged to sacrifice part of it, was inclined to make his son a Catholic--otherwise it was immaterial to him. Urged by the Pope, Augustus the Strong on the 4th of September 1701 swore that his son should be brought up a Catholic, and on February 8th 1702, he assured the Saxon states that his son should be Lutheran. The fact was that he did not know which policy was the best.

When Frederick was yet a mere boy, his grandmother appointed Alexander von Miltitz as tutor. The man was not fitted for the position. The contemporary documents say that the grandmother had not much judgment; she was ruled by Protestant motives, and after dinner knew less than in the morning what she was doing. The little Frederick was taken from the Queen Eberhardin and placed in the care of the grandmother. Alexander von Miltitz being pedantic, avaricious, dull and lazy, could not have had any good influence. As he was indifferent in the matter of religion, the Protestant clergymen surrounded the young Prince, and did not permit him to come in contact with Catholics. Furstenburg notified the Pope about it and an admonition came from Rome.

When Frederick was twelve years old he was taken out of the women's hands and sent with a tutor to travel, but he soon came back. Both queens, being afraid that he might be made a Catholic, ordered him, when fourteen years of age, to make a public confession of Protestantism and then he received confirmation. The King, who was then in Danzig, wrote to the Pope about it, assuring him that were he not hindered by certain circumstances, he would have those who had dared to take such a bold step without his knowledge, punished.

The circumstances then were such that Augustus was obliged to smooth matters over with Rome by promising that Frederick should be converted. General Koss was brought from Poland and appointed the Prince's instructor. Sulkowski was already with the Prince.

In 1711 Augustus took his son to Poland from whence they went to Prague and here the consultation with the Pope's nuncio Albani took place. The result of it was that they determined to change the Prince's whole court, and to surround him with Catholics. Frederick knew nothing about it and on his return to Dresden he went to a Lutheran church.

Then General Koss, by the King's command, dismissed Baron von Miltitz together with the other members of the court, with the exception of the physician and the cook, and the Jesuit father Salerno took the Prince's education in hand. In the meantime Augustus II sent his son to travel, commanding him to go first to Venice. In those days the Venetian carnivals held in St Mark's Square were still very famous. In January 1712 they started on the voyage which, in order to keep the Prince from Protestant influence, was to last for seven years. All the letters the Prince wrote to his family were read by the Saxon General, Lutzelburg, a shrewd man, but whose morals were not of the best.

The Prince, being from the first troubled by his conscience, succeeded in communicating with and asking help from the Queen of England, Anne, and Frederick IV, King of Denmark. Queen Anne invited him to come to England, the King of Denmark wrote that should he become a Catholic, he would lose all chance of the throne of Denmark.

In the same year, the Pope assured Augustus II that in the event of the Protestant princes attacking him, he, the Pope, would support him. In the meantime the Prince, accompanied by Sulkowski, who, being the same age, became his favourite, travelled incognito in Italy, under the name of the Count of Luzacia. His court, besides Sulkowski, was composed of two generals, Koss and Lutzelburg, and of Father Salerno in civilian's clothes, and of another Jesuit, a Saxon, Father Vogler. The secretary was also a Jesuit, whose name was Kopper, who also wore the garments of a civilian and travelled under the name of Weddernoy. Consequently the influence on the Prince was constant and as it went on several years was difficult to resist. From Venice they went to Bologna, where the Prince was received solemnly by the officials of the Pope. Here Father Salerno succeeded in converting the Prince. The confession of the faith was made in strictest secrecy, before Cardinal Cassoni. Later both Albani and Salerno were rewarded with the hats of Cardinals.

The conversion remained a secret for a long time, and as the Saxon states requested that the Prince might return, Augustus, not wishing to irritate them, ordered that the proposed journey to Rome be abandoned. In 1713 the Prince was returning home, when he was told to stay for some time at Düsseldorf at the court of the Elector Palatine, a very zealous Catholic; later he went on to the court of Louis XIV, who had been advised by the Pope of his conversion. There was a rumour of a plot made by his Protestant relations about the conversion of the Prince, but the affair remains in obscurity. They feared continually that the Prince might never become a Protestant again.

In Paris the Prince was very well received, as one can see from the letters of the old Princess of Orleans; they found him very agreeable although he spoke but little, a habit that remained with him through life.

From France they took the Prince not to England as the original project was, but through Lyons and Marseilles again to Venice, where the signoria did everything to amuse him. Masquerades, regattas, comedies, balls succeeded each other.

By the advice of Pope Clement XI, it was decided to marry the Prince to a Catholic princess; for this purpose they began to search Venice through Father Salerno; the Count von Harkenberg and the Prince Eugene helped so much that a Princess was promised. They took the Prince to Vienna; he could not take one step without his father's permission.

The conversion was still secret, although the reason for sparing the sensibility of the queen-mother ceased, for she died. In October of 1717, on a certain morning, the Count von Lutzelburg ordered the whole court to be ready at ten o'clock in the anteroom of the Prince. About eleven o'clock, the carriage of the papal nuncio drew up in front of the palace and Monsignor Spinoli alighted from it and was conducted to the Prince. Shortly after that there came a little man with a casket under his arm and the Count von Lutzelburg said to the courtiers that in the Prince's room something was going on, and that the Protestants could look at it or not. The door opened, the nuncio was reading, and the Prince, not being well and lying in bed, listened with great piety. After the Mass the nuncio left and the Prince said to his Protestant courtiers:

'Gentlemen, now you know what I am, and I beg of you to follow me.'

To this General Kospoth answered:

'We have not yet had time to realise it, it is difficult to decide at once.'

The Prince said:

'You are right, one must first of all become good Christians, then Catholics.'

The secret was unveiled; the following Sunday the Prince went to the Jesuit church and took the Communion. There was great joy in Rome over this success.

Saxony was again assured that the Protestant religion should be respected, but it was easy to foresee that efforts would be made towards conversions. They kept the Prince seven months in Vienna, Augustus furnished plenty of money for a splendid court and balls; and there he was married, in 1719, to the Archduchess Maria Josephine.

During the whole of that time Sulkowski was continually with the Prince. He returned with the court to Dresden where the Emperor's daughter was received with the greatest honours. Sulkowski by habit and necessity shared in all the amusements of the Prince, his hunting parties, theatres and art. During his travels with the Prince in Germany, France and Italy, he saw a great deal and educated himself; he learned to know the world, and what was more important, Frederick's likes and dislikes. He was able to take advantage of them, by pleasing him, to rule him, and he felt that he was so necessary to him that nobody could overthrow him. The Prince was very familiar with him, and the critical times made their relations still closer. The friends that Sulkowski made in various courts strengthened him still more, for he knew that in case of emergency he could count on them.

Therefore he neither feared Brühl's competition nor anybody else's. Through his wife, nèe Hëin Jettingen, he was sure of having the Princess on his side.

He was less humble than Brühl, but a more consummate courtier, more daring, in a word he was a 'cavalier' as they said in those times, of the best sort. Tall and polished, Sulkowski had not the ability necessary for a prime minister, but he was proud and very ambitious. Less familiar with the affairs of state than Brühl, who for a long time worked in Augustus' private office, he was sure of the help of a man from whom he expected assistance. Consequently he determined to become a ruler, being persuaded that he would be able to hold the position. Sulkowski's way of living was more modest than Brühl's, for he was not fond of luxury. Sulkowski's court was not very numerous, the servants not very refined, the carriages not very elegant.

The portfolio was about to be handed to him, when one morning, before he went to see the Prince, he sent for his man. Sulkowski was reading a French book, waiting, when the councillor Ludovici, whom he had sent for, entered, out of breath. Ludovici held the same position with Sulkowski that Henniche did with Brühl: he was his factotum, principal clerk in his office and adviser.

One glance at the man was sufficient to indicate who he was. His face bore no special characteristic, but it could change and assume any expression that was necessary. His whole face was covered with wrinkles; his eyes were black, and his mouth moved so quickly that it was impossible to describe its shape; while in motion it made Ludovici unpleasing. It was necessary to be accustomed to him in order to tolerate him. Fortunately for Sulkowski he was accustomed to him, and by his own dignified manner he could control Ludovici's impatience. Having entered he leaned on the chair nearest to hand and awaited the new minister's orders.

Sulkowski seemed to be thinking whether or not he would make a confidant of the councillor, and his thoughtful attitude excited the latter's curiosity.

'It is very unpleasant,' he said at length rising and looking out of the window, 'that living in the court, and having the confidence of the Elector as I have, I must yet resort to certain precautions.'

Ludovici smiled, lowered his eyes, but did not dare to interrupt.

'I can say frankly,' continued Sulkowski, 'that I am not afraid of anybody, but in the meanwhile I must not trust anybody.'

'Excellent! Beautiful!' said Ludovici, 'we must trust no one. A very intelligent man once said to me that one must treat one's friends in such a way as though we expected that to-morrow they would become our foes.'

'The question is not that they might become my foes, but that they shall not harm me; but I must know about their plans and movements.'

'Excellent! Beautiful!' Ludovici repeated.

'Until now this was not necessary, to-day it seems to me unavoidable.'

'Excellent! Beautiful!' Ludovici repeated. 'Yes! we must have men who will keep their eyes open on everything.'

'Yes, even on people in high positions,' said Sulkowski emphatically.

Ludovici looked and being uncertain that he rightly caught the meaning of the words, waited. He did not know how high his suspicions would reach.

Sulkowski was unwilling to explain himself better.

'I cannot,' he said with some hesitation, 'look into all the official doings of my colleagues.'

'Official doings!' said Ludovici, laughing, 'that is a trifle; their private doings are more important to your Excellency.'

'Consequently I should like to have--'

'Excellent, beautiful--a little report,' rejoined Ludovici, 'every day, regularly. Written or verbal?'

They both hesitated.

'Verbal will do,' said Sulkowski, 'you might bring it to me in person, after getting the necessary material.'

'Yes, truly, yes. I--and I can assure your Excellency, that you cannot have a more faithful servant.'

Here he bowed very respectfully and then raised his head.

'I would take the liberty of making some suggestions,' Ludovici said softly. 'The foreign resident ministers should be carefully watched, for what else are they than official spies of their countries? I do not exclude even the Count von Wallenstein although he is the master of ceremonies. And then the Prussian Waldburg, the Marquise de Monte, the resident minister Woodward, the Count Weisbach, and the Baron Zulich.'

'Ah! my dear Ludovici, very often the foreign countries are not as dangerous as home intrigues.'

'Excellent, beautiful,' Ludovici said. 'Yes! Yes! Yes! Nobody respects the minister Brühl more than I do.'

At that moment Sulkowski looked at Ludovici, the councillor at him, laughed, raised his hand, turned his head aside, and became silent. Thus they understood each other.

'He is my friend,' said Sulkowski, 'a man whose great talents I appreciate.'

'Talents--great, unusual, enormous, fearful,' Ludovici affirmed with animation. 'Oh, yes!'

'You must know that the late King recommended him very strongly to the Prince, that he is going to marry the Countess Kolowrath, that the Princess thinks much of him. Notwithstanding all that, you would be wrong in interpreting my thoughts if you suppose that I distrust him, that I fear him--'

'Yes, but it is better to be cautious, and it is necessary to watch--through him flows the river of silver and gold.'

Sulkowski changed the subject of conversation and said:

'They complain to me that Watzdorf has too ready a tongue.'

'The younger one,' Ludovici interrupted, 'yes, yes unbridled, but it is a mill that grinds away its own stones; his talk will harm himself alone, and then he cannot help being angry, because--'

He did not finish, for a loud noise was heard in the ante-room. Sulkowski listened, Ludovici became silent, and his face and manner changed; from a courtier he became a dignified official. Pushing, interrupted by a woman's laughter, was heard. Evidently someone was trying to enter by force.

Sulkowski gave Ludovici to understand that the interview was over for the present and advanced towards the door, through which there appeared a lady dressed very strangely.

Figures such as she presented are seen only on screens or made of china. Over-dressed and very plain, thin, sallow, smelling of l'eau de la reine d'Hongrie, wearing a large wig, the little woman rushed in looking sweetly at Sulkowski with her small eyes.

The moment that this unwelcome guest took the room by storm, Ludovici bowed humbly, left the room, and the new-comer looked at him and said:

'Ah! ce cher comte! You see, you ungrateful, before you could learn that I was in Dresden, as soon as I had kissed the hand of my august pupil, I came to see you. N'est ce pas joli de via part?'

Sulkowski bowed and wanted to kiss her hand, but she struck him with her fan and said:

'Let that be--I am old, it would not be seemly; but let me sit somewhere.'

She looked round and sat on the nearest chair.

'I must breathe; I wanted to talk to you privately.'

Sulkowski stood before her ready to listen.

'Well, we have lost our great magnificent Augustus.'

She sighed, so did Sulkowski.

'It's a pity that he died, but between ourselves, he lived long enough, he abused his life a great deal--I cannot speak about that: des horreurs! What will become now of you, poor orphans? The Prince? He is inconsolable in his grief? True? Yes? I came from my court with condolences to my august and dearest pupil.'

She bent a little and leaned on the arm of the chair, raising the fan to her mouth.

'What news? My dear Count, what news? I already know that you have been appointed to a position due to you. We are all glad of it, for we know that our court can count on you.'

Sulkowski bowed.

From those words it was easy to guess that the new-comer was sent by the Austrian court. She was a famous teacher of the Archduchess Josephine, Fräulein Kling, whom they used to send where a man would attract too much attention. Fräulein Kling was one of the most able diplomats in the service of the Austrian court.

'I suppose you already know about everything.'

'Dear Count, I don't know anything; I know only that the Kürfurst loves you, that Brühl is going to help you. But pray, tell me, who is this Brühl?'

Sulkowski became thoughtful.

'He is a friend of mine!' he answered at length.

'Now I understand. You know that the Princess promised him the Countess Kolowrath's hand and that the girl, as it seems, does not fancy him very much. Was Brühl not madly in love with the Countess Moszynski?'

All this was said so quickly, that it gave Sulkowski no time to think over his answer.

'Yes,' said he shortly, 'it seems that he is going to marry.'

'But he is a Lutheran?'

'He is going to be converted to Catholicism.'

'It is to be hoped not in the same way as the late magnificent and great Augustus II, who used to put rosaries round the necks of his favourite hounds.'

Sulkowski was silent.

'What more? I have not yet seen the Prince--has he changed? Has he become sadder? I pity him! Mourning--he will not have an opera for a long time. And what about Faustina? Is she superseded by someone else?'

'The Prince wishes to keep everything as it was during his late father's life. Nobody could supersede Faustina.'

'But she is old.'

'She charms with her voice alone.'

Fräulein covered her face with her fan and moved her head.

'It is a very delicate question,' she said softly, 'for me as a woman, but I am inquisitive, I must know. My dear Count, tell me, is he still faithful to his wife? I love her so much, my dear, august pupil!'

The Count retreated.

'It is beyond my doubt,' said he with animation. 'The Princess does not leave him for a moment; she accompanies him to the hunting parties, to Hubertsburg and Diannenburg.'

'In order that he may become sooner tired of her,' whispered the lady. 'That's unwise--I am always afraid of that passion which must be in his blood.'

She looked at the Count, who shook his head.

'The Prince is so pious,' said he.

Fräulein Kling covered her smile with her fan. The windows of the room in which they were sitting looked on the square. Although they spoke quite loudly, some laughter and shouting became so overpowering, that Sulkowski, frowning, could not help turning towards the window to see what was going on in the street.

In those times street noises and shouting of the mob were very rare. If anything of the kind happened the cause for it was nearly always an official one. In this case, one could see through the windows crowds of people in the street, in the windows and doors of the opposite houses. Amongst the crowd, moving like a wave, a strange procession advanced.

Fräulein Kling, very curious, sprang from her chair and rushed to the window, and, having pushed aside the curtain, she and Sulkowski looked into the street.

The crowd passed under the windows, rushing after a man dressed in dark clothes and sitting on a donkey, his face turned toward the ass's tail. The donkey was led by a man dressed in red. It was painful to look at the unfortunate culprit, an elderly man, bent and crushed by shame. From the window one could see his pale face with the painful expression of a punished man, who, judging by his dress, belonged to the better class. His pockets were full of papers sticking out; his clothes were unbuttoned and threadbare. A kind of stupor evidently followed the humiliation, for he mechanically clasped the donkey in order not to fall, he did not look at what was going on around him, though men armed with halberds surrounded him, while the always merciless crowd threw mud and small stones at him. His dress and face was covered with dirt. The men laughed, the children rushed, screamed and thoughtlessly tortured the unfortunate man.

'What is it?' cried Fräulein Kling. 'What is going on? I don't understand!'

'Oh! nothing!' said Sulkowski indifferently, 'a very simple thing. It cannot be permitted that any scribbler can dare to criticise the people belonging to the upper classes, and speak about them disrespectfully.'

'Naturally,' answered Fräulein Kling, 'one cannot permit them to attack the most sacred things.'

'That man,' said Sulkowski, 'is an editor of some paper called a gazette, or news; his name is Erell. We noticed that he took too many liberties. At length he said something very outrageous in the Dresden Merkwürdigkeiten and they ordered him to be put on such a donkey as he is himself.'

'Et c'est juste!' cried Fräulein Kling. 'One must be severe with such people. I should like to see the same in Vienna, that we might catch those who take the liberty of speaking about our secrets in Hamburg and the Hague.'

They looked through the window on the shouting crowd. Erell, an old man, evidently exhausted, swayed to the right and to the left and seemed likely to fall from the donkey. At the bend in the street he disappeared and Fräulein Kling returned to her arm-chair; Sulkowski took another, and they began to talk. The host however answered her questions cautiously and coolly.

'My dear Count,' the lady at length added, 'you must understand that my court is anxious that the Kurfürst and his consort should be surrounded by people with sound common sense. It is true, that officially you have accepted the Pragmatic Sanction, but--someone might easily tempt you. My court trusts you, my dear Count, and you can count on it, for we know how to be grateful.'

'I consider myself the most faithful servant of His Imperial Majesty,' said Sulkowski: Fräulein Kling rose, looked in a mirror, smiled and curtseyed. Sulkowski offered her his arm and conducted her downstairs, to the court post-chaise waiting at the door, which was lifted by two porters in yellow livery, who carried off the smiling lady.

CHAPTER X

Soon after the events described, one day after dinner, which was served in those days before two in the Castle, Brühl entered his house.

On his face, usually serene, one could see traces of irritation. He glanced at the clock and hastened to his dressing-room. Four lackeys here waited for his Excellency, the fifth was Henniche standing at the door; his face was very sour.

Brühl having noticed him, asked:

'What do you want?'

'A very important affair,' said Henniche.

'I have no time just now,' said Brühl impatiently. 'I am still more pressed than your Excellency,' muttered the factotum.

Seeing that he would not be able to get rid of him, Brühl came to him and waited to hear what he had to say. But the councillor shook his head, signifying that he could not speak before witnesses. Brühl took him into the next room, locked the door, and said:

'Speak quickly.'

Henniche put his bony hand into one of his pockets, took from it something shining, and handed it to Brühl.

It was a medal as large as a thaler. Brühl took it to the window, for the day was dark, and examined it: one side of it represented a throne with a man in a sitting posture, dressed in a morning gown and holding a pipe; it was easy to guess that it represented the young Kurfürst; three men, two of them in pages' costumes, the third one in livery, supported the throne. On the other side could be read the following verse relating to Brühl, Sulkowski and Henniche:

Brühl threw the medal on the floor; Henniche stooped and picked it up from under the sofa where it had rolled. Brühl was angry and thoughtful.

'What does your Excellency say to that?' said Henniche.

'What? Give me the man who did it, and you shall see,' cried Brühl.

'It was stamped in Holland,' said Henniche, 'and we cannot get at them there. But it came from Saxony, for in Holland nobody cares that I was a lackey and both your Excellencies were pages. It came from Saxony!'

'Then we must find the man who did it,' cried Brühl. 'Don't spare money, but find him.'

Henniche shrugged his shoulders.

'Give me that medal,' said Brühl. 'Where did you get it from?'

'Someone put it on my desk. I have no doubt you will find one also.'

'I shall send the culprit to Königstein,' cried Brühl. 'We made Erell ride on a donkey, but this one will be safer in a dungeon.'

'In the first place we must find him,' muttered Henniche. 'I will attend to that.'

'We must buy out the medal and destroy it and you will find the culprit. One can do a great deal with a couple of thousand thalers. Send some intelligent man to Holland.'

'I shall go myself,' said Henniche, 'and I shall find him. He would not be a man who, having done such a witty thing, did not boast about it to anybody. We shall get him.'

Brühl was in a hurry, so he nodded and went out. Henniche left the room also.

The minister, still gloomier now, washed his face, dressed carefully, matching his sword, snuff-box, wig and hat to his suit. The carriage waited at the door. As soon as he got in, the equipage rolled towards the suburb of Wilsdurf. At the entrance to it, he stopped the carriage, put on a light cloak, told the coachman to return, waited till the carriage was at a certain distance, looked round carefully, and seeing only common people he advanced and turned towards a large garden; he followed a path till he came to a gate of which he had the key; he looked once more round, opened the door and entered a small garden at the end of which could be seen a modest country house surrounded by lilac bushes. The birds chirped in the bushes--everything else was quiet.

Brühl, with bent head and thoughtful, walked slowly along the path bordered with trees. The noise of an opening window woke him up. In the window appeared a very beautiful lady who seemed to expect him. He caught sight of her and his face brightened. He took off his hat and saluted her, putting his left hand on his heart.

Those who knew the perfect splendour of the unrivalled beauty of the Countess Cosel, then locked up in a solitary castle, would recognise in the lady standing at the window some likeness to that unfortunate woman. She was not as beautiful as her mother, not having her regular features, but she inherited her dignified and majestic mien and the power of her glance.

The lady standing at the window was the Countess Moszynski, whose husband was preparing in Warsaw for the election of the Prince. She preferred to remain in Dresden.

When Brühl reached the threshold she came to meet him. The interior of the house was more luxurious than one would have expected from its modest exterior. It was ornamented with mirrors, luxurious furniture and full of the scent of flowers. In the first large, quiet room, there was a table set for two people, shining with silver, china and cut glass.

'So late--' whispered the Countess, whose hand Brühl kissed.

'Yes,' answered the minister, looking at his watch set with diamonds, 'but I was prevented by an important and unpleasant incident.'

'Unpleasant? What was it?'

'Let us not speak about it to-day. I should like to forget it.'

'But I would like to know it.'

'My dear Countess, you shall learn it in time,' said Brühl, sitting opposite her. 'It is no wonder that a man who has reached my position by degrees has enemies in those who remain behind him, and who avenge their inferiority by calumnies.'

The Countess listened attentively, made a trifling movement with her hand, and said:

'Calumnies! And you are so weak that you pay attention to them, that they hurt you? I should have my doubts about you, my dear Henry, if you are so weak. The one who wishes to play a great part in the world, must pay no heed to the hissing of spectators. It does not amount to anything. If you feel hurt by such trifles, you will never rise high. One must be superior to such things.'

'A vile insult,' rejoined Brühl.

'What do you care about the barking of a dog behind a hedge?'

'It irritates me.'

'Be ashamed of yourself.'

'You do not know what there is in question.'

Having said this Brühl took the medal from his pocket and showed it to the Countess. She looked at both sides, read the inscription, smiled, shrugged her shoulders, and wanted to throw it through the window, but Brühl stopped her.

'I need it,' said he.

'What for?'

'I must find out who did it. The joke came from Saxony. If we don't punish the man who did it--'

'In the first place you must find him,' said the Countess, 'and then you had better think it over, if by taking revenge you would not be giving too great an importance to some childish folly.'

'They are too daring,' cried Brühl. 'We were obliged to make Erell ride a donkey through the town, and it would be necessary to send the man who ordered this medal to be struck, to Königstein.'

The Countess shrugged her shoulders contemptuously.

'Believe me, it would be better to leave vengeance to Sulkowski,' she said. 'As long as you share the responsibility of state affairs with, him, see that everything painful falls on him; you take that which is agreeable. But I hope that you will not be long in partnership with him,' she added.

'I don't know how long it will last,' said Brühl. 'As far as I can see, we must wait till he makes some mistake through being too confident about his own powers.'

'You are right, and that will come soon. Sulkowski is very proud and too conceited; he thinks that he can do anything he likes with the Prince. One must give him a chance to turn a summersault. In the meantime il tirera les marrons du feu.'

The Countess laughed, Brühl remained gloomy.

An intelligent-looking servant, wearing high-heeled shoes and dressed like Liotard's famous 'Chocolate girl,' brought in a silver soup tureen. She smiled to Brühl as she put the dish on the table and disappeared.

The tête à tête dinner was animated by a lively conversation. The Countess asked about Fräulein Kling, about her mission, even about Brühl's coming marriage.

'I don't think that you will cease to love me,' she said sighing, 'the girl does not love you, and you are indifferent towards her; you marry to win favour with the Princess and the old Countess Kolowrath; I know that and therefore I keep quiet.'

'You are right,' said Brühl, 'I have not a second heart, and the one I had, I gave to you. I marry because it is necessary, as it is necessary also for me to share government affairs with Sulkowski.'

'Try to become indispensable to the Prince: amuse him, hunt with him, leave him as little as possible. If I am not mistaken, Sulkowski will wish to take it easy, to play the part of the grand seigneur, you must become indispensable to the King,--I call him king already, for I am certain that he will be elected. He must have somebody always near him, he is weak, and likes the faces he is most accustomed to. You must remember all this.'

'Dear Countess!' said Brühl, taking hold of her hand, 'be my guide, my Egeria, my Providence, and I shall be sure of my future.'

At that moment voices were heard at the gate. The servant rushed in frightened. The Countess rose frowning, angry.

'What is it?' she cried.

'Some one--I don't know, somebody from the court, with a letter or invitation, asks to be admitted.'

'Here? But who could have told him that I was here? I don't receive anyone here.'

Hardly had she pronounced the last words, when amongst the trees in the garden appeared a man in a chamberlain's dress. The gardener tried to bar his way but the chamberlain, paying no heed to him, advanced slowly. Brühl bent forward, looked through the window, recognised Watzdorf and at a signal from the Countess withdrew to the next room, closing the door behind him. The Countess ordered the servant to remove the second plate from the table, which was done in the twinkling of an eye, but the second glass was forgotten. The Countess sat at the table, looking with uneasiness towards the garden: she frowned and trembled with anger. In the meanwhile Watzdorf came to the house and seeing the Countess through the window, said to the gardener:

'I told you that the Countess was here, I knew it.' Saying this he bowed with an ironical smile, looking impudently round as if expecting to see someone else.

The Countess assumed a very severe expression when he entered.

'What are you doing here?' she asked threateningly.

'I beg a thousand pardons! I am the most awkward of men and the most unfortunate of chamberlains. The Prince gave me a letter for you. I went to your palace but could not find you there. The Prince's letter is very urgent. I was obliged to try and find you, and I came here.'

'I am not surprised that you tracked me like a hound,' hissed the Countess, 'but I don't like to be the game.'

Watzdorf appeared to be delighted at her anger. He glanced at the chair on which hung a napkin left, by Brühl. The Countess noticed when he smiled at this discovery. She did not grow confused; but was angry in the highest degree.

'Where is that letter?' she asked.

Watzdorf smiled ironically and began to search his pockets, muttering in the meanwhile impertinently:

'Well, this house is charmingly situated for two.'

He took out several things and among them as if by accident the medal, then he added:

'Just imagine the daring of these agitators! Who could have expected anything like this?'

He put the medal on the table and searched further in his pockets. The Countess took the medal and looked at it, pretending that she had not seen it before: then she said indifferently, replacing it on the table:

'A very poor joke indeed! It does not hurt anybody.'

Watzdorf looked at her.

'It might suggest something to the Prince.'

'What?' asked the Countess.

'That he might find other props,' said Watzdorf.

'Whom? You, Frosch and Horch?'

'Countess, you are malicious.'

'With you one might become mad. Where is that letter?'

'I am in despair! It seems that I have lost it.'

'Running after me for the purpose of amusing me,' muttered the Countess, 'to disturb me when I wish to be alone.'

'Alone!' Watzdorf repeated, smiling ironically and looking at the chair with the napkin.

'I understand you,' the Countess burst out. 'Did the Count Moszynski tell you to spy on me?'

At that moment the rustling of a silk dress was heard, and a lady who a few minutes previously had entered the room and slipped behind a Chinese screen, came slowly to the centre of the room.

Watzdorf was struck dumb with amazement. There was something so unusual in the apparition that even the Countess trembled.

The lady was tall and not young; her gaze was piercing; her mien majestic; her face beautiful notwithstanding her age; she was dressed so strangely that one might have thought she was mad. She wore a large gown, bordered with galoons. The girdle worn on the dress underneath was golden with black cabalistic signs; on her black hair she wore a kind of turban with a band made of parchment inscribed with Hebrew letters, the ends of the band hanging over her shoulders.

She looked piercingly at the intruder, frowned contemptuously, and said severely:

'What do you wish for here? Did you come to spy on my daughter and her mother in order to entertain the Prince by telling him that you have seen the old Cosel? You son of "the pagan and buffoon from Mansfeld," do you intend to annoy me also? Get out! Let us alone!'

She pointed to the door. Watzdorf, confused, retreated. His eyes shone angrily--he went out. Cosel followed him with her eyes, then she turned to her daughter.

It was not her day for her visit from Stolpen, and this time the Countess Moszynski did not expect her. Thinking that Brühl when he saw Watzdorf go out would return, she grew confused. The Countess Cosel sat on the chair previously occupied by Brühl. After having driven off the intruder she became almost absent-minded as she struck the table with her white and still beautiful hand and gazed round the room.

'I came unexpectedly,' she said at length, not looking at her daughter, 'but you permitted me to receive people here whom I wished to see. I asked the minister to come here.'

Moszynski's face expressed surprise.

'Don't be afraid; I expect him only towards evening,' added Cosel. 'But who was here with you? Why did he hide?'

Moszynski was silent, not knowing what to answer: her mother looked at her silently with a kind of pity.

'I understand,' said she with a disdainful smile. 'Some court intrigue. New master, new servants; you must try not to fall on that slippery ice.'

What Moszynski was afraid of happened at that moment. Brühl appeared at the door, and having perceived the woman whom he had never seen before but guessed who she was, became dumb with astonishment and did not know what to do.

Moszynski blushed, then grew pale. Cosel looked at the man, trying as it seemed to guess his character.

'Then it is he?' said she smiling. 'Who is he?'

'The minister Brühl,' her daughter answered.

'Everything new now! Brühl! I don't remember. Come nearer,' she said to Brühl, 'don't be afraid. You see before you a priestess of a new faith. Have you heard of me? I am the widow of Augustus the Strong. I was his wife. You see the Countess Cosel, famous throughout the world both for her success and her misfortunes. At my feet lay the rulers of the world, I commanded millions. Augustus loved nobody but me.'

She spoke quietly; her daughter did not dare to interrupt her; Brühl stood silent, and leaning a little forward seemed to listen attentively.

'You have chanced to see the queen who has come from another world--she was dead, buried, but she is still living in order to convert unbelievers to the true faith of the one God who appeared to Moses in a burning bush.'

The Countess Moszynski trembled and by her furtive looks seemed to beseech her mother to be silent.

Perchance Cosel understood that look, for she rose and said:

'I am going to rest, I shall not interrupt your councils any more. Cosel's daughter ought to rule over Saxony--I understand--'

Having said this she moved majestically towards the same door by which Brühl had entered, and through which she disappeared.

By the other door the servant appeared with a dish.

'I am going,' whispered Brühl, taking his hat. 'It is an unlucky day, but I am glad that that malicious Watzdorf did not see me here.'

'He had a medal,' said the Countess, 'he was delighted with it: I see that he is your bitter foe. What have you done to him?'

'Nothing, except that I was too polite to him.'

'He is a poisonous snake, I know him,' said the Countess.

'He is a buffoon like his father,' Brühl said contemptuously, 'but if he gets in my way--'

'That inscription on the medal, does it not sound like some of his sneers?'

Brühl looked at the Countess; her suspicion seemed to be probable.

'I shall give orders that he is to be watched,' he said shortly. 'If it is as you think, he is not long for this world.'

Having said this he kissed the Countess's hand, took his mantle, thrown into a dark corner near the door and therefore not observed by Watzdorf, and went out.

He returned by the same path by which he came full of hope for a long and free conversation; now he was thinking how he could return home without being noticed.

He passed the gate neglecting to keep a look-out and he needed all his presence of mind in order not to betray his emotion, when he perceived Watzdorf standing opposite and saluting him with an ironical smile.

Brühl returned the salute with perfect ease and amiability.

'You here!' Brühl exclaimed. 'How glad I am!'

'It is I who can call myself happy,' said Watzdorf, 'for I never expected to meet your Excellency under the apple trees. If I remember well, the fruit of an apple tree is called forbidden.'

'Yes,' said Brühl laughing. 'But I did not come for forbidden fruit. The Countess Cosel wished to see me, for she has a request to make to the Prince.'

There was so much probability in it that Watzdorf became confused.

'And you, chamberlain, what are you doing in the country?' asked Brühl.

'I was searching for happiness which I cannot find elsewhere,' Watzdorf muttered.

'Under the apple trees?'

'One might find it more easily there than at court.'

'I see you do not like court life?'

'I have no talent for it,' answered Watzdorf walking beside Brühl.

'But you have wit, a sharp tool, with which you need not be afraid of anything.'

'Yes, it's a good tool for making enemies,' said Watzdorf.

They walked in silence for a while. Watzdorf appearing to think over something.

'I have not yet had the opportunity to present my congratulations to your Excellency,' said he.

'What?' asked Brühl.

'They say that the most able minister is going to marry the most beautiful young lady in the court.'

There was so much passion in his voice, that it struck Brühl suddenly that Watzdorf might be the man whom the beautiful Frances loved. It was only a supposition, or rather a presentiment. Brühl trembled. 'If that is so, then the author of the medal and the beloved of my future wife must be put in a safe place,' he thought.

But nothing was yet proved. They looked at each other smiling, but with hatred in their hearts. The more Brühl hated anyone the more sweet he was towards him: it was not in vain that he had been brought up in the school of Augustus the Strong.

'Your Excellency neglects the Prince,' said Watzdorf. 'The Count Sulkowski is too busy, and Frosch and Horch and Padre Guarini do not suffice for him.'

Brühl smiled as sweetly as he could.

'You are right, I should like to compete even with Frosch and Horch to amuse our gracious Prince, but I have no time, for I must try to conquer the heart of the young lady of whom you have just made mention.'

'That is not necessary,' said Watzdorf, 'the one who shall have her hand, and the rest--does not need her heart. It might be left to someone else. Your Excellency has an excellent example of this in the Count Moszynski, who does not care for his wife's heart.'

Brühl blushed; he stopped, still smiling, but he was out of patience with this preaching man.

'My dear sir,' he said, 'let us speak frankly: have I done you any wrong that you should prick me, or is it only a habit of yours to bite everybody?'

'Both,' answered Watzdorf, 'but I did not expect that such a giant as your Excellency would feel the pricking of such a small fly as I am.'

'I feel no pain,' said Brühl, 'but it tickles me. Would is not be better to make a friend of me?'

Watzdorf laughed.

'Ministers have no friends,' he said, 'it is written in the most elementary catechism of politicians.'

Here Watzdorf saluted and turned into a side street.

It was something like a declaration of war. Brühl was struck dumb with astonishment.

'He declares war? He must be crazy! Why such a dislike towards me? I must find out!'

He went swiftly homeward. As soon as he entered his house, he went to Henniche's office. Henniche was a little surprised at seeing him.

'Give orders that Chamberlain Watzdorf is to be watched,' said Brühl. 'But as Watzdorf is very cunning you must choose a man more cunning than he. Bribe Watzdorf's servants and search his papers.'

'Watzdorf?' repeated Henniche surprised. 'Have you any reason to suspect him?'

'Yes.'

'Must he be sacrificed?'

Brühl was thoughtful for a while.

'We shall see,' he said, 'I don't like to make enemies, but if it is necessary--'

'Is he in the way?'

'I don't like him.'

'One can always find something against him.'

'Yes, find it then, and have it in store,' muttered Brühl. 'I always tried to be amiable. I must show now that I can be threatening.'

Henniche looked at him ironically--Brühl left the room without having noticed it.

Watzdorf, who at the turn of the road separated from Brühl, walked swiftly at first, then slowly, wandering without any aim. His face was gloomy, for he felt that in satisfying his own irritation he had committed a grave mistake which he would redeem very dearly. He was too angry with Brühl to be able to control himself.

Watzdorf although brought up at the court and accustomed to look at its perversity, which might corrupt him also, was a man to be feared for his honesty and integrity. All who surrounded him shocked him. The air which he breathed seemed to him infected and he was disgusted with it.

His love for Frances Kolowrath also contributed to make him hate the world, which had corrupted the beautiful girl. He saw all her faults: coquettishness, levity, pride, egotism and lack of heart, but notwithstanding that, he loved her madly, weeping over her and himself. All her drawbacks he attributed to her education, to the court and its customs, the air which she breathed.

He was in despair.---All noticed lately that Watzdorf had grown gloomy and irritable to a degree. If he could he would avenge her on somebody, and as Brühl was Frances's fiancé, on him he concentrated his whole anger.

The courtiers, his former friends, avoided Watzdorf: some of them spoke frankly, that he was smelling like a corpse.

Having nothing else to do he went almost mechanically towards Faustina's house. The first part of the mourning was over and there were already whispers of an opera. Sulkowski and Brühl knowing how fond the Prince was of music and of Faustina, were inclined to persuade him to have a performance.

Although Hasse was the husband of the diva they did not live together. Il divino Sassone, as the Italians called him, occupied a separate house. Faustina's house was luxuriously furnished. She gave the orders for each performance, and received those who applied for appointments at the theatre.

Watzdorf asked the lackey if his mistress was at home, and received an answer in the affirmative. When announced, and entering the drawing-room, he found the beautiful Italian standing in the centre of the room; while Padre Guarini, dressed in civilian's clothes was walking to and fro. His face was smiling while Faustina was red with anger.

Guarini, seeing Watzdorf, said to him, pointing to the singer:

'Look what this woman is doing with me, the most peaceful man in the world. Furioso diavolo! Furioso! If she was singing instead of shrieking--'

Faustina turned to Watzdorf.

'Be my witness,' she shrieked, 'he wishes to make a puppet of me that I may not have my own will. To-morrow his protégé would ruin my theatre. No, he must be dismissed!'

'Why?' said Guarini quietly. 'Because the beautiful youth does not admire you? Because he prefers the blue eyes of the Frenchwoman to yours?'

Faustina clapped her hands.

'Do you hear him, that abominable prete?' cried she. 'Do I need his homage? Have I not enough of that? I am disgusted with it!'

'Yes, as if woman had ever enough of it,' laughed Guarini.

'But about whom, is this question?' asked Watzdorf.

'Un poverino!' the Jesuit answered, 'whom that pitiless woman wished to drive from the theatre.'

'Un assassino! Un traditore! Una spia!' cried Faustina.

Watzdorf, although feeling sad, was amused by this quarrel between a priest and an actress.

'I shall reconcile you,' said he, 'wait!'

They both looked at him, for the reconciliation was a doubtful one.

'Let the culprit go,' said Watzdorf, 'and in his place, as a good actor is necessary, put one of the ministers. There are no better actors than they! And as Faustina would not quarrel with a minister, there will be peace.'

Guarini nodded, Faustina became silent, and threw herself on a sofa. The Jesuit took the chamberlain by the arm and led him to the window.

'Carissimo!' he said sweetly, 'it is still very far to hot weather, and you seem already to be sun-struck.'

'No, I am not mad yet,' said Watzdorf, 'I cannot guarantee, however, that I shall not become mad soon.'

'What is the matter with you? Confess!'

'Shall Faustina's knee be a confessional?'

'What a heathen!' laughed the Jesuit, 'What is the matter with you? Tell me!'

'The world seems to me stupid, that's all!'

'Carissimo! Perdona,' said the Jesuit. 'But it seems to me that you are stupid, if you say such things. I shall give you some advice. When you have an excess of bad humour, go into the forest; there you may swear as much as you like, shout as much as you like, and then return to town quieted. You know that in old times they used that remedy for those who could not hold their tongues.'

Watzdorf listened indifferently.

'I pity you,' added Guarini.

'If you knew how I pity you all,' Watzdorf sighed. 'But who could say whose pity is the better?'

'Then let us leave it,' said the Jesuit taking his hat. He came to Faustina and bowed to her humbly.

'Once more I pray your Excellency for the poverino, don't dismiss him for my sake.'

'You can do what you please without me,' answered Faustina, 'but should you force me to sing with him, I give you my word that I shall slap his face in public.'

Guarini inclined his head, bowed, and went to the Prince with his report.

It was the hour of rest which Frederick enjoyed after doing nothing the whole day. The hour in which he smoked his pipe, enjoyed the tricks of Frosch and Horch, and the company of Brühl and Sulkowski, for no one else could see him then.

Guarini entered whenever he liked. He was the more amiable companion. The Prince was fond of laughing, and Guarini made him laugh: when he wanted to be silent, Guarini was silent: when asked a question, he answered mirthfully, never contradicting.

Brühl was alone in the room with the Kurfürst. He stood at the master's chair and whispered something. The Prince listened attentively and nodded.

'Father, do you hear what Brühl says?' said the Prince to the Jesuit as he entered.

Guarini came nearer.

'Speak on,' said Frederick.

Brühl began to talk, looking significantly at Guarini.

'He is ironical, and for a long time has been too biting and too bitter.'

'Oh! That's too bad!' the Prince whispered.

'About whom is this question?' asked the Jesuit.

'I have dared to call his Royal Highness's attention to Chamberlain Watzdorf.'

Guarini recalled his meeting with the man.

'The fact is,' he said, 'that I also find him strange.'

'And at the court it is contagious,' Brühl added. The Prince sighed, evidently already bored, and did not answer.

'Where is that fool Frosch?' he said suddenly. 'I am sure he is already asleep in some corner.'

The Jesuit ran to the door and made a sign. Frosch and Horch rushed into the room so precipitously that Horch fell down and Frosch jumped on his back. The Prince began to laugh heartily.

The humiliated Horch tried to avenge himself on his adversary, rose, thinking that he could shake him off, but the cautious little man slipped down and hid behind a chair.

Frederick's eyes followed them--he was anxious to see the result of the contest. Behind the chair both fools, squealing, began to fight. Frederick laughed and forgot all about what he had heard that day. It would be difficult to say how long this would have lasted if Guarini had not whispered to the Prince that it was time to go to the chapel for prayers; the Prince becoming suddenly grave went with the Jesuit to the chapel, where the Princess was already awaiting them.