CHAPTER XVI
In a narrow street near the wall of the old city, not far from the river Elbe, stood a small house in a garden surrounded with a wall. One could easily see that it had been recently erected, and care had been taken to make it handsomer than the other houses. On the walls the architect had suspended stone flowers, round the windows were placed ornaments, graceful curves took the place of straight lines, thus making the building very fantastic.
On the gate stood two vases brought from Italy in order to remind one of that country. On one side of the house a verandah also reminded one of the Italian pergole. The front of the house turned towards the river Elbe. Young trees already gave some shadow, and two old linden trees, which remained from byegone times, spread their branches widely.
One autumn evening a woman was sitting on the balcony. She was the personification of wistful longing. She was young, beautiful, but sad as night; her black eyebrows were contracted, in her dark eyes shone tears; she put her elbows on her knees, leaned her head on her hands, and looked into the distance.
It was easy to recognise in her an Italian, for such a beautiful form nature grants only to her elect children, growing in air filled with the scent of orange blossoms. On the half-open red lips, between which could be seen her white teeth, there lingered a song. Her thoughts interrupted it, the voice stopped, and after a while flowed on again like a dream, then died away in silence, changing into a sigh.
She was alone, her thoughts concentrated on herself, turned into stone by longing, wearied of life. The song flowed from habit, the tears flowed from the heart.
Dressed as if she were in her own country, she could dream about the warm Italian autumn, for the day was warm. She wore a light dress, slipping from her shoulders, her black hair was loose, her arms were bare. It was difficult to guess her age--the first years of youth had hardly passed and it was followed by those in which one longs after youth and looks forward to the future, though fearing the latter in the meanwhile. Her eyes were already familiar with tears and the mouth seemed no more to yearn after kisses, for she was already familiar with their sweetness. Her body was near the dreary river Elbe under the sky of the North, but her thoughts were far beyond the mountains and seas.
To the left the sun was setting in an orange-yellow sky and she turned her eyes in that direction. Just then steps were heard in the narrow street. The dreamy woman heard them and awoke from her dreams. She became frightened and listened. Someone knocked at the gate. Afraid, she wrapped herself in her gown, gathered up her dishevelled hair and disappeared into the house.
Another knock was heard at the gate. An old grey-haired man, wearing only a shirt and a cotton cape opened the door and looked out. At the gate stood a good-looking man, who, without asking permission, walked through. The old man muttered something, closed the door and followed him.
The new-comer asked the old man in Italian whether Teresa was at home and received from him an answer in the affirmative. He went quickly towards the house, the door of which stood open. The entrance hall was empty; he went upstairs and knocked at the door; an old, poorly dressed woman opened it and let him in.
The guest entered and found only the stool upon which the Italian was sitting a short time ago. The door leading to the balcony was open. The view from here was so charming that he stopped, looked at it and grew meditative.
The rustling of a dress was heard behind him, and the same woman whom we saw on the balcony advanced slowly. She now wore a voluminous black dress and her hair was negligently tied. Her face bore the same expression of weariness.
She nodded as her guest turned to greet her. They spoke in Italian.
'What is the matter with you?' the stranger asked.
'I am not well! I am dying from longing,' answered the Italian sadly. 'I cannot live here!'
'Where does such despair come from?'
'From the air!' the woman cried, throwing herself on a sofa.
The man sat opposite her on a chair.
'From the air!' she repeated, 'I cannot breathe here! I cannot live here! I must die here!'
'But what is the matter?'
'You see----'
'Then again that longing?'
'It has never left me.'
'I am sure Faustina has done something again,' said the visitor. It was Brühl, as one could guess.
'Faustina?' she said looking at him angrily. 'You think and talk only of her!'
'Why do you not eclipse Faustina? Why do you not try to please the King? She is older----'
'She is a witch as old as the world--' interrupted Teresa. 'An abominable comedian. But with that King----'
'Pray, speak with respect about him!'
Teresa's mouth twitched.
'I will give you some advice,' said Brühl, 'when you sing, always turn towards the King, look at him, smile to him, be coquettish. If he applaud you, you are first.'
'But in the meanwhile that old Faustina is first. The King is ruled by habit, and has no taste. She has a coarse voice and grey hair. But it does not matter, she is a diva, and we compars!'
'Teresa, listen,' said Brühl, 'do not despair, it shall be changed, Faustina shall return home, you shall remain.'
'I would prefer the contrary,' Teresa muttered.
'I have not time to-day to talk that matter over with you,' said Brühl. 'At any minute I expect Padre Guarini to rap at the door. Tell old Beppo to let him in. I could not see him elsewhere and I told him to come here. Give him something sweet, but not your lips which are the sweetest, and leave us alone.'
Teresa listened with indifference; then as though forced to obey, she rose and moved slowly towards the door calling her old woman, to whom she whispered a few words. Brühl paced up and down the room.
Teresa turned, looked at him and went to the sofa, but a muffled knock at the door forced her to rise again to welcome the Jesuit.
A swift step was heard on the stairs and the long face of the Padre, smiling kindly, appeared in the doorway. He noticed Teresa as she put in order the things scattered about the room.
'Let that be,' he exclaimed. 'I am not a guest, but one of the family. I feel so happy to be with my countrymen.'
Brühl came over to Guarini.
'What news?' he asked. 'Is he going away?'
'Yes,' said the Padre laughing. 'The King himself told him to go and rest after working so hard. Do you understand? Very cleverly done. I never expected the Queen to be so cunning. She said to the King, "I know that you will be longing after Sulkowski, that we shall not be able to find a substitute for him, but he is killing himself with hard work. He is made for the active life of a soldier, let him go and smell some powder, and return refreshed." The King kissed her hand, thanking her for her sympathy for his favourite, and he said: "I shall tell Sulkowski to-day to go and travel, and pay his expenses." We must not stint the money! Let him go! Let him go!' exclaimed Guarini.
Brühl accompanied him.
'Let him go!'
'He shall stay a few months,' the Padre continued, 'we shall have plenty of time in which to prepare the King's mind to dismiss him.'
Brühl's face brightened.
'During that time you know what you have to do,' added Guarini. 'You must not act against him; that would be dangerous. Leave that to me and the Queen. Sulkowski hurt many by his pride; as soon as they realise that his good luck may forsake him, they will help us. You must remain his friend till the end.'
'That was my idea also,' said Brühl, 'even I shall protest against his departure, arguing that I shall not be able to do everything without Sulkowski.'
'Very well,' said Guarini. 'Al nemico il ponte d'oro chi fuge--when the King asks for money, give it lavishly.'
'Even to the last thaler,' said Brühl, rubbing his hands; then recollecting that he must show his gratitude, he kissed the priest's hand.
'Lontano dagli occhi, lontano dal cuore,' muttered the Padre. 'The King will get accustomed to you.'
They both walked to and fro, the Padre was pondering.
'He leaves his wife, she will communicate with him,' he said quietly.
'We must have some people round her.'
'One would do,' said Guarini, 'but it seems that she is not so easy to deal with, and it is difficult to find a man for such a function.'
They began to whisper.
'A goccia a goccia si cava la pietra--' added the Padre.
Teresa entered from the other room; she was better dressed out of respect to the priest; she brought some fruit which she placed on the table.
The priest clapped her on the shoulder in the Italian fashion, she kissed his hand. He took several medals from his pocket, and gave Teresa one for herself, and two for her mother and the old Beppo, for which she kissed his hand again.
The dusk was already falling when Brühl and the Padre left the room in which Teresa remained, as sad as before. The old mother came to keep her company, but they both longed so wistfully after their own sun-bathed country that they could not speak.
They had not yet lighted the lamp in order not to attract the mosquitoes, when there was again a rap at the door. Teresa did not rise although she was curious to know who was there: who could bring her any consolation?
They could hear a conversation being carried on in Italian with Beppo on the stairs; it was a woman's voice. Teresa sprang from her seat, her mother also rose. In the dusk they perceived on the threshold a tall, well-dressed and good-looking woman, and Teresa to her great surprise recognised her antagonist Faustina.
The stage queen looked round the room and seemed to be thinking what to say.
Teresa stood silent.
'Do you see, I come to you, I!' Faustina said laughing. 'I waited in vain for you to come to me, and I came to make peace! My dear Teresa, we are Italians, both from that beautiful country, where the oranges blossom, and instead of making our life sweet, we poison it. Give me your hand and let us be friends.'
Teresa hesitated, then she began to cry and threw herself on Faustina's neck.
'I never was your foe!' she exclaimed. 'I have not taken a lover from you, I never spoke ill of you.'
'Let us forget about the past!' Faustina rejoined. 'Let us not speak of it, let us be friends. Our life is bitter enough, poisoned by others; we need not help them.'
Faustina sighed.
'I come to you, for I pity you; but what is the use of good advice and of kind words? They are too late, nobody can stop that which is to be.'
She became silent; Teresa's mother left the room; the two women seated themselves.
'The people mar our happiness,' said Faustina, 'and we must swallow our tears. It is not our world--and at their court one must walk as cautiously as on ice, in order not to slip or fall. Fortunately I have the King, and he will be faithful to my voice. He is a good creature, who goes to his box as a horse to his stable, and I furnish him with his food of songs.'
She laughed and bent and kissed Teresa's forehead.
'I pity you, you are in that man's hands.'
Teresa looked timidly round and said:
'I am afraid of my own mother.'
'And I am not afraid of anybody,' said Faustina. 'But tell me do you know him?'
Teresa shivered.
'He is a dreadful man!' Faustina said. 'He is sweet, kind, but his laughter hisses like that of a serpent; he smiles but he has no heart. And so pious, so modest--'
Faustina shook herself and continued:
'I have come to tell you, that soon he will rule absolutely over us all, and then woe to any of us if we resist him. Poverina!'
Teresa was silent. Faustina continued:
'Perhaps he is good to you, but if you could hear complaints, as I do everyday, about his oppression, you would hate him.'
'My dear Faustina,' Teresa at last replied, 'I am 80 glad you came to see me. I am so miserable! I dream continually of the Adriatic sea: it seems to me that I sit on the threshold of our cottage--lucciole fly in the air, Andrea plays the guitar--the song resounds, the wind brings the scent of flowers. I wake up, listen: the wind rustles, but it brings snow, and the strange tongue resounds and the people laugh and their irony wounds and their love humiliates.'
Teresa covered her face with her hands.
'Cara mia,' said Faustina kissing her, 'therefore let us not tease each other but help each other on this thorny path.'
And she put out her hand whispering:
'Be careful of that man, for he is dreadful, and may the Madonna take care of you.'
Teresa rose and accompanied her to the door.
'Addio!' she said. 'May God reward you for your good heart; you came when I was sad--I am happier now that we are friends.'
Thus they separated and the thoughtful Faustina, whose porte-chaise was waiting in front of the house, told the men to carry her home. She was obliged to pass the castle. The dusk was not yet as dark in the street as it was in the houses and one could recognise people's faces. Faustina looking distractedly in front of her recognised, in a porte-chaise passing hers, Sulkowski's pale face and black moustache.
She rapped at the window and cried:
'Fermate!'
Sulkowski leaned out. Both porte-chaises stopped so that their windows were opposite each other and their occupants could converse.
Faustina dropped the glass; the minister, a little surprised, looked at her.
'I must have a word with your Excellency,' she said in Italian.
'Beautiful diva!' said the Count, 'if it is a question of some quarrel, Padre Guarini is for that; if about some favour, our gracious King never refuses you anything, but I have no time to listen to you!'
'Count! the question is not about myself, not about a favour, but about you and the King,' said Faustina boldly.
'I am at your service and I listen to you,' said the Count smiling.
'Ah! if you would also believe me!'
The Count was silent and tried to control his impatience.
'Count,' said Faustina, 'is it true that you are going away, that you leave the place to your foes?'
Sulkowski laughed.
'I have no foes,' he said quietly, 'and were I so fortunate as to have them, (for I should consider it an honour to gain enemies by serving the King), I should not be afraid of them.'
'Do not mistrust me,' rejoined Faustina. 'But from behind the stage one sees the world well and one knows people better than in the drawing-room. Count, I am a friend of yours, for you love the King and you wish for the welfare of this country which I consider my second fatherland. You wish that others also loved the King but they think only of themselves and do not care about the country at all.'
Sulkowski frowned.
'But who? Who?'
'Are you blind then?' Faustina exclaimed. 'Do you not see anything? Have I to open your eyes? The Queen is jealous of the King's favours towards you, the almighty Padre Guarini is your foe and Brühl your rival. They made a plot secretly, they send you away in order to take from you the King's heart. And you do not see it! That man will take your place!'
Saying this she wrung her hands; Sulkowski listened; his pale face flushed.
'My dear Signora,' he said, 'these are dreams and visions. I am going, but I myself asked for leave of absence; I have no enemies and I am sure of the King's heart. Be assured it is gossip, flying round the court like mosquitoes about the marshes. Believe me, I am not blind and it is difficult to fool me and still more difficult to get rid of me.'
He began to laugh. He wished to withdraw when Faustina exclaimed:
'Count, is it possible that you are so blind? Your noble character does not admit of treachery which everybody sees.'
'Because all that has no sense. Brühl would not dare, even had he such allies as the Queen and the venerable Padre.'
Faustina lowered her head and said slowly:
'Therefore that which is destined is unavoidable. Chi a la morte è destinato, muore santo o disperato. Addio, signor conte and may Providence guide you and bring you back. Do not stay long away. You may recollect Faustina's warning, but it will be too late.'
The Count took hold of her hand.
'Beautiful and good-hearted signora,' he said, 'I am very grateful to you, for that which you have done is the proof of a good heart. I know how to appreciate it. But things are not as bad as you imagine. I can call the King my best friend; I trust him and shall not be disappointed! Be easy about me!'
Faustina said nothing more; the Count saluted her.
But he changed his plans and ordered his men to bear him to Brühl's palace.
It was a time at which he had a good chance of finding him at home. He did not need to ask to be admitted, for before the almighty Sulkowski all doors were thrown open.
Brühl was at home.
Sulkowski rushed upstairs and did not notice that a page preceded him through another door to tell his master about the visitor.
Brühl was with Henniche whom he dismissed, and before Sulkowski, who was obliged to pass through several drawing-rooms, reached his study, he fell on his knees before a crucifix and began to pray.
The easy manner in which he assumed that position proved that it was not for the first time that he found it advisable that a visitor should come upon him unexpectedly praying.
The contemporary writers assure us that Brühl was very often found praying.
Sulkowski entered the room without knocking at the door and stood there in surprise; it was the first time he had seen Brühl praying and he could hardly believe his own eyes; he stood motionless, while Brühl with his back turned, as though he had not heard the door open, knelt, sighing. At length he beat upon his breast, bending his head as low as a beggar in front of a church asking for alms.
Sulkowski could not have suspected that all this was a comedy, for he entered unannounced and in the dusk the porte-chaise could not have been noticed.
The farce lasted quite a long time, and every time Brühl lifted his hand Sulkowski could see a rosary-round his wrist. At length the Count coughed slightly.
Brühl started as if frightened, and having perceived Sulkowski covered his eyes:
'Ah! dear Count! You must excuse me--I am ashamed--but sometimes one needs to pray--so much time do we give to the pleasures of life and it is only right that some should be given to prayer--'
'It is I that must beg your pardon,' said Sulkowski advancing slowly, 'and I am edified by your piety. Forgive me that I have interrupted you.'
'I was just finishing,' Brühl said pointing to the sofa.
Two candles were burning on the table.
'A man who prays like that,' thought Sulkowski, 'cannot be bad and perverse; it is impossible.'
A heavy weight fell from his breast. He looked at Brühl who seemed to be still in pious ecstasies.
'Well,' said Sulkowski, seating himself comfortably on the sofa, 'you know that I am going away.'
Brühl's face became melancholy.
'You must do as you please,' he said slowly, 'as for me I neither approve your voyage, nor do I advise it. Speaking frankly, I was against it and I am still. In the first place nobody can be a substitute for you with the King. I can and I must be frank with you. The Queen is a saint, but she is a woman. If you go her influence will increase and the King will fall under her and Guarini's influence. You know that I am a good Catholic but I should dislike to see the King's mind too much under the influence of the priests. Our gracious lord hearkens too much to them already and hurts the feelings of his Saxon subjects.'
Sulkowski listened very attentively.
'My dear Brühl,' he said, 'you are right and I endorse your opinion. All that you say is true. You blame me for going away, but I am a soldier. The King made me commander of his army. I expect a war and I persuaded the King that war is inevitable, that Saxony must take advantage of the situation of Austria. That is the reason why I wish to acquire military experience; I go, but not to satisfy my fancy--'
'I would prefer that you stayed,' Brühl rejoined,
'And do you know what they say?' asked Sulkowski.
Brühl's face expressed surprise.
'It is very curious,' said Sulkowski slowly. 'They warn me not to go, for you and Guarini have made a plot against me, to send me away purposely, in order to overthrow me.'
Brühl wrung his hands, sprang from his chair and said angrily:
'Show me that slanderer! They dare to say that against me! I and Father Guarini! I who fear him as a pestilence! I would dare to attack you whom the King calls friend! It is stupid and ridiculous!'
'Calm yourself,' said Sulkowski laughing. 'I told you this to show you how stupid people are. I hope you do not think that I distrust or fear you.'
And he added after a while:
'It is possible that a foolish man might make such an attempt, but it would cost him dear; I am sure of the King's favour, he has no secrets from me.'
He shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
'In that case,' Brühl rejoined, 'I shall still more insist that you remain.'
'Excuse me, but exactly for the same reason I must go, in order to prove to the idiots that I am not afraid of anybody.'
Brühl waved his hand.
'I am sure it came from Berlin, where the gossip about Saxony originated,' he said.
'I am going to Prague to-morrow,' said Sulkowski, for I must look at Prague from a strategical points of view, as we are going to take it. Can I take leave of your wife?'
Brühl rang the bell. The lackey entered.
'Is your mistress at home?'
'Yes, your Excellency.'
'Announce the Count Sulkowski and me.'
The lackey left the room; there was silence; then he returned and said:
'My lady is ready to receive your Excellencies.'
Sulkowski rose from the sofa and went to the drawing-room; Brühl followed him, smiling notwithstanding the emotions he had just experienced.
In the drawing-room Brühl's beautiful wife was waiting for them. She had just returned from the Queen's cercle, which was usually held from four to six o'clock. She was dressed and radiant in her beauty which astonished more than attracted. There was something wild in her eyes, something cruel in her mouth, those who looked at her became uneasy. It was the reflection of the disquiet raging in her soul.
She looked at Sulkowski.
'I have come to take leave of you.' said Sulkowski with indifference, bowing slightly. 'I am sure you know I am going away. I am sorry to leave such a charming court, but there are duties--'
'Ah, yes,' said the beautiful Frances, 'I heard at her Majesty's cercle that you are leaving us. I was very much surprised.'
'Did your husband not tell you about it?' asked Sulkowski.
'My husband!' said Frau Brühl, making a funny face, 'he is so busy that sometimes I do not see him for a month. I have to learn his whereabouts from other people.'
'You ought to scold him for it.'
'Why?' said Frances ironically. 'He is free and I am free also. Can there be anything more agreeable in matrimony? We have not time to be saturated with each other and we are happy.'
She looked scornfully at her husband, who took it as mirthfully as he could and laughed in the most natural way.
'Does the countess remain?' the lady asked.
'Unfortunately, I must leave her!' rejoined Sulkowski. 'Although I should like her to accompany me on the campaign.'
'Then you think of fighting?'
'Yes! Pray wish me good luck that I may bring you a Turk's head.'
'I do not wish for that,' she said maliciously. 'Bring back your own head safe, that will suffice. With a wreath of laurels on it, it would look very well on a medal.'
Her own allusion to a medal recalled Watzdorf to her memory and made her eyes burn with fire.
'I wish you good luck,' she said, making a curtsey. Her eyes said something else.
Sulkowski bowed carelessly. The hostess turned towards her apartment. The host took Sulkowski by the arm, and whispering something confidentially, led him back to his study.
CHAPTER XVII
One winter evening, several months after Sulkowski's departure, Father Guarini entered the King's room. It was the hour which Augustus III was accustomed either to spend in the Queen's apartment, or in the opera, or shooting at a target.
That day Augustus III remained closeted in his room. Twice a chamberlain came to tell him that the Queen was waiting for him, but he sent him away. It was a sign that the King was in a very bad humour. So they told Father Guarini about it and he rushed to the rescue. He alone could improve his temper. The old priest entered smiling as usual.
The King looked at him gloomily and turned away his head.
Notwithstanding that, the Padre sat on a stool and said:
'May I ask your Majesty what makes my lord so sad? His faithful servant is sorry.'
Augustus III moved his head, muttered something and took a pipe.
'It would relieve your Majesty,' continued the Jesuit, 'if your Majesty would tell me.'
'A trifle,' said the King.
'Then it is not worth while to be sad about,' rejoined the Padre.
'A trifle!' the King repeated, and having risen, he walked to and fro, sighing, as was his custom when angry.
Guarini watched him attentively.
'It is bad,' he said, 'that your Majesty, working so hard, does not try to find some amusement. Distraction is necessary to a man. St John in Patmos had a tame partridge.'
'Partridge!' the King repeated thoughtfully. 'I prefer hunting for woodcock.'
He resumed his walk, sighing.
'We must have either an opera, or hunting, or pictures.'
Augustus III waved his hand.
'Where is Brühl?' asked the Padre.
'Ah! Brühl! Only Brühl! But he is busy, poor man, let him rest. Brühl is a good man.'
'Excellent!' affirmed Guarini. 'But it is not with him that your Majesty is angry?'
'The idea! Brühl--capital fellow, Brühl!' said the King, but lowered his head.
'Well, I do not suppose that your Majesty is craving for Sulkowski.'
The King stopped suddenly, and Guarini recognised that he had discovered the cause of the King's bad humour.
'Yes, Sulkowski,' said the King, 'just imagine, Josephine does not like him. How can anyone help liking Sulkowski? Tell me that.'
Guarini became silent. The question was straight but he did not answer it.
The King repeated:
'Father, how can one help liking Sulkowski?'
The Jesuit thought for a long time. The moment was decisive, it was necessary that the attack should be skilful, and he thought how to do it.
'Your Majesty,' said he, 'personally I have nothing against Sulkowski. As a Catholic he is indifferent, that is true. Then it seems to me that he does not show sufficient respect to our saintly Queen.'
'Oh! Oh!' broke in the King.
'At least people think so,' said Guarini imperturbably. 'It is certain that your Majesty's favour made him very proud.'
As the King listened he grew gloomier.
'Your Majesty,' said Guarini with ardour, 'we are alone, nobody but God hears us. Pray tell me, as on confession, did Sulkowski never lead the King into temptation?'
At this Augustus III blushed, turned his back and continued to perambulate the room. His silence was an answer in the affirmative. Guarini laughed.
'Is it not too daring? I can understand that a servant and friend might sometimes like to take something on his own conscience for his master's sake, but he might at least wait until a sign is given him to act so.'
The King went on with his walk.
'The Queen has a presentiment,' said the Padre. 'And no wonder! But satis of this. It is well known that he has some plans against Austria, against the house from which we have our Queen, and against our promises--'
Augustus sat in an arm-chair as if he were tired and looked at the priest.
'His worse fault is his pride which makes him believe that he can do anything he likes with the King. There are people who have heard him say so. A little humiliation would do him good, for it is not well that people should say he rules over Saxony and not our gracious King.'
'Eh! Eh!' said the King, 'who says so? Whoever it is, hang him!'
'Those who heard Sulkowski boast.'
'Boast! That is bad!' rejoined the King. 'I shall scold him for that!'
Guarini saw that the King was already tired of the subject, and he tried to find something to amuse him, certain that the seed would take root and grow.
At that moment a chamberlain entered again and announced that the Queen was waiting for the King to have some music.
'Let us go!' said Augustus III sighing.
Guarini bowed and they went. The lackeys preceded them with candelabras.
The Queen's apartments were furnished according to Josephine's taste. There was no luxury, but in the severity one could trace the majesty of the emperor's palace.
The pictures were all religious. Instead of bibelots there were plenty of relics and crosses. The court was composed of elderly ladies and so chosen that their beauty would not prove distracting to the King.
That day, John George Pisendel, the most famous violinist of those times, was going to give a concert in the court music hall. Besides him Pantaleon Heberstreit was going to play on an instrument invented by himself and called a clavicembolo. Buffardia and Quanz were to play the flute.
The Queen, already a little annoyed, walked to and fro waiting for her consort. When he entered she came up to him and tried to read his humour in his face and she understood that he was displeased. Music was the best remedy.
As soon as the King sat down and Buffardia began to play the flute, the clouds dispersed and the forehead became serene. The Queen remained behind the King for a moment and made a sign to Guarini. The Jesuit had only time to whisper:
'Poca roba--Sulkowski.'
The Queen hastened her pace and reached her chair beside that of the King. The orchestra struck up an overture and the King listened to it with great attention.
During the concert it was evident that the Queen was thinking about something more important than the music. Pisendel in vain did his best, the Queen did not seem to hear him. Brühl's wife was also present at the concert; she was sitting beside her mother; the minister stood behind the King and looked as modest as if he were not prime minister and also the only minister.
Padre Guarini passing by him, whispered:
'The war has begun, the enemy defends himself, we must concentrate all our forces, be on your guard.'
Brühl stood quiet as though he had not heard anything. Buffardia and Quanz played a duet. The King closed his eyes and enjoyed the music. Anyone seeing the scornful looks of Brühl's wife directed at the King, would have been surprised and frightened at the contempt with which she dared to look at him.
Behind her chair stood the minister's retinue who were admitted to the concert, and among them might have been seen a young man looking so much like Watzdorf that he might have been taken for his ghost. Frau Brühl's eyes often wandered in that direction, rested on the beautiful face of the youth and tried to meet his eyes; their glance met and the youth blushed.
After the concert supper was announced, with a separate table for their Majesties. The King had such a famous appetite that he seemed to forget about everything else: but after supper he asked Brühl to follow him to his apartment.
The greater part of the court dispersed; the ladies remained for evening prayers, for there was a custom that on certain days they recited prayers conducted by Father Guarini.
That day the spiritual exercitia took place in the Queen's little chapel and then only was the rest of the court dismissed.
Guarini was also going when the Queen called him.
'Father, how was it? The King--'
'Began to talk about Sulkowski of his own accord. He is very sorry that there are people who are against Sulkowski. As I was asked I could not be silent and I began the war.'
'But what? what?' the Queen asked inquisitively. 'I said as much as I could without wearying the King,' said Guarini. 'I told him everything I had in my heart.'
'And the King?'
'He listened in silence.'
'Do you think it will make any impression on him?'
'Undoubtedly, but we must repeat the attacks. Sulkowski will return, we must press the matter, he must find the King cool; otherwise the old friendship would assert itself, he would take his old place and nobody would be able to move him from it. We must not ask too much; we cannot ask to be allowed to act with him as with Hoym. One cannot prove much against him. It would do if he were dismissed.'
'But you know how fond the King is of him,' said the Queen, 'would he not take advantage of that? A godless man as he is would be ready to use any means. Did you ever see him in a church? And you know that he never observes Lent.'
The Queen shivered and became silent for a moment.
'I shall not give in,' she added, 'you must act also. Brühl cannot.'
'I will act, only at the last moment,' said Guarini, 'and very carefully. For good work one must use all possible means. God will help us. When does he return?'
'His wife expects him every day; he wrote to the King that he would be back this week. We must hasten,' said the Queen.
Guarini bowed humbly and went out.
The next day in the morning, Brühl was in the King's room. His duties were not fatiguing but tiresome. Usually Augustus was silent; one was obliged to stand looking at him and to bow when he smiled or cleared his throat.
Brühl had additional trouble in watching the King so closely that no one could unexpectedly approach him; at all audiences, without any exception, Brühl was present. If the King was going to Mass the way was cleared of all persons who did not belong to the court. Nobody could approach him without the minister's permission or in his absence. It seemed that Augustus III, who above all things was fond of quiet and afraid of surprises, was glad of this, for he never tried to get free and was grateful to his guardians.
After the Mass and audiences, during which the silent King did not waste many words, Brühl remained with him alone.
He could guess that the King wished to converse about something, for he walked uneasily about, stopped opposite him, blinked his eyes, smiled sadly, but could not begin the conversation. At length he stopped, put his hands on the minister's shoulders and asked:
'Brühl, what do you think of Sulkowski?'
Although Brühl was prepared, he could not answer at once and dropped his eyes.
'Sire,' he answered, 'I am sure I think the same as your Majesty.'
'And do you know what I think of him?'
'I do not know, but I am my lord's faithful servant and thus I retain those whom he likes as friends, and as foes those whom the King dislikes.'
The King's face brightened.
'Brühl! I love you!' he exclaimed.
The minister bent to kiss his lord's hand.
'Brühl, I love you very much,' added Augustus, 'and that is why I ask your advice. Listen, they frighten me about him----'
He looked into Brühl's eyes solemnly.
'Speak frankly----'
'I have nothing against Sulkowski, but my lord's favour, which makes me humble, arouses great pride in him; it may be that he boasted that he can do anything, not only in the state affairs, but also with your Majesty.'
'H'm! You say it may be! Yes, it may be!' said the King. 'Between ourselves, he knows nothing of music, and does not understand much about pictures: he is satisfied when the subject is nude! What a Venus he brought here once, and what trouble I had with the Queen about it! She ordered the picture to be burnt. Well, it is true also, that he takes too many liberties----'
Augustus III, not finishing his sentence, looked out of the window, became dreamy and yawned.
'What do you think,' he asked 'is it an authentic Ribera, sent yesterday from Venice?'
Brühl shrugged his shoulders.
'I am of your Majesty's opinion.'
'It might be Ribera.'
'Yes, it might be Ribera,' Brühl repeated.
'But it might be il Erote----'
'There is no doubt that it looks like Frate----'
'Brühl, you are an expert.'
'I learn from your Majesty.'
Augustus well-satisfied came to Brühl and whispered to him.
'The Queen wishes me to send him away, for somebody told her that he induced me to have some amours--'
'Nobody could suspect your Majesty of that!' cried Brühl. 'Everybody knows your virtuous life.'
'I shall never give cause to be suspected,' the King whispered. 'Never, never! I prefer----'
He could not finish. Brühl whispered.
'Nobody, not a soul could suspect your Majesty.'
'It must be so,' whispered Augustus. 'Do you think that he knows something? Does he suspect me? He?'
'I am sure he does not know anything yet, but if he is here continually, spying--he could--who could foresee----'
The King, alarmed, drew himself up.
'If it is so, then I must dismiss him: yes, yes, it will be better. You shall take his place with me.'
Brühl again kissed his lord's hand. Augustus was still sad, he sighed, his eyes filled with tears--it distressed him to part with his friend.
'Brühl,' said he, 'it is decided; the Queen wishes it to be so, Guarini advises it, you have nothing against it; but tell me, how can it be done? How?'
The minister drooped his head and assumed an embarrassed mien. The King looked at him awaiting his decision.
'Your Majesty,' said Brühl raising his head, 'there are good reasons for disgrace, but I would not advise you to be severe with him; it will suffice to dismiss him, and not to let him see his lord's face. Banishment from the court is the worst of punishments.'
'Yes,' the King muttered, 'but I shall leave him a small pension.'
He looked at Brühl who nodded in the affirmative.
'Then banishment,' Augustus added, 'and I leave the execution of it to you. Do what you please, but save me any annoyance. Let him go----'
Augustus having shunted his trouble on to somebody else's shoulders, was already serene again.
'Brühl,' he said, 'announce to the Queen that I should like to see her; the Queen either prays or paints; if she paints I can see her.'
Brühl went out; five minutes later, the King, preceded by a chamberlain, went to his consort's apartments. He found her painting. A young artist stood respectfully behind her. The august artist was painting a head of Christ. The fact was that very little was done by her, for the artist, when the Queen was absent, corrected and improved that which was badly done; but the next day the Queen thought it was her own work and was satisfied with herself. That way the picture progressed; when it was finished it was said that it was painted by the Queen and the court admired her talent.
When the King entered, the Queen did not rise, but pointed at the work. Augustus stood behind her and admired the picture, which having been recently improved by the artist was not at all bad. The King, having complimented the Queen, made a sign to the artist to retire for a time into the next room, which he did as quickly as he could, bowing humbly.
Augustus III bent to the Queen's ear and said:
'It shall be as you wish; we shall dismiss Sulkowski; I came to tell you this.'
The Queen turned quickly and smiled at the King.
'But not a word!' said the King. 'Brühl will arrange the matter, I do not wish to trouble myself about it.'
'You do not need to,' said the Queen. 'Guarini and Brühl will do everything.'
The King did not wish to prolong the subject and began to talk about the picture.
'I congratulate you on your colouring,' he said, 'très fin, and very fresh. Listarde could not paint a better pastel; you paint beautifully--only do not permit that artist to spoil your work and do not follow any advice.'
'He only sharpens my pencils,' said the Queen.
'Beautiful head! I shall hang it in my room if you will make me a present of it,' and he smiled.
As the dinner hour had not yet arrived, the King bowed, kissed the Queen's hand and went to his apartment; on his way he nodded to the artist to go and help the Queen with her artistic effort.
The King's face beamed with satisfaction now that he had got rid of his trouble. To-day he was altogether a different man from yesterday; his forehead was serene, there was a smile on his lips, he breathed more freely and could think of something else. He cared less for Sulkowski than for his disturbed peace and few unpleasant days. He was ready to sacrifice a man in order to get rid as soon as possible of any difficulty in his own life.
Brühl was waiting in the King's apartment. The King, having glanced at him, laughed and said:
'The affair is finished: after dinner shooting at a target, in the evening a concert, to-morrow an opera.'
He drew near the minister and added:
'Nobody must mention his name; all is over.'
He thought for a moment.
'Employ anybody you wish, provided I do not know anything more about the affair.'
He became thoughtful and ended with:
'Listen Brühl, it is Ribera--'
'Yes, your Majesty, it is Ribera,' affirmed the minister.