There was no answer. Having waited a little while, he knocked again in the same way.
Slow steps were heard within, the door opened a little, and the head of an old man appeared. Brühl slipped in quickly.
The room into which he entered, lighted by one candle held by the servant standing at the door, was full of bookshelves and somewhat gloomy. The old servant, questioned in whispers, pointed to the door in lieu of an answer. Brühl threw off his cloak and going on tip-toe approached the door at which he knocked softly.
'Favorisca!'
The large room into which the page now entered was lighted by two candles under green shades. There were several tables loaded with books, between two windows there was a large crucifix, on the sofa a guitar was lying.
At the table leaning on one hand, stood an elderly, slightly bent man: his face was yellowish, bony; he wore a long beard; his eyes were black. By his features it was easy to recognise an Italian. There was something enigmatical about his thin, pale lips, but the whole face was rather jovial than mysterious. There was something ironical as well as kindly in it. A large hooked nose almost covered his lower lip.
On his closely-shaven hair he wore a black silk cap; his dress was long and dark; it indicated a priest.
He welcomed Brühl with outstretched arms.
'Ah! it's you, my dear boy! How glad I am to see you.'
The youth bent humbly and kissed his hand.
The host seated himself on the sofa, at the same time pointing to a chair for Brühl, who sat down, still holding his hat.
'Ecco! Ecco!' whispered the old man. 'You think you bring me news, but I already know about it. I am truly delighted. You see Providence rewards, God helps those who worship Him.'
'I am thankful to Him,' said Brühl quietly.
'Remain faithful to the creed to which you have opened your heart, and you shall see.' He raised his hand. 'You shall go far, far. I am telling you that. I am poor and humble, but I am the Lord's servant.'
He looked at the humble page, and having accomplished his pious duty, added joyfully:
'Have you been to the opera? How did Celesta sing? Did the King look at her? Was the Prince there?'
Padre Guarini was the name of the man to whom Brühl paid this visit; he was the Prince's confessor, confidant of the Princess, spiritual father of the young count, but he seemed to care as much about the opera as about the conversion of the young man sitting before him.
He asked about the tenor, the orchestra, the audience, and at length if the page went behind the stage.
'I?' asked Brühl with astonishment.
'I should think no worse of you for that, if for the sake of music, of art, you wished to see how those angels look as common mortals, divested of the glitter and sparkle of the stage. Celesta sang like an angel but she is ugly as a devil. There is no danger that the King will fall in love with her.'
And Padre Guarini laughed.
'And who rules over the King?' asked he. And without waiting for an answer, he said: 'It seems that, just as in Poland, the election is coming.'
He laughed again.
'But tell me something new; besides that you have become the King's secretary.'
'I have nothing to say, except that nothing can change my heart.'
'Yes, yes, I advise you to be a good Catholic, although secretly. We can't expect from the present King much zeal for the faith. We must be satisfied with him as he is, but his successor will be different; our pious lady Josepha will not permit him to leave the path of truth. The Prince is pious, a faithful husband, a zealous Catholic. When he becomes ruler we shall be mighty. Let us be patient and we will manage the Protestants. Chi va 'piano, va sano--qui va sano, va lontano!' He repeated the word lontano several times and sighed.
'As a souvenir of this fortunate day,' added he, 'I must bless you; it will bring you good luck. Wait.'
Padre Guarini pulled out a drawer and took from it a black rosary on which were a cross and medallion.
'The Holy Father blessed it; to the one who recites it every day, pardon is granted.'
Brühl murmured something indistinctly by way of thanks, kissed his hand and rose.
Padre Guarini bent over and whispered something in his ear. The page, having nodded in the affirmative, kissed his hand again and went out. The old servant awaited him at the door with a candle. Brühl gave him a thaler, wrapped himself in his mantle and descended the stairs. On reaching the door he looked cautiously down the street, and seeing no one pressed forward. Then he stopped, seeming in doubt as to where to go. He put the rosary which he was holding in his hand in a side pocket, and looked for a familiar house near St Sophia Church.
He glanced round once more. The door was opened. A little oil lamp gave a pale light. The spacious Gothic hall was quiet and solitary. Brühl rang the bell on the first floor. A female servant came and opened it.
'Is the minister at home?' he asked.
'Yes, sir, but he is engaged with visitors.'
'Visitors?' repeated Brühl, hesitating as to what to do. 'Who is there?'
'Some pious young men from Leipzig.'
Brühl was still hesitating, when a dignified middle-aged man appeared in the doorway and conducted him to a further apartment.
'I do not wish to intrude,' said the page, bowing.
'You never intrude,' said the host coolly and distinctly. 'The people will not crowd my house any more now. Pray, come in. In a Protestant country one enters a clergyman's house secretly, as the first Christians did into the catacombs. Glory to those who pass our threshold.'
So saying he entered with Brühl into a large, modestly furnished room. Here were two young men, and it seemed to Brühl that he knew the taller of the two. He could not however remember where he had seen him. The tall man also looked attentively at Brühl, and approaching him, said:
'If I am not mistaken, this is the second time we have met. I am indebted to your kindness that I did not fall into the hands of the King's servants and was not treated as a vagabond.'
'Count Zinzendorf--'
'Brother in Christ,' answered the youth, 'and were you Catholic, Aryan, Wicklyffite or of any denomination, I should always greet you as a brother in Christ.'
The host, whose face was severe and to whom bushy, contracted eyebrows gave a still more gloomy expression groaned.
'Count, let your dreams alone; the chaff must be separated from the grain, although they both grow on one stem.'
Brühl was silent.
'What news from the court?' asked the host. 'There does not seem to be any change; prayers in the morning, opera in the evening. But pray be seated.'
They all sat. Zinzendorf looked at Brühl piercingly, as though wishing to penetrate into his soul, but those windows, Brühl's beautiful eyes, through which he hoped to look within him, avoided meeting his.
'Is it true that they are going to build a Catholic church?' asked the host.
'I don't know anything definite about it,' answered Brühl.
'It would be scandalous!' the minister moaned.
'Why?' interrupted Zinzendorf. 'We complain that they are not tolerant; should we then retaliate? The glory of Christ may be sung in many ways. Why not by Catholics as well as by us?'
Brühl nodded in the affirmative, but as he did so he encountered a severe glance from the host; so he stopped the gesture, and changed his expression into a double-faced smile.
'Count,' said the minister, 'those are the ideas of youth, beautiful in your mouth, but impossible in life. As one cannot sit on two chairs, so one cannot confess two religions, for in that case, like some people in very high positions, we have no religion.'
The minister sighed; they all understood to whom he was alluding. Brühl pretended not to hear; perchance he was sorry he had fallen among these men, discussing such delicate questions. Zinzendorf, on the contrary, seemed to be perfectly happy.
'But how can we spread the truth and convert the people if we mix not with those of other creeds? Christ mixed with Pharisees and heathens and converted them by His kindness.'
'You are young, and you dream,' sighed the minister, 'but when you will be called upon to fight, and to change your dreams into action--'
'That's what I desire!' the young enthusiast cried, lifting his hands. 'Did I only love myself, I would go into the desert to seek for Christ in contemplation; but I love my fellow-man, everybody, even those who are in error; that is why I shall act and try to realise my dreams, as you put it.'
The minister, Brühl, and the other young man, each listened with quite different feelings. The first stood gloomy and irritated, the second was embarrassed although he smiled, and the other was filled with admiration for each of his friend's words.
'I think that your zeal,' said the minister, 'would diminish at court.'
'Shall we have the pleasure of seeing you at the court?' Brühl asked quietly.
'Never!' exclaimed Zinzendorf. 'I, at court? There is no power that could bring me there. My court is where there are poor people, my future is to apply Christ's teaching to my life. I go to preach Christ's love. At court I should be sneered at.--I shall search for another field in order to accomplish that whereunto I am called.'
'But your family, Count?' said the minister.
'My father is in heaven,' answered Zinzendorf. 'To Him alone I owe obedience.'
Brühl came to the conclusion that he had nothing to do there. Zinzendorf frightened him by his extraordinary speech. He took the minister aside, whispered with him for a moment, and took his leave. He bowed from afar in true courtly manner to the apostle and went out. It would be difficult to say whether he was more sincere with the Jesuit or with the minister, but the fact remains that although he visited both, he flattered Padre Guarini more than the Rev. Knofl.
In the street Brühl again hesitated. The Prince's palace was not far distant. Two guards were at the door. The young page went into the courtyard and ran to the left wing. The open door and the light in the window tempted him to try his luck at the court also. Here lived the Countess Kolowrath, lady in waiting to the princess, her favourite, a much respected and middle-aged lady; she was fond of the young page, who would bring her all the gossip of the court.
He could enter her apartments at any hour of the day, and took advantage of that privilege very freely, but in such, a way as not to be seen by the people, or to give them a chance to know about his intimacy with the Countess.
In the ante-room a lackey, in the court livery, opened the door and showed in the page. Brühl entered on tip-toe. The drawing-room was lighted with a few wax candles. To the right, through the half-opened door a stream of bright light was seen, and at the noise of Brühl's shoes on the shining parquetry floor, a child's head appeared.
Brühl stepped softly forward.
'Ah! it's you. Monsieur Henry,' said a fresh voice. 'Wait a moment.'
The head disappeared, but soon the door opened wide and an eight year old girl came to it. She wore a satin dress ornamented with lace, silk à jour stockings, shoes with high heels; her hair was curled and powdered, and she looked more like a doll than a child. She smiled to Brühl, curtseyed to him, as it was customary in the court and as she was taught by her maître de ballet, Monsieur Favier. She had the comically serious mien of those china figures made in Meissen.
Brühl bowed to her as he would have done to an elderly lady. The child looked seriously at him with a pair of big black eyes, but all at once her seriousness forsook her and she burst into laughter. The comedy was over.
'How do you do, Henry?'
'And how is her Excellency?'
'Her Excellency, my mother, prays with the Princess. Padre Guarini recites a litany, and I am bored. Listen, Brühl, let us play at court; I shall be the queen and you the great chamberlain.'
'I would do it willingly, my dear Frances,' but I must return to the King's service before playing.'
'You are not polite towards the ladies!' answered the little Countess with the air of an old lady, which made her very amusing.
'I will not love you, and should you ever fall in love with me--'
'Ah! yes, it will be soon,' said Brühl laughing.
'Then you will see how cruel I shall be,' added Frances.
Saying this she almost turned her back on Brühl, took a fan from a chair, inclined her head backwards, pouted her lips and looked at Brühl with contempt. In the eyes of that girl there was already reflected the frivolity of the times.
Brühl stood enchanted and the scene would perhaps have lasted much longer had it not been interrupted by the rustling of a silk gown and then by laughter.
'Francesca! Brühl, you are courting my daughter.'
The lady who said these words, was tall, majestic, still very beautiful, and above all had an aristocratic bearing. She was Frances's mother. Frances did not become confused, she repeated her curtsey and then ran to her. Brühl bowed humbly and then looked with ecstasy into the Countess's black eyes.
She was no longer young but her features were still very beautiful. The whiteness of her complexion was enhanced by black hair, that night innocent of powder, but carefully dressed. Her figure, notwithstanding its ample form, was still graceful. She looked at the page with half-closed eyes.
'Frances,' said she, 'go to Fraülein Braun; I must have some conversation with Henry.'
The girl looked roguishly at her mother and disappeared through the door. The Countess, rapidly moving her fan, walked to and fro in the room, then bending towards Brühl, spoke confidentially.
Brühl followed her respectfully, although sometimes he approached perchance too near.
Even the pictures on the walls heard not that conversation, and half an hour later the page was sitting in the King's ante-room, apparently dozing.
CHAPTER III
Ten years have passed since that prologue to Brühl's life, since that first scene in a long drama. Brühl was still that brilliant, affable, charming young man, whose fascination even his foes could not resist.
In the magnificent court of the Louis XIV of the North, whom the flatterer called Apollo-Hercules, the people and favourites were changed. A few days after that on which Brühl succeeded to Pauli's office, Augustus II's favourite became his aide-de-camp.
When old Fleming died, Brühl was placed in charge of the King's secret archives. Humble and exceedingly polite, Brühl succeeded in overthrowing two ministers: Fleming and Manteufel. Soon he was created a chamberlain, and promoted to wear a key, as badge of office; the key to the king's heart and exchequer he had already possessed for some time; at length he became a grand chamberlain and was given a new appointment created specially for him, that of grand maitre de la garde-robe. To this office belonged the care of the libraries, art galleries and other collections of Augustus II, who could do nothing without Brühl. Many others could not do without him either, and he, as if needing everyone himself, as if afraid of everyone, bowed, smiled, and respected even the door keeper of the castle.
King Augustus the Strong had changed a great deal since the days when he could drink so much. He still preserved the stature of Hercules but no longer possessed his strength. No more could he dig his spurs into his horse's flanks or saw his head off. Carefully dressed and smiling he would walk with a stick, and if he lingered for a longer time than usual to chat with a lady he would look round for a chair, for he felt pain in the toe, which the surgeon Weiss cut off, risking his head, but saving the King's life. The surgeon's head still existed, but the toe did not, and thus the King could not stand for long at a time. It was a glorious memory that tournament in which Augustus conquered the heart of Princess Lubonirski. The King's loves were scattered throughout the world. Even the last, Orzelska, now the Princess Holstein Beck, was a respectable mother of a family, for in the year 1732, during the carnival, she gave birth to the future head of the princely house.
The King would have felt lonely had not the Italian nightingale, Faustina Bordoni, brightened his gloomy thoughts by her lovely voice. The singer was married to the famous composer of those times, Hasse, whom however they sent to Italy, in order to give him a chance to cultivate his art and that he might not disturb his wife. Hasse composed masterpieces inspired by the yearning of his heart.
That year the carnival promised to be brilliant, but there was a lack of money, which the King could not bear: Brühl, who could manage everything, was the only man who could assure tranquillity to the King's mind. Therefore, during the carnival the King entrusted the modest Brühl with the portfolio of the minister of finance.
In vain the modest young official tried to excuse himself from such an honour, but King Augustus II would brook no refusal, would listen to no excuses, and commanded him to provide him with money. From that moment it was Brühl's duty to make the Pactolus flow continually with gold, although it would be mixed with blood and tears.
Brühl was no longer a humble page, but a man with whom the most influential dignitaries were obliged to reckon. The King would permit no word against him, and would frown threateningly if any were ventured. In him alone he found that for which he had formerly looked in ten other men. Brühl knew all about pictures, he was fond of music, he understood how to get money from those who were moneyless, how to be blind when occasion demanded, how to be dumb when it was prudent; he was always obedient.
Through the King's munificence he was then given a house near the castle, and he soon turned it into a palace.
The evening before Shrove-Tuesday the newly created minister was sitting in his palace; he was thoughtful, and seemed to be awaiting the arrival of someone.
The room in which he sat might have been the boudoir of the most fastidious woman spoiled by the luxury of the court. In gilded frames shone mirrors; the walls were covered with lilac-coloured silk; on the mantle-pieces, tables, consols, there was a perfect museum of china and bronzes; the floor was covered with a soft carpet.
Brühl, with his legs stretched out, lying back in the recesses of a comfortable arm chair, his hand shining with splendid rings, seemed to be absorbed in thought and perplexities. From time to time, at the sound of an opening door, he would listen, but when nobody came, he returned to his thoughts and calculations.
Sometimes he would glance at the clock standing on the mantle-piece, for a man burdened with so many duties was obliged to count his time as he counted the money.
Notwithstanding work and emotions, his youthful face had not lost its freshness, his eyes shone brilliantly as ever; one felt that he was a man reserved for the future, who had more hopes than reminiscences.
At the further end of the house doors could be heard opening one after another. Brühl listened--steps approached. The steps were those of a man, though cautious and soft; the tread of one person.
'It's he,' whispered Brühl, and rose from the chair.
The knock at the door was gentle and full of respect, as though the fingers that rapped were swathed in cotton wool.
'Enter!' said Brühl softly, and the door opened noiselessly. At the door stood a man, such as one could only find at the court, for they are born for the court; though cradled in a stable, their coffin would certainly be found in a palace. He was tall, strong and flexible in every movement as a juggler.
At the first glance one could read nothing in the man's face, for its features were insignificant, neither ugly nor comely, the expression was cold and vulgar. Clean-shaven, his lips closed so tightly that one could hardly see them, the new-comer stood humbly at the door and waited to be questioned.
His dress did not betray to what class he belonged. It was neither elegant nor striking. The coat he wore was grey with steel buttons; the rest was black; at his side hung a sword with dark enamelled hilt; on his head he had a wig, which was rather official and dignified than coquettish. Under his arm he held a black hat, innocent of galoons; and he had no lace round his sleeves. Brühl on seeing the man, rose quickly as though moved by a spring, and walked across the room.
'Hans,' said he, 'we have but half an hour. I sent for you about an unfortunate affair. Open the door and see that there is no one in the ante-room.'
The obedient Hans Henniche quickly opened the door, looked through it, and signed that there was no one.
'You know,' said Brühl, 'that his Majesty was kind enough to appoint me Secretary of the Treasury.'
'I wanted to congratulate your Excellency,' said Henniche with a bow.
'Don't trouble yourself,' said Brühl with the well-assumed mien of an embarrassed man. 'It's a new burden on my feeble shoulders.'
'Your Excellency is too modest,' said Henniche with a new bow.
'Hans,' said Brühl, 'do you wish to help me, to be my right hand? Will you swear to be faithful and obedient to me? Do you wish to go with me, even if we have to break our necks?'
'But you and I can't break our necks,' said Henniche, smiling cynically.
'Stronger people than we have done so before now.'
'Yes, but they were not so cunning as we are! Strength means nothing, if one does not know how to use it. I guarantee you that we shall succeed, provided I can do what I please.'
'Remember only,' Brühl said coolly, 'that these are not trifling words, but a solemn oath.'
Henniche raised his hand and said ironically:
'I swear--but on what, my lord and master?'
'On God!' said Brühl, bending his head piously. 'Henniche, you know that I am a religious man, you mustn't joke.'
'Your Excellency, I never joke. Joking is a very costly thing, and many people pay for it with their lives.'
'If you help me,' added Brühl, 'I promise to make you rich, powerful, important.'
'Before all, the first,' said Henniche, 'for riches mean everything.'
'You forget the one who although rich went to Königstein.'
'Do you know why?'
'Lord's disgrace. God's disgrace.'
'No, it's trifling with the sleeper,' said Henniche. 'An intelligent man ought to put a sleeper on the altar and pray to it: the women do everything.'
'But they fall also: Cosel is in Stolpen.'
'And who overthrew Cosel?' asked Henniche. 'If you look through a glass you will see the white fingers of the Countess Denhoff and a small sleeper, under which the great King was held.'
Brühl sighed but made no remark.
'Your Excellency entered on a new life yesterday, and ought to remember one word: woman.'
'I remember it,' Brühl said gloomily, 'but we don't have time to talk about it. Then you are with me?'
'For life or death,' answered Henniche. 'I am a man of no importance but great experience; and believe me that my wisdom is quite equal to those who bear silver trays to drawing-rooms. I need make no secret to you that for a long time I served as a lackey and used to open the door. But before that they opened to me. My first experience was in Lützen as a revenue officer.'
'That is why I need you. The King needs money and the country is already overtaxed. The people groan and complain.'
'Who would listen to them?' answered Henniche indifferently. 'They will never be satisfied, they will always complain. One must squeeze them as one squeezes a lemon for the juice.'
'But how?'
'We shall find the means.'
'They will complain.'
'To whom?' said Henniche laughing. 'Can we not close the road with bars, and send those who are too noisy to Königstein, or Sonnenstein, or Plissenburg, for the sake of the King's tranquillity?'
'Yes, that's true,' said Brühl thoughtfully, 'but it won't bring any money.'
'On the contrary, we must be severe, if we wish to obtain it.'
Brühl listened attentively.
'We need a great deal of money; the carnival will be costly.'
'Yes, and all that is spent at court does not sink into the ground, it returns to the people, therefore they can pay. We need money for the King and for ourselves.'
Brühl smiled and said:
'Naturally, we cannot toil for nothing.'
'And endure so many curses.'
'Well, when it is a matter of duty, one cannot pay attention to cursing. The King must have that which he needs.'
'And we, what is due to us,' Henniche added.
Brühl stepped before him and said after careful thought:--
'Then keep your eyes and ears open; inform me about everything, work for me and for yourself; I have already so much to do, that I can undertake no more without you.'
'Rely on me,' said Henniche. 'I quite understand, that while working for you, I work for myself. I don't promise you Platonic love; for thus if I mistake not, they call kissing the gloves, having no respect for the hands. One must clearly define the business. I shall remember my own interests; you and I will not forget the King.'
He bowed. Brühl clapped him on the shoulder.
'Henniche, I shall help you to rise.'
'Provided it's not too high, and not in the new market square,' whispered Henniche.
'You may be easy about that. And now, what would you advise me to do in order that I may not lose my footing at the court? It is easy to mount the ladder, but the question is not to break one's neck.'
'I have only one piece of advice,' said the former lackey, 'everything is done by the women.'
'Oh! Oh!' said Brühl,' there are other means too.'
'Yes, I know that your Excellency has Padre Guarini on his side.'
'Silence, Henniche!'
'I am already silent, but I must add all the same, that your Excellency must bear in mind the power of women, it will do no harm to have two strings to one's bow.'
Brühl sighed.
'I shall remember your advice.'
They were both silent for a few moments.
'How does your Excellency stand with the Count Sulkowski?' whispered Henniche. 'One must not forget that the sun sets, that the people are mortal, that the sons succeed the fathers, and Sulkowski the Brühls.'
'Oh!' said Brühl, 'he is my friend.'
'I would prefer that his wife was your Excellency's friend,' said Henniche. 'I put more faith in her.'
'Sulkowski has a noble heart.'
'I don't deny it, but the best heart prefers the chest in which it beats. And how about the Count Moszynski?'
Brühl shivered and blushed: looked at Henniche sharply, as though he would learn whether he mentioned the name with any design. But Henniche's face was placid and indifferent.
'The Count Moszynski is of no importance whatever,' hissed Brühl, 'and he never shall be of any importance.'
'His Majesty gave him his own daughter,' said Henniche slowly.
Brühl was silent.
'The people have evil tongues,' continued Henniche. 'They say that Fräulein Cosel would have preferred to marry someone else than Moszynski.'
'Yes,' cried Brühl passionately. 'He has stolen her from me.'
'Then he has done your Excellency a great favour,' said Henniche laughing, 'instead of one tool, you can have two.'
They looked into each other's eyes. Brühl was gloomy.
'Enough of it,' said he. 'Remember that you are mine and count on me. Your office will be here; to-morrow I shall send you an official appointment.'
Henniche bowed.
'And salary corresponding with my official position.'
'Yes, if you find the means to pay it with.'
'That is my business.'
'It is late; good-night.'
Henniche bowed and went out as quietly, as he came.
Brühl rang the bell; a lackey promptly attended.
'I must be in the castle in half-an-hour: my post-chaise!'
'It is ready.'
'Domino, masque?'
'Everything is ready,' and having said this the lackey opened the door and conducted Brühl to a large dressing-room.
Brühl's dressing-room was already considered one of the sights of the capital. Round it were large wardrobes of carved oak; between two windows stood a table and on it a large mirror in a china frame composed of cupids and flowers. Round the table, winter and summer, there were always a profusion of roses and lilies of the valley. And on the table were disposed such an array of toilet articles as might have belonged to a woman. The wardrobes contained dresses with shoes, swords, hats, and watches to match each, for the fashion demanded that everything should be in harmony.
For that evening the most important detail was the domino and not the dress. In a special wardrobe was everything necessary for fancy balls. Brühl was not quite decided in his choice of a dress. It was a very important matter, for the King was fond of difficulty in recognising his guests; and perchance Brühl did not wish to be recognised at all.
The lackey, walking after him with a candelabra, waited for the order.
'Where is that dress of a Venetian noble?' asked Brühl turning to the lackey.
The servant ran to a wardrobe standing in a corner and handed him the dress.
Brühl began to dress hastily. The dress was becoming to him; everything was black, even the sword. The only shining ornament was a heavy gold chain on which hung a medallion on which was the figure of Augustus the Strong. Brühl looked at himself in the mirror and put on a mask. In order not to be easily recognised he glued to his chin a little Spanish beard.
He changed the rings on his fingers and went downstairs.
At the door the post-chaise was in readiness.
The two carriers wore red woollen caps, short dark brown cloaks and masks. The moment Brühl entered the carriage and drew the green curtain he was driven to the castle.
In the principal gate the guards, gorgeously dressed, permitted only the lords' carriages and post-chaises to pass, thrusting back the curious crowd with halberds.
The court was already crowded with equipages, post-chaises and servants. The castle was profusely lighted: that day two courts were united, those of the King and the Prince.
Within the castle there were already numerous guests, all in fancy dress. Brühl's post-chaise stopped at the door and a Venetian nobleman stepped out gravely. Just as he was about to mount the stairs, there appeared another Italian but quite differently dressed. He was tall, strong, stiff, with a soldierly bearing, and was dressed like a bandit taken from Salvator Rosa's picture. The costume was very becoming to him. His head was covered with a light, iron helmet, on his chest he wore armour ornamented with gold, over his shoulder was thrown a short cloak, at his side he had a sword, and at his belt a dagger. His face was covered with a frightful mask, with long moustachios and a small beard.
Brühl glanced at the unpleasant mask and walked upstairs, but the bandit followed him.
'Signore!' he hissed, 'come sta?'
Brühl merely nodded. The bandit came close to him, bent over him and whispered evidently something disagreeable in his ear, for Brühl drew aside impatiently. The bandit laughed and said:
'A rivederci, carissimo, a rivederci!' and continued to follow him.
One could already hear the music. When they both reached the rooms, Brühl disappeared in the crowd. The rich, resplendent dresses of the women, were shining with precious stones. Everybody moved about, laughed, muttered, exclaimed, came and went.
In magnificent Polish dresses, their swords ornamented with precious stones, walked several senators who were easily recognised, for they wore only a small black strip over their eyes, in obedience to the King's order, that everyone should wear a mask. There were many Turks and Spaniards; several monks, women disguised as bats, many mythological goddesses and Venetians were to be distinguished among clowns, harlequins, and cupids with bows and arrows. There were also Queen Elizabeth, Mary Stuart, Henry IV, and many others.
The King, leaning on a gold-headed stick, walked slowly, talked to the women, and tried to recognise them. It was not difficult for him, he knew them all, at least those who were worthy to be known.
In one of the King's rooms were beautiful ladies sitting in the booths distributing refreshments. Beyond the King's apartments, the Princess Josepha and her court received the distinguished guests. Among her ladies in waiting the most brilliant was Frances Kolowrath, the same who, when but eight years of age, could so well play the rôle of a lady of the court. Now she was a beautiful young lady, coquettish, lively, proud, and covered with diamonds.
The Princess Josepha did not participate much in such amusements; she was there only to please her father-in-law and her husband. Her proud mien, severe and not beautiful face, cold manners, did not attract the people. Everybody knew she was not fond of amusements, that she preferred family life, prayers and gossip. Severe with herself she was the same with others, and looked sharply at those around her. Her surroundings were stiff and cold. Nobody dared to joke for fear of the lady's disapproval of any outburst of levity. Even during the fancy dress ball, Josepha did not forget that she was the daughter of an emperor.
Polite, affable, silent, the Prince Frederick stood beside her; he was good-looking but also cold and stiff like a statue. He was pleased that others enjoyed themselves, but took no part in the entertainment. One could see, that notwithstanding his youth, he was both physically and spiritually heavy, especially spiritually.
Splendidly dressed and lordly-looking, Sulkowski, the acknowledged favourite of the Prince, stood behind him, ready to carry out his orders. The Prince would often turn to him, ask some question and having received the answer, nod his head in sign of satisfaction.
On seeing them together, one could easily guess their relation to each other. The servant was much more lord than the lord himself, who merely represented his office but did not feel it. Sulkowski on the contrary assumed great airs and looked proudly on the people around him.
He was also better looking than the Prince, who notwithstanding his youthful age and good health looked like a common German.
Round Augustus the Strong's table a more joyful company was gathered. Bare-shouldered women tried to attract the attention of the King, who looked on their charms with indifference.
Brühl entered, as it seemed to him, without being noticed; he did not speak and seemed to be looking for someone. As he passed through the refreshment rooms he did not notice that the bandit was following him. His beautiful figure attracted the women and several of them tried to stop him, but he looked at them indifferently, and passed on. One or two tried to intrigue him but laughing he whispered their names and they let him alone.
The King looked at him and said to Frisen:
'If a Prussian prince were here, he would steal that man for his guard. Who is he?'
No one could answer the question for certain. The bandit disappeared behind the columns.
In the meantime Brühl was stopped by a gipsy. She was old, tall, leaning on a stick, and covered with a long silk cloak. Through the small mask could be seen the yellowish wrinkled face of the woman. She put out her hand and paling asked him to give her his that she might tell his fortune.
Brühl had no wish to look into the future and wanted to pass the gipsy, but she insisted.
'Non abiate paura!' whispered she. 'I will tell you of good fortune.'
Brühl put out his hand. The gipsy lifted it and having examined it, shook her head.
'A splendid future!' she said. 'You will be marvellously successful, but I cannot promise you much happiness.'
'How can that be,' said Brühl, 'to have success and not be happy?'
'For one can be happy but not successful,' exclaimed the old woman. 'And would you know the reason that you will lack happiness,--you have no heart.'
Brühl smiled ironically.
'You don't love anybody,' continued the woman.
'What more?' he asked.
'You are ungrateful,' she whispered, 'you are blind, you are only pursuing greatness.'
'I see,' said Brühl, 'that you take me for somebody else.'
The woman wrote on his palm; Brühl withdrew his hand, mixed quickly with the crowd and disappeared. Perchance he preferred to wander unknown among the guests. At length he noticed a woman who absorbed his whole attention.
Her fantastic, oriental costume, was meant to represent some queen, Semiramis or Cleopatra, it was difficult to say who, for its magnificence was greater than its historical exactness. The great thing in those days was to be magnificently dressed, not archaeologically exact. So the lady, who wished to appear a majestic ruler, succeeded by means of her dress which was made of gold brocade, over which a transparent veil fell from her diamond crown to her dainty feet; round her white neck hung a magnificent amethyst necklace; her girdle was set with diamonds; she held a sceptre in her hand; and her bearing was that of one who ruled not only over people, but also over their hearts.
Her hair was dark, covered with gold powder; the lower part of her face was of great beauty.
As she passed, everyone gave way to her, nobody dared to speak to her. She looked round indifferently.
Brühl stood near a column, hesitated for a moment, and then greeted her, touching the brim of his hat. She stopped. Brühl put out his hand and she gave him hers on which he wrote her name.
She looked at him attentively, and walked further on; Brühl followed her. She turned several times and seeing that he followed her, she stopped again. A bench nestled among some palms, and here the queen sat down. Brühl stood. She looked at him and when he gave her his hand, she wrote H. B. on it and laughed.
'It's no wonder, Countess, that I recognise you,' he said, 'for I could not mistake you, even were you not dressed like a queen. But I wonder how you recognised me?'
'By the dress of a member of the Council of Trent,' said the lady. 'And to whom would it be more becoming than to you?'
'Countess, you are beautiful.'
She accepted the compliment without paying much heed to it.
'But beautiful,' he continued, 'like a marble statue, and cold like the marble.'
'What more?' asked the woman. 'Say something more amusing, I have heard that so many times.'
'What else could I say to you?' said Brühl with trembling voice. 'Every time I look at you my anger is aroused, storms of vengeance and jealousy shake me.'
'Very pathetic,' whispered the woman. 'What more?'
'Had I the heart, I would curse the hour I first saw you,' said Brühl passionately. 'But a glance at you conquers me. You have a power over me possessed by no one else.'
'Is that true?' the woman coolly inquired.
'Is it necessary to swear it to you?'
'I do not need your oath. I merely wanted to be convinced, and very often an oath fails.'
She looked at him piercingly.
'But my love--' said Brühl.
The woman laughed.
'Brühl,' she said, 'I believe you were in love with me, I am not surprised at that. I was young, I had a good name and I could assure a splendid future to the man I married; but your love might have been that we see everyday, burning in the morning and quenched in the evening. I do not want such love.'
'I gave you proof of my constancy,' said Brühl with animation. 'My love for you began when I was a mere lad and was not quenched even when you took all hope away; it lasts although repulsed and despised.'
'Is it love or ambition?' asked the woman. 'For with you ambition dominates everything.'
'I do not deny that since I cannot be happy, my aim is now to be strong and to be feared.'
The woman looked at him and spoke slowly.
'I do not know what the future may have in store for us. Wait, be faithful to me. I will be frank with you; I was fond of you; with you I could have been happy; we are alike in character.--But things are better as they are. Husband and wife are two fighting enemies; we can be faithful friends to each other.'
'Friends!' said Brühl, 'it sounds like a funeral to my love for you. Your husband will be your lover and I your friend; that means a despised friend.'
'A husband a lover?' said the woman laughing. 'Where did you hear of that? Those two words swear at each other. My husband, I hate him, I despise him, I can't bear him!'
'But you married him.'
'My father, the King, married me to him; but believe me, it is well that it happened so. With him my heart is free, I am myself and shall preserve myself for the future. I believe in my star.'
'Will our stars ever meet?'
'If they are destined for each other, they will.'
'You say this so indifferently--'
'I always control my feelings, whether I love or hate. The sentiment that betrays itself, becomes the prey of the people.'
'But how can one believe in it, if one cannot see it?'
'Then what is faith?' said the woman laughing. 'The one who loves must feel, and he who cannot guess the woman's love is not worthy of it.'
Having said this, she very quickly, and before Brühl could realise it, disappeared.
He was standing thoughtfully, when a rather remarkable clown--for he had diamond buttons--appeared. He seemed to be looking for someone and seeing only the Venetian, stopped, gazing at him attentively. He bent down, wishing to look under the mask, but Brühl pressed it over his face with his hand.
'Cavaliero nero!' said the clown, what did the queen say to you? Do you know her?'
'Sono un forestiere--Addio,' hissed Brühl and made off, but the clown followed him. Presently he met the bandit to whom the clown whispered:
'Who is he?'
'Brühl.'
'Ah!' exclaimed the clown. 'I guessed it was he by the hatred I felt towards him. But are you sure it was he?'
'I? Who hate him more than you, Count? I would recognise him even in hell.'
The clown suddenly darted forward, for he caught sight of the queen. The bandit, thankful, wandered about without aim. The guests grew more and more animated and those who were searching for each other could hardly move among the dense crowd. Laughter and chatting were louder than the music. Brühl directed his steps towards the apartment where the Princess was receiving the people. A monk seized his hand.
'If you did not wish to be recognised,' said he in Italian, 'you have not succeeded. Who would not recognise you, the Secretary of the Treasury?'
And he laughed.
'How could they recognise me?' asked Brühl.
'By your way of walking and by your beautiful dress.'
Brühl could not be sure that he recognised the monk; he disappeared in the crowd. He could have sworn it was Padre Guarini, but could he suppose that a Jesuit would be at a fancy dress ball?
A little disappointed, he found himself in a room lighted with alabaster lamps. Here a tall woman struck him with her fan. He recognised her and had no doubt that she knew also who he was.
'Brühl, accept my congratulations,' said she.
'What for?'
'You have already mounted very high, but be careful, for non si va sano. You must lean on the arm of a woman, who often raises a man as though he had wings.'
Brühl sighed.
'I know for whom you sigh,' she continued, 'and what there is in your heart. But you must forget the ungrateful queen and look for another.'
'To search, in order to be repulsed and despised!'
'Only the one who is unworthy of you could despise you, and such a woman is not to be regretted.'
She bent close to his ear, and having whispered something in it, disappeared in the crowd. He passed on. Opposite him was Frances Kolowrath's table, surrounded by young men. The girl laughing, her parted lips showing her teeth, handed the glasses of wine. He looked at her from a distance. She was tempting and graceful, but her cool coquettishness frightened him. He stood for a long while deep in thought, and then turned aside.
Hardly had he sat down on a chair, in order to rest for he was tired, when the bandit sat beside him.
'Not long ago,' said he, 'you were flirting with a queen, and now you are thinking of that young girl. Am I not right?'
Brühl shook his head without answering.
'She is a rich girl, and she has plenty of diamonds.--Are you not fond of them?'
Brühl turned his head away and did not answer. But the bandit spoke further.
'Look, what dainty hands, what round arms, what a fresh face. It's a bite for a minister if not for a king; but Augustus II is too old, and the Prince is too pious,--you may have her. And after that, I don't know what might happen, for look how she smiles on twenty young men, and it's dreadful what her eyes are saying! She is the very wife for such a man as you. They married Hasse, a great musician, to Faustina; such an artist as you must marry Frances Kolowrath. See how admirably she already plays her part and what a success she will have in the rôle of la grande coquette!'
One could see by an impatient movement that Brühl was terribly annoyed, but he did not lose his head, he did not change his position, he did not look at the bandit; he rose and went off. His tormentor searched for him in vain, he was no longer in the palace.
The music played and the masqueraders danced till daybreak.
The last couple still whirled in the King's apartments, while, in the chapel of the castle in Taschenberg, Padre Guarini put ashes on the young Prince, his consort and the Catholic court.