Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/countbrhl00krasrich
2. Alternate spelling of author's name: Józef Ignacy Kraszewski.

COUNT BRUHL

COUNT BRÜHL

By

JOSEPH KRASZEWSKI

Translated by

COUNT DE SOISSONS

BRENTANO'S
NEW YORK
1922

CONTENTS

[CHAPTER I]

[CHAPTER II]

[CHAPTER III]

[CHAPTER IV]

[CHAPTER V]

[CHAPTER VI]

[CHAPTER VII]

[CHAPTER VIII]

[CHAPTER IX]

[CHAPTER X]

[CHAPTER XI]

[CHAPTER XII]

[CHAPTER XIII]

[CHAPTER XIV]

[CHAPTER XV]

[CHAPTER XVI]

[CHAPTER XVII]

[CHAPTER XVIII]

[CHAPTER XIX]

[CHAPTER XX]

[CHAPTER XXI]

[CHAPTER XXII]

COUNT BRÜHL

[CHAPTER I]

One beautiful autumn day, towards sunset, the last flourishes of a trumpet calling the huntsmen together, resounded through a forest of beech trees. The group of court huntsmen passed along the wide highway that divided this ancient wilderness, accompanied by men armed with boar-spears and carrying nets; the horsemen wore green dresses with gold braid, and hats ornamented with black feathers: in the centre of the party were waggons laden with venison and adorned with green boughs. The hunt must have been successful, for the huntsmen were in high spirits, and from the waggons protruded the horns of deer, and the heads of boars with bloody tusks.

The retinue of the lord came first; there were beautiful horses, and several lady riders with lovely faces. All were dressed as for a festival, for hunting was a favourite amusement with Augustus II, who at that time ruled more or less happily over Saxony and Poland.

The King himself led the hunt, and at his side rode his eldest son, the prince then dearest to Saxony, and the one towards whom the eyes of the nation were directed with expectation. The King looked well, despite his advanced age, and rode his horse like a knight; whilst his son, who also looked well but whose face wore a sweeter expression, looked rather like his younger brother. A numerous and brilliant court surrounded the two lords. They were to pass the night at Hubertsburg, where the Prince would offer hospitality to his father, for the hunting castle belonged to him. The Princess Josepha, daughter-in-law to the King, and daughter of the Imperial house of Hapsburg, recently married to Frederick, awaited them at Hubertsburg. The King's court was so numerous that it was impossible to lodge it in the castle, and for this reason tents had been pitched in the grove for the greater part of the retinue. The tables were already laid for supper, and the moment the King entered the castle, the huntsmen dispersed to find the lodgings assigned to them.

Dusk began to fall; the tents were full of bustle and animation, the young men's laughter, hitherto restrained by the presence of the King, now resounded more freely. They were thirsty, and drinking commenced although the signal for supper had not been given. Soon they began disputing as to which was the prettiest lady, who was the best marksman, and to whom the King had shown most favour. The Prince was the hero of the day; a boar was rushing on him, and he had shot it in the forehead. Everyone admired his presence of mind as with steady arm he aimed and fired. When the huntsmen rushed forward to dispatch the wild beast with their hunting knives, it already lay on the ground bathed in its own blood. On this, King Augustus had kissed his son on the forehead approvingly, and the Prince had pressed his father's hand to his lips, but he remained as calm and composed after the victory as he had been before. The only sign of good humour he had shown was, that he ordered a pipe to be brought him, and blew forth a larger cloud than usual. In those times men had begun to use that now universal plant--tobacco. Augustus the Strong smoked a great deal, his son, Prince Frederick, was a passionate smoker. During a feast the men could not forego their pipes. At the court of the Prussian King, pipes were served out to everyone, and the man who felt sick from smoking was the laughingstock of the others. It was the height of fashion to suck at a pipe from morning till night. The women despised the habit, but their aversion did not prevent the men from indulging to excess in the fragrant weed. Only the youngsters were forbidden to smoke, the habit being coupled with such vices as gambling and drinking. Therefore there were no pipes under the tents.

The weary horsemen dismounted, and seated themselves wherever they could, some on the ground, some on benches, and others on rugs. Arrangements had been made for another hunt on the following day, in another part of the forest, and orders had been given for everyone to be in readiness.

Not very far from the groups of elderly gentlemen, a very handsome youth walked to and fro from the road leading to the castle. He might have been recognised by his dress as a page in the service of the King. His noble carriage, and slightly effeminate figure, attracted the attention even of the most indifferent. His dress was elegant, his wig carefully arranged; his pink and white face beneath was almost as beautiful as that of a girl about to smile; he had intelligent eyes that could be merry or sad, brilliant or dull; they could even express that which was not in the soul.

This beautiful youth attracted like an enigma. Almost everyone, the King not excepted, loved him, yet, while both polite and useful, there was not a more retiring person in the court. He never boasted, never attempted to show his superiority, but if asked to do anything he did it easily, quickly, and with exceeding intelligence.

He was a petty noble from Thuringia, the youngest of four brothers, the Brühls von Gangloffs-Sammern. Having sold his small mortgaged estate, his father became a councillor at the little court of Weissenfelds; and as he did not know what to do with his son he placed him in the service of the Princess Frederick Elizabeth, who generally resided at Leipzig. The Princess at that time came constantly to Weissenfelds for market days; Augustus the Strong was also very fond of these markets, and it is said that on one occasion the young page attracted the attention of the King by his beautiful face. The Princess willingly gave him to the monarch.

It was wonderful that a boy who had never seen so magnificent a court, so much etiquette, should understand his duties so well from the first day, that he surpassed the older pages in his zeal and ability. The King smiled kindly on him; he was pleased with the humility of the boy, who looked into his eyes, guessed his thoughts and worshipped the majesty of the Roi-Soleil.

Those who served with him, envied him, but were soon captivated by his sweetness, modesty, and readiness to serve them too. They had no fears; such a modest boy could never rise very high. He was poor, and the Brühl family, although, of ancient lineage, had so fallen, that its rich relations had forgotten it. The youth therefore had neither influence nor wealth to advance him, merely a sweet and smiling face.

And indeed, he was very beautiful. The women, especially the older ones, looked at him coquettishly, and he lowered his eyes bashfully. Malicious words, the wit of pages, characteristics these of the young men of the court, never escaped his lips. Brühl admired the lords, the dignitaries, the ladies, his equals, and even the King's lackeys, to whom he was invariably courteous, as though already aware of the great secret that the greatest things are often accomplished through the meanest persons, that lackeys have quietly overthrown ministers, whilst the ministers could do nothing against them. All this the lucky youth guessed through the instinct with which Mother Nature had endowed him.

At that moment, as Henry Brühl walked alone up and down the path leading from the castle to the tent, those who knew him might have said that he indulged in this solitary stroll to avoid being in the way of others, while, being seen of everyone, he would be in readiness for any service. Such persons are favoured by good fortune. As he thus walked aimlessly to and fro there came from the castle a young good-looking boy, about the same age, but different in dress and mien to modest Brühl.

It was evident that the new-comer was well satisfied with himself. He was tall and strong, his black eyes looked forth sharply. He walked swiftly with lordly gait, having one hand placed in his richly embroidered vest and the other hidden in the shirt of his green braided hunting dress. His features also were quite different to those of Brühl; the latter looked more like a courtier, the former like a soldier.

Everyone he met on his way bowed to him, and greeted him kindly, for from early youth he had been the Prince's companion. His name was Count Alexandre Sulkowski, he had been brought to the court of Frederick as a page, and was already a prominent huntsman. And this meant a great deal, for the Prince, to whom hunting was rather a serious occupation than a distraction, entrusted him with what he cherished most in the world.

Sulkowski was respected and dreaded, for although Augustus II with his health and strength seemed to be immortal, yet sooner or later the god was bound to die like any other mortal. Thus Sulkowski, in his relation to the new rising sun, was regarded as a star shining on the horizon of Saxony.

On seeing Sulkowski, the page assumed his modest mien, bowed slightly, smiled sweetly, and seemed as pleased as though he had met the most beautiful woman in the court of the King. Sulkowski received this mute and respectful greeting with dignified benevolence. He slackened his pace, and drawing near to Brühl, addressed him gaily:

'How are you, Henry? What are you thinking about in this solitude? Happy boy, you can rest, whilst I have much to do.'

'If the Count would order me to help him?'

'No thank you. I must fulfil my own duties! Work for such a guest as our gracious lord is agreeable.'

He sighed slightly.

'Well,' he continued, 'the hunt was successful.'

'Yes, very successful indeed,' replied Brühl. 'His Majesty has not been in such a good humour for a long time.'

Sulkowski bent close to Brühl's ear.

'And who rules now in the chamber?'

'I do not know. At present there is an interregnum.'

'That's impossible!' said Sulkowski laughing. 'Is it not Dieskau?'

'I don't know.'

'Is it possible, that you, the King's page, do not know?'

Brühl looked at him, and smiled.

'A faithful page should not know anything.'

'I understand,' said Sulkowski, 'but between ourselves--'

Brühl drew near the Count, and whispered some thing in his ear.

'Intermezzo!' said Sulkowski. 'It seems that after so many love affairs, that have cost our dear lord so much money, and caused him so much pain, intermezzo will do.'

Sulkowski was no longer in a hurry, either to go to the tents, whither his steps appeared to be bent, or to return to the castle. Taking Brühl's arm, an action which evidently gave the page great satisfaction, he walked with him.

'I must rest awhile,' said he, 'and although we are both too weary to converse, I am glad to be with you.'

'I do not feel tired,' replied Brühl, 'when I am in your company. From the first moment when I was so fortunate as to meet you, I conceived for you, my dear Count, deep respect, and permit me also to add, the most affectionate, friendship. Must I tell you the truth? Well then, I came here with a presentiment--with a hope--that I might have the pleasure of seeing you.'

The Count looked into Brühl's face, which was beaming with joy.

'I can assure you,' said he, 'that I am not ungrateful. In the court such disinterested friendship is rare, and if we help each other, we can rise to high appointments.'

Their eyes met, Brühl nodded.

'The King is fond of you.'

'Do you think so?' asked Brühl, modestly.

'I can assure you of it; I have heard it from his Majesty's own lips; he praised your zeal and intelligence. As for me, the Prince loves me, and I can say with pride that he calls me his friend. I doubt if he could get along without me.'

'Yes,' said Brühl with animation, 'you were so fortunate as to be the Prince's companion, from the time he was a mere boy, and you have had time to win his heart; and who would not love you if he knew you well? As for me, I am a stranger here, though I am thankful to the Princess for placing me at the King's court. I try to show my gratitude, but the parquetry of a court is very slippery. The more zeal I show for the lord, whom I respect and love, the more jealousy I excite. For every smile bestowed on me by the lord, I am repaid with the venom of envy. So one must tremble when one might be the happiest of mortals.'

Sulkowski listened with an air of distraction.

'Yes! That's true,' he rejoined quietly. 'But you have much in your favour and no reason to fear. I observe that you have adopted an excellent method: you are modest and patient. The principal thing at court is to remain passive, then you will advance; he who is restless soon falls.'

'Your advice is most precious,' exclaimed Brühl. 'I am indeed fortunate to have such an adviser.'

The Count seemed flattered at the exclamation, he smiled proudly, pleased at the acknowledgment of his own powers of which he was fully persuaded.

'Don't be afraid, Brühl,' he said. 'Go forward boldly and count on me.'

Those words seemed to arouse Brühl's enthusiasm, he clasped his hands as though in prayer, and his face was radiant; then he extended a hand to Sulkowski in token of his gratitude. The Count magnanimously took it with the condescending air of a benefactor.

At that moment the trumpet resounded from the castle; the sound must have meant something to the young favourite, for signing to his friend that he must hasten, he ran towards the castle.

Brühl remained alone, hesitating as to what he should do with himself. The King had granted him leave for the evening, consequently he was entirely free. Supper had begun beneath the tents. At first he had intended to go there and enjoy himself with the others, but after looking on for a moment, he turned into a side path, and walked slowly and thoughtfully to the forest. Probably he wished to be alone with his thoughts, although his youthful eyes were not suggestive of deep speculation. It might be nearer truth to think that in a court full of love intrigues, he too had some love affair; but on his serene face no trace of such trouble could be detected. Brühl did not sigh, his look was cold and calm, he frowned, and appeared rather to be calculating something, than struggling against a particular sentiment.

He passed tents, horses, and packs of hounds; he passed the fires, built up by the people assembled for the hunt, who were eating the black bread they had brought with them in their bags, whilst venison was roasting for the nobles. The great majority of these were Slavs, called Wends, and they chatted quietly together in a tongue incomprehensible to the Germans. Several huntsmen kept guard over them, and whilst supper was prepared for the hounds, no one took the least trouble to ask these people if they had had anything to eat. Their supper of bread and water was soon finished, and they lay down on the grass to rest, that they might be in readiness for the work of the morrow.

Scarcely glancing at them, Brühl walked quietly forward. It was a lovely evening, peaceful and bright, and had it not been for the yellow leaves falling from the beech-trees, one might have thought it was summer.

Beyond the grove in which they were encamped all was still; the noise scarcely penetrated thither; trees concealed the castle; one could have imagined oneself far from the haunts of man.

Arrived here Brühl raised his head, and breathed more freely; his face assumed a different expression; it lost its childish charm, and an ironical smile flitted across it. He thought he was alone, and was greatly surprised, almost frightened, at seeing two men lying beneath an enormous beech-tree. He retreated, and looked at them attentively. Those two men, lying beneath a tree not far from the King's camp, appeared to him suspicious characters. Beside them lay their travelling bags and sticks.

The dusk prevented him from seeing their faces very clearly, or noticing what clothes they wore, but after awhile Brühl was able to distinguish that they were young men.

What could they have been doing so close to the King? Curiosity, fear and suspicion, kept him rooted to the spot. He wondered whether it would not be right to return to the tents and give warning of the presence of two suspicious strangers. He changed his mind however, and drawn more by instinct than reason, moved forward, and approached so near to the strangers that they could see him. His appearance must have astonished them, for one of them rose hastily, and seemed about to ask what he was doing there.

Without waiting for this question, Brühl advanced a few steps further, and asked severely:

'What are you doing here?'

'We are resting,' replied the man. 'Is it forbidden here for travellers to rest?'

The voice was mild, and the speech indicated an educated man.

'The King's court and his Majesty in person are not far distant,' said Brühl.

'Are we in the way?' asked the stranger, who did not appear to be in the least alarmed.

'No,' answered Brühl with animation, 'but if you were noticed here, you might be suspected of evil designs.'

The man who remained seated laughed and rose, and when he came out from beneath the shadow of the trees, Brühl beheld a good-looking man, with long hair and a noble mien. By his dress he was easily to be recognised as a student from one of the German universities.

'What are you doing here?' Brühl repeated.

'We are wandering about that we may thank God by admiring nature and breathing the air of the forest, and that in this quiet we may lull our souls to prayer,' the youth said slowly. 'Night surprised us here; we should not have known of the presence of the King and his court, had it not been for the noise of the huntsmen.'

The words as well as the way they were pronounced struck Brühl. The man seemed to be from another world.

'Permit me, sir,' the student continued quietly, 'to introduce myself to you who seem to have some official position. I am Nicolaus Louis, Count and Lord of Zinzendorf and Pottendorf, at present studiosus, searching for the source of wisdom and light, a traveller, who has lost his way in the maze of this world.'

On hearing the name, Brühl looked at the stranger more attentively. The moon lit up the beautiful face of the student. They both remained silent for a time, as though not knowing what to say.

'I am Henry Brühl, his Majesty's page.'

Zinzendorf measured him with his eyes.

'I pity you very much,' he said sighing.

'Why?' asked the astonished page.

'Because to be courtier means to be a slave, to be a page means to be a servant, and although I respect the King, I prefer to serve the King of Heaven, to love Jesus Christ, our Saviour. You found us when we were praying, when we were trying to unite our thoughts with our Lord, who has saved us through His blood.'

Brühl was so astonished that he moved away from the youth, who went on pathetically, though sweetly:

'I know that to you, in whose ears the prattle and laughter of the court still ring, this must seem strange and perchance irreverent, but I consider it my duty, every time I have an opportunity, to speak as a Christian should.'

Brühl remained silent. Zinzendorf approached him.

'It is the hour of prayer ... listen, the forest rustles, glory to God on high! The brook whispers the prayer, the moon shines forth to light the prayer of nature, why then should not our hearts unite with our Saviour at this solemn moment?'

The astonished page listened, and appeared not to understand.

'You behold an odd, whimsical fellow,' said Zinzendorf, 'but you meet many odd, whimsical society men, and you forgive their fancies; can you not then have some indulgence for an enthusiasm arising from the pure source of the soul?'

'Yes,' murmured Brühl. 'I am pious myself, but--'

'But you keep your piety hidden in the secret places of your heart, fearing to show it to profane persons. As for me, I show it forth like a flag, because I am ready to defend it with my life and my blood. Brother in Christ, if the life of the court weigh heavily on you, for I cannot otherwise explain your solitary evening wandering, sit with us, and let us pray together. I feel the need of prayer, and when it is made stronger by two or three praying together, it might reach the throne of Him who gave His blood for us worms.'

Brühl moved away, as though afraid the strangers would detain him.

'I am accustomed to pray alone,' he replied, 'besides my duties call me, you must therefore excuse me.'

He made a gesture in the direction whence noise could be heard.

'I pity you,' exclaimed Zinzendorf. 'If we could only sing a prayer--'

The page interrupted him: 'The grand huntsman, or some chamberlain might hear us, and order us to be put in prison, not here, for there is no prison here, but we should be taken to Dresden, and put in the Frauenkirche guardhouse.'

He shrugged his shoulders as he spoke, bowed lightly, and would have departed, had not Zinzendorf barred his way.

'Is it true, that it is forbidden to be here?' he asked.

'Your presence might bring suspicion on you, and cause you some trouble. I advise you to be off. Beyond Hubertsburg there is an inn, where you would be more comfortable than beneath this tree.'

'Which road shall we take, so that we may not be in the way of his Majesty?' asked Zinzendorf.

Brühl pointed with his hand, and said:

'It would be difficult for you to find the highway but if you will accept me as your guide, I am at your service.'

Zinzendorf and his companion picked up their sticks and bags, and followed Brühl, who seemed by no means pleased at the meeting. Zinzendorf had had time to cool down from the state of enthusiasm in which the page had found him. It was evident that he was a man accustomed to the best society, for he had excellent manners. Having grown more calm, he endeavoured to excuse himself for the speech he had made.

'Do not be surprised,' said he calmly, 'we call ourselves Christians but in reality we are heathens, despite the promise we made at our baptism. I consider it the duty of every Christian to preach. The aim of my life is not only to preach, but also to set a good example. What is the use of preaching, if deeds do not follow our words? Catholics and Protestants, we are all heathens in our way of living. We do not worship gods, but we make sacrifices to them. A few priests quarrel about dogmas, but our Saviour's blood is wasted, for people do not wish to be saved.'

He sighed. At that moment they came in sight of the camp, where drinking was at its height. Zinzendorf looked towards it, and exclaimed:

'This is a veritable bacchanalia! It seems to me, that I hear evoe! Let us hasten! I have no desire to hear and see Christians enjoying themselves in so heathenish a way.'

Brühl made no reply. They passed by the camp, and soon reached the highway. Having pointed out the road to the student, he ran quickly to the lighted tent.

Zinzendorf's words were still resounding in his ears when he perceived a strange sight in the tent. It is true, that in those times it was nothing surprising, but very few people made such an exhibition of themselves in public, as did the military councillor Pauli that evening. He was lying on the ground in the centre of the tent; beside him there stood a large, empty, big-bellied bottle; his face was crimson; his dress unbuttoned and torn; while beside him sat a hound, evidently his favourite, licking his face and whining.

Those who stood around were splitting their sides with laughter.

It was no unusual thing for the military councillor Pauli, whose duty it was to be near the King ready to write his letters, to be thus overcome with wine, but never was he so drunk or so much laughed at as on that night.

As soon as Brühl noticed it, he rushed to the unfortunate man and lifted him from the ground. The others, having come to their senses, helped him, and with a great effort they put the councillor on a heap of hay lying in the corner of the tent. Pauli opened his eyes, looked at the surrounding faces, and mumbled:

'Brühl, thank you--I know everything, I understand, I am not drunk--You are a good boy, Brühl, I thank you.'

Then he closed his eyes, sighed and muttered, 'Hard service!' and fell asleep.

[CHAPTER II]

The pages of Augustus II had rooms in the King's castle, where they awaited their orders during the time they were on duty. Their horses were always in readiness in case they might be sent on some errand. They relieved each other by turns at the door and attended the King in the antechamber, and often, when no other messenger was at hand, were sent to carry orders and despatches. Brühl always performed this arduous service with great zeal when his turn came, and even willingly took the place of others, so that the King, seeing him frequently, grew accustomed to his face and services.

'Brühl, you are again here,' he would say smiling.

'At your Majesty's command.'

'Are you not tired?'

'My greatest happiness is to look at your Majesty.' And the boy would bow, and the King would clap him on the shoulder.

Never was anything either impossible or too difficult for him; he ran immediately and fulfilled his orders at once.

They were waiting one day for the courier. In those days the post was often late; a horse would die on the road, or a river overflow, or a postillion become sick, and in consequence there was no fixed hour for the arrival of the post. Ever since the morning the military councillor Pauli, who used to write the King's letters, had been waiting for his orders.

Pauli, whom we saw drunk in Hubertsburg, slept during the night, rose in the morning, dressed himself and felt quite well except that he was still very thirsty.

He was aware that nature had provided water for him to drink, but he despised the simple beverage and used to say God created it for geese and not for men. Consequently he quenched his thirst with wine; he felt better and more lively.

He remembered that Brühl had come to his assistance in that awful moment of drunkenness, and from that moment a friendship sprang up between old Pauli and the young page.

Brühl, who did not despise anybody's favour, became attached to the councillor. Pauli was an elderly man, prematurely aged by his intemperate habits: he was very fat and could hardly walk, and, after dinner, would even dose standing up. Pauli's face was red, verging to purple, and his whole body seemed to be swollen.

But when he dressed in his best for the court, when he buttoned up, pulled himself together and assumed his official demeanour, one really could take him for a respectable person. He was so accustomed to the King and the King to him, that from one word, or even a look from Augustus, he could spin out whole letters, guessing the thought, grasping the style, and the King never needed to make any corrections. For this reason he was fond of Pauli, and requisitioned his services continually; for this reason too, he forgave him when he got drunk and was incapacitated from fulfilling his duties.

Then the lackeys were obliged to wake him up and the councillor would open his eyes, and murmur, 'Wait a minute! I am ready!' though he did not rise till he became sober. Then he would rise, wash himself with cold water, drink a big glass of strong wine, and go to the King.

Such things used to happen in those days, not to Pauli alone; the King's friend Fleming used to get drunk and many others too. People merely laughed at a drunken man for having so weak a head.

That day when they were waiting for the courier Pauli was sitting in the marshals' room, yawning. He selected a comfortable chair, stretched his legs, drooped his head a little and fell a-thinking. He could not dose. Who could travel with Morpheus into the country of dreams, not being prepared with good food for the journey?

The pictures that hung in the room were too familiar to his gaze to interest him. He could not look at them, so he yawned again, this time so outrageously that his jaws cracked. It was a heartrending sight to see such a respectable councillor yawn because he had nothing to eat.

The clock struck ten, then eleven, and still Pauli sat yawning and trembling on account of the emptiness of his stomach. At that moment he felt the most miserable of men.

At eleven o'clock Brühl, who was waiting for the hour of his service, entered. He was lovely in his page's dress, worn with great elegance; nobody could rival him in the freshness of the lace on his cuffs, the cut of his dress, and his exquisitely combed wig. As usual, he smiled sweetly. Everyone was conquered by his smiles, his words, and the grace of all his movements. Pauli, catching sight of him, put out his hand without rising.

Brühl ran to him and said:

'How happy I am to see you!' And he bowed humbly.

'Brühl, you alone can save me!' said Pauli. 'Just imagine, I have not yet had my breakfast! When will that courier arrive?'

The page looked at the clock and shrugged his shoulders.

'Chi lo sa?' he answered in that language which with French, was then used at court, for Italians were then quite numerous in Dresden.

'Eleven! and I have not had my breakfast! I shall die of starvation!' Having said this, Pauli yawned once more and shivered.

Brühl stood thoughtful, then he whispered in Pauli's ear:

'Est modus in rebus! Why do you sit here as though you were on a public road? There is a room with a door opening on the corridor leading to the kitchen; there I could manage to get you served with something.'

The councillor's eyes brightened, and he tried to rise, always a difficulty with him. He was obliged to put both hands on the arms of the chair, and leaning heavily on his elbows, at length succeeded.

'My dear boy,' he exclaimed, 'help me then, if you can.'

Brühl nodded and they disappeared through the door of the next room. Here, as though Pauli had been expected, some enchanted force had prepared a table. There stood a large chair, as if made for him, and on the snow-white table a soup tureen, a covered dish and a large bottle of golden wine.

Pauli, having perceived this, hastened to occupy the chair, as if afraid that someone else might step in before him, seized the napkin and stretched his arm towards the soup tureen; suddenly he remembered Brühl and said:

'And you?'

The page shook his head.

'It's for you, my dear sir.'

'May the gods reward you for this!' exclaimed Pauli enthusiastically. 'May Venus give you the prettiest girl in Dresden; may Hygiea give you a stomach with which you can digest stones; may Bacchus give you everlasting thirst and the means to quench it with Hungarian wine; may--'

But the tempting dishes did not permit him to finish. Brühl stood smiling at the councillor. Pauli poured out the first glass of wine. He expected an ordinary, light Hungarian wine, which they usually served at the court, but when he tasted it, his face brightened, his eyes shone, and having drunk he leaned back in his chair and smiled.

'Divine drink! My dear boy, you are working miracles! Where did you get it from? I know that wine, it's King's Tokay; smell it, taste it--it's ambrosia, nectar!'

'You must show your favour to the bottle, and not leave its contents to the profane, who would drink it without proper appreciation.'

'That would certainly be a profanation,' exclaimed the councillor, pouring out another large glass. 'To your health, to your success. Brühl--I shall be thankful to you till the day of my death--you saved my life. An hour longer and I should have been a dead man; I felt that my life was slipping away.'

'I am very glad,' said Brühl, 'that I have been able to be of service to you, sir. But pray, drink!'

Pauli drank another glass, smacked his lips, and said:

'What a wine! What a wine! Every glass tastes better than the last. It's like a good friend whom the more we know the better we love. But, Brühl, when the post comes, and his Majesty calls me, if it should be necessary for me to write a letter to Berlin or Vienna--'

In the meanwhile he poured out the third glass.

'Such a small bottle for you is nothing; it is only a stimulans.'

'Brühl, you are right. I have drunk more than that in my life.' He laughed. 'The worst thing is to mix the drinks. Who knows in what relation they stand to each other? There might meet two bitter foes, for instance, the French with German wine; they begin to fight in the stomach and head, and the man suffers. But when one drinks an honest, intelligent, matured wine, then there is no danger, it does no harm.'

Speaking thus the councillor ate the meat, drank the Tokay and smiled again. Brühl stood, looked, and when the glass was empty, he filled it once more.

At length the food having all disappeared, there remained only the wine.

Pauli sighed and mumbled:

'But the letters!'

'Would you be afraid?'

'You are right, if I were afraid, I should be a coward, and that is a despicable thing. Fill up! To your health! You shall get on! It's brighter in my head! It seems that the sun has come out from beneath the clouds, for everything looks brighter. I feel as if I could write more fluently than ever!'

Brühl filled the glass constantly.

The councillor looked at the bottle, and observing that it was larger at the bottom, promised himself that the wine would last still for some time.

'I have nothing to be afraid of,' said Pauli as though wishing to reassure himself. 'I don't know whether you remember or not. I remember once on a very warm day, when his Majesty was writing to that unfortunate Cosel, I drank some treacherous wine. It tasted as good as this Tokay, but it was treacherous. When I went out into the street my head swam. It was too bad, for I was obliged to write the letters. Two courtiers seized my arms--it seemed to me that I was flying; they put me at the table, they put a pen in my hand the paper before me; the King said a few words and I wrote an excellent letter. But if you killed me I could not remember what I wrote then. Suffice it that the letter was good, and the King, laughing, gave me a magnificent ring as a souvenir of that day.'

The wine was poured from the bottle to the glass, from the glass into the throat. The councillor smiled.

'Hard service,' he said quietly, 'but the wine is excellent.'

During the conversation the bottle was emptied. The last glass was a little clouded; Brühl wished to push it aside.

'Tyrant!' cried the councillor. 'What are you doing? It is the nature of the wine to have dregs, they are not to be wasted, but exist to hide the virtue which is in it,--the elixir, the essence.'

While Pauli was emptying the last glass, Brühl bent forward and took from under the table another bottle. Seeing it, the councillor wished to rise, but the sight rivetted him to his chair.

'What do I see?' he cried.

'It's another volume,' said the page quietly, 'of the work. It contains its conclusion, its quintessence. As you are fond of literature--'

Pauli bent his head.

'Who would not be fond of such literature?' sighed he.

'--I have been trying to get you a complete work,' continued the boy. 'I could not get both volumes of the same edition. The second volume is editio princips.'

'Ah!' exclaimed Pauli approaching the glass. 'Pour me only one page of that respectable volume.'

'But it will spoil. You must finish the bottle.'

'That's true! But the letters! The letters!' said Pauli.

'There will be none to-day.'

'Would that that were true,' Pauli sighed.

Brühl poured out another glass; Pauli drank it.

'This wine the King alone drinks when he doesn't feel well,' whispered Brühl.

'Panaceum universale! The lips of a woman are not sweeter.'

'Oh! oh!' exclaimed the youth.

'It is quite different for you,' said the councillor, 'but for me they have lost all sweetness. But the wine! wine is a nectar which, never loses its charm. Were it not for these letters!'

'You are still thinking of them?'

'Well, let the deuce take them.'

The councillor drank, but the wine was beginning to take effect. He grew heavier, he smiled, and then closed his eyes.

'Now a short nap,' said he.

'But you must finish the bottle,' said the page.

'Yes, it is the duty of an honest man to finish that which he began,' said Pauli.

Having poured out the last glass, Brühl brought forward a pipe and tobacco.

'Will you not smoke?' he said.

'You are an angel!' exclaimed Pauli opening his eyes. 'You remembered about that also. But suppose this herb intoxicates me further? What do you say?'

'It will make you sober,' said Brühl handing him the pipe.

'How can I resist such a tempting offer! Come what may, give it to me. Perchance the postillion will break his neck, and will not come. I don't wish him evil, but I would prefer that he stayed away.'

They both laughed. The councillor smoked assiduously.

'Very strong tobacco!'

'The King smokes it,' said the page,

'But he is stronger than I am.'

The tobacco evidently made him more intoxicated for he began to mumble. He smoked for a little while longer, then the pipe slipped from his hand, his head dropped, and he began to snore.

Brühl looked at him, smiled, went quietly to the door, and disappeared behind it. Then he ran straight to the King's ante-room.

A young, well-dressed boy, of lordly mien, also in page's costume, stopped him.

It was the Count Anthony Moszynski. He was distinguished among the other pages of the King, by his pale face, black hair, expressive although not beautiful features, eyes full of fire, but above all by his aristocratic bearing and stiff manners. He was with Sulkowski at the Prince's court, then he passed, to that of Augustus II, who, it was said, liked his liveliness and intelligence, and a brilliant career was prophesied for him.

'Brühl,' said he. 'Where have you been?'

The page hesitated to answer.

'In the marshals' room.'

'It is your hour now.'

'I know it, but I am not too late,' he answered, glancing at the clock.

'I thought,' said Moszynski laughing, 'that I should have to take your place.'

Something like anger flashed across Brühl's face, but it became serene again immediately.

'My dear Count,' said he sweetly, 'you favourites are permitted not to be punctual, but it would be unpardonable in me. I have often acted as a substitute for others, but no one has yet been substituted for me.'

'You wish to imply that no one is able to act as substitute for you,' said Moszynski.

'You are good-humouredly joking at my simplicity. I try to learn that in which you lords are masters.'

Moszynski put out his hand.

'It's dangerous to fight you with words. I would prefer swords.'

Brühl assumed a humble mien.

'I do not think I am superior in anything,' he said quietly.

'Well, I wish you good luck during your service,' said Moszynski. 'Good-bye!'

He left the room.

Brühl breathed more freely. He went slowly to the window, and stood there seemingly looking with indifference into a courtyard paved with stones. Beneath him swarmed a numerous company of busy courtiers. Soldiers in magnificent uniforms, chamberlains in dresses richly embroidered with gold, many lackeys and other servants moved quickly about; several post-chaises stood near the steps and yellow-dressed carriers waited for their masters; further there were carriages with German and Polish harness, hayduks in scarlet, kozaks, all constituting a variegated and picturesque whole. A chamberlain came out from the King.

'The post has not yet come?' he asked Brühl.

'Not yet.'

'As soon as it comes, bring the letters at once. Where is Pauli?'

'In the marshal's room.'

'Very well, he must wait.'

Brühl bowed and returned to the window, looking through it impatiently until he perceived, galloping in on a foaming horse, a postillion with a trumpet slung across his shoulder, and a leathern bag on his chest.

The page flew downstairs as fast as he could, and before the servants had noticed the postillion, he seized hold of the letters. A silver tray was in readiness in the ante-room; Brühl placed the letters on it, and entered the King's apartment.

Augustus was walking to and fro with the Count Hoym. Seeing the page, tray, and letters, he put out his hand and took the letters and broke the seals.

Brühl waited, while the King and Hoym read the letters.

'Ah!' exclaimed Augustus. 'Be quick, and call Pauli.'

Brühl did not move.

'Go and call Pauli to me,' repeated the King impatiently.

The page bowed, rushed out of the room and looked into the marshal's room. Pauli was sleeping like a log. Brühl returned to the King.

'Your Majesty!' stammered Brühl. 'Councillor Pauli--'

'Is he here?'

'Yes, your Majesty.'

'Then why doesn't he come?'

'The councillor,' said the page, dropping his eyes, 'is not well.'

'Were he dying, you must bring him here,' cried the King. 'Let him fulfil his duties, then he can die if he wishes to do so.'

Brühl ran out again, and entering the room, looked at the sleeping man, then returned to the King. Augustus' eyes burned with increasing anger, he began to grow pale, which was the worst sign; when he became white people trembled.

Brühl stopped at the door, silent.

'Pauli!' cried the King, rapping the floor with his foot.

'The councillor is--'

'Drunk?' Augustus guessed. 'Ah, the dirty old pig! Why could he not abstain for these few hours? Pour water on him! Conduct him to the fountain! Let the doctor give him some medicine and make him sober if but for one hour. Then the beast might die!'

Brühl promptly obeyed. He tried to wake up the councillor, but he was lying like a log; the only doctor who could bring him to his senses was time. Brühl, coming back slowly, seemed to hesitate, as though pondering something in his mind. He entered the King's room as noiselessly as he could.

The King stood in the centre holding the papers in his hand; his brows were contracted.

'Pauli!'

'It is impossible to awaken him.'

'I wish he would die! But the letters! Who will write them? Do you hear?'

'Your Majesty,' said Brühl humbly, 'my daring is great, almost criminal, but my love for your Majesty must be my excuse. One word from your Majesty--a small indication--and I will try to write the letters--'

'You, youngster?'

Brühl blushed.

'Your Majesty shall punish me--'

Augustus looked at him penetratingly.

'Come,' said he going to the window. 'There is the letter; read it, and give a negative answer, but you must hint that the answer is not definite. Let them think that there is some hope, but do not actually show it. Do you understand?'

Brühl bowed and wished to go out with the letter.

'Where are you going?' cried the King. 'Sit at this table and write at once.'

The page bowed again and sat on the edge of the chair which was upholstered in silk; he turned up his lace cuffs, bent over the paper and wrote with a rapidity that astonished the King.

Augustus II looked attentively, as though at a curious phenomenon, at the good-looking boy, who assumed the gravity of a chancellor and wrote the diplomatic letter as easily as he would have written a love-letter.

One might have thought, that the page, in accomplishing a task so important to his future, had forgotten about his pose.

Apparently he sat negligently and thoughtlessly, but the fact was, that as he bent gracefully to his work, the position of his legs, arms and head, was all carefully studied. His composure did not leave him for a moment though the work was apparently done in feverish haste. The King watched him closely and seemed to guess his intention. The page without thinking or losing time, wrote as if by dictation, he did not erase a single word, he did not stop for a moment. The pen stopped only when the letter was finished. Then he read it through and rose.

The King evidently curious and wishing to be indulgent came nearer.

'Read!' said he.

Brühl's voice trembled and was faint. Who would have thought that that fear was simulated? The King encouraging the boy, said kindly:

'Slowly, distinctly, aloud!'

The young page then began to read and his voice, which was at first faint, became sonorous. The face of Augustus depicted by turn surprise, joy, hilarity, and bewilderment.

When Brühl finished he did not dare to raise his eyes.

'Once more from the beginning,' said the King.

This time Brühl read more distinctly and more boldly.

The King's face became radiant; he clapped his hands.

'Excellent!' cried he. 'Pauli could not do better, not even so well. Copy it.'

Brühl bowing humbly presented the letter to the King, which was so well written that it was not necessary to copy it.

Augustus clapped him on the shoulder.

'From to-day, you are my secretary. I will have no more to do with Pauli; may the deuce take him! Let him drink and die!'

The King rang the bell, a chamberlain entered.

'Count,' said Augustus, 'give orders that Pauli is to be carried home; when he becomes sober express to him my great displeasure. I never wish to see him again! Brühl is my secretary from to-day. Discharge him from his duties as a page.'

The chamberlain smiled at the boy standing modestly aside.

'He saved me from a great trouble,' said the King. 'I know Pauli, he will be drunk till to-morrow, and it was necessary to send the letter at once.'

The King went to the table to sign the letter.

'Make a copy of it,' said he.

'I will copy it from memory,' said Brühl quietly.

'What a keen secretary I have now!' exclaimed Augustus. 'Pray give orders that he is to be paid the three hundred thalers.'

When Brühl approached to thank him, the King put out his hand to be kissed, an especial sign of favour.

A moment later a courier, having taken the sealed letter, conveyed it away at a gallop, blowing his trumpet. Brühl slipped out into the ante-room. Here the story of the letter and his unexpected promotion, told by the chamberlain Frisen, aroused curiosity and envy. When Brühl appeared all eyes turned to him, but in the new favourite of the King, one could see no trace of pride--on the contrary, he was as humble as if he were ashamed of his deed.

Moszynski rushed to him.

'What do I hear?' he exclaimed. 'Brühl his Majesty's amanuensis? When? How?'

'Let me come to myself from fear and astonishment,' said Brühl quietly. 'I do not know how it happened. Providence watched over me, un pauvre cadet de famille. My love for the King worked a miracle. I am dazed.'

Moszynski looked at him.

'If your good luck continues, you will soon be ahead of us all. We must recommend ourselves to your favour.'

'Count, be merciful, and do not mock a poor boy like me.'

Saying this, Brühl, as if he were tired, wiped the perspiration from his forehead and sat on the nearest chair.

'One would think,' said Moszynski, 'that he had met with the greatest misfortune.'

This was lost on Brühl, for he was deep in thought. All in the room dropped their voices to a whisper as they told the story of the lucky boy to those who came in. The news spread in the town and when in the evening Brühl appeared in the theatre among the pages, Sulkowski, who attended the Prince, came to congratulate him.

Brühl seemed to be very grateful and could not find words to thank him for his kindness.

'Do you see, Brühl,' whispered Sulkowski, looking upon him protectingly, 'I told you that they would appreciate you at your right value. I was not mistaken in thinking that our lord's eagle eye had singled you out in the crowd.'

They applauded the singer; Sulkowski also clapped his hands, but turning to his friend he said:

'I applaud you.'

The page bowed humbly, blushing.

After the end of the play he had a chance of disappearing, and the friends who looked for him in the castle and in his rooms could not find him. They thought it was his modesty; it was nice of him not to boast of his good fortune. On enquiry his servant told them that he had gone out.

The fact was, that after the opera Brühl stole into the Castle street and from it he went towards Taschenberg, where Cosel formerly lived, and which was now occupied by a daughter of the Emperor of Austria, Josepha.

Those who met him might have suspected that he was going to deposit his laurels at the feet of some goddess. It was very probable. He was twenty years of age, he was very good-looking, and the women, spoiled by Augustus, were very coquettish. It was evident that he was anxious not to be seen or recognised, for his face was wrapped in his mantle and every time he heard steps he hastened his own.

He entered the house next to the princess's palace, ran up the stairs, and knocked three times at the door.

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.

[CHAPTER IV]

Notwithstanding the carnival, notwithstanding the enormous buildings in course of construction with which the King tried to amuse himself, notwithstanding the magnificence by which he was surrounded, Augustus II began to be wearied. They wanted him to marry for the sake of distracting his thoughts--he yawned and laughed; he had no wish for a wedding, for they were expensive, and the wedding worthy of such a monarch was bound to cost much. His foot pained him, he was sad. The world had no interest for him; he tasted of so many pleasures, that at the bottom of the cup, there remained only dregs. The most beautiful girls ceased to attract him, in his memory there passed in review an endless number of lovely forms, shining for a moment and withered so quickly. The Princess Tubonirska was old, the Countess Cosel locked up, the others scattered throughout the world. Unable to be happy, he wanted to be great. Therefore he sent servants to Africa and built.

Enormous barracks were built in New City, rebuilt by him in the Old City, the Catholic church and palaces were in course of erection.

The King would go to Königstein to look at the walls and find them gone; he would go to Hubertsburg and be wearied; he would give orders that he was to be driven to Moritzburg and there find nothing to interest him. Dresden simply bored him. Had anyone suggested it to him, he would probably have ordered the town to be fired, in order to build it again, though the idea was not new.

While he was in Poland his affections were with Dresden, but when he was in Dresden he was longing after Warsaw. November the second, the day of St Hubert patron of hunting, was always celebrated with a great display; the two courts, that of the King and that of the Prince went to Hubertsburg. The grand huntsman of the court was Herr von Leibnitz, the grand falconer the Count Moszynski.

But the King found St Hubert too old-fashioned and the hunting monotonous. He was seized with restlessness. On New Year's day the market at Leipzig attracted him; the horse dealers promised to bring splendid horses, but the King found they were hacks; and the actresses brought from Belgium had false teeth.

On the sixth of January Augustus returned to Dresden for the opening of the carnival, and at the first ball he perceived that the faces of the women were withered, that their eyes lacked fire, and their lips were pale. He thought that he would enjoy Poland better, therefore he left the carnival, for the Prince and Padre Guarini and ordered the carriages to be got ready to convey him to Warsaw.

Brühl was in constant attendance. Others had disappeared, changed for fresh faces; but he, who from a page had become the minister, was indispensable to the King. The money flowed to the Treasury, the heavy taxes filled the coffers.

The noblemen grumbled, but there was a remedy: the court was filled with foreigners, Italians, Frenchmen, Dutch, Danes, Prussians, Bavarians flourished at the court and the Saxon noblemen returned to their estates to make money for the King.

Brühl's opinion was that his Majesty was right in maintaining that those made the best servants whose whole career depended on the favour of the King.

On the tenth of January the courtyard of the castle was full of horses, carriages and people. The Polish and Saxon courts were ready for the journey. The rooms were filled with those who were to accompany the King. Augustus II was taking leave of his son and his wife.

The former majesty in his face was replaced by impatience and weariness. The Prince was tender towards his father, while his wife, the Princess Josepha, was majestic. Frederick looked into his father's eyes and smiled sweetly. Brühl entered: there were some papers to be signed and money to be taken for the journey.

The King looked sharply towards the Secretary of the Treasury and asked:

'Brühl, have you the money?'

'Yes, your Majesty!' answered he bowing.

The lord's face brightened.

'Look,' said he to his son, 'what a servant! I commend him to you--he is the man who relieved me of my money troubles. Remember! I am indebted to him for the order that prevails.'

Frederick looked into his father's eyes, as though wishing to show him that he promised to obey.

'Had I a few more men like him in Poland,' continued the King, 'I should have restored order in the republic and introduced the same system as I have in Saxony. Ah, those Polish, so-called friends and faithful servants, suck as Lipski, Hozynsz and others, are all afraid of the nobility, and they fool me. But let us be patient, I shall end all that, several heads shall fall off and then everything will be quiet. I cannot bear a public that dares to murmur when I command.---Enough of it.'

The interrupted leave-taking was continued: Frederick kissed his father's hand. Lackeys, pages and servants were ready in the ante-room. The officials and clergy stood quietly in a corner. The King smiled to all. He repeated to the huntsmen his order to take care of the twelve bisons brought from Bialowiezer and kept in Kreirn near Moritzburg and moved towards a carriage standing ready.

The postillions were already mounted; in the courtyard stood bareheaded burghers, at whom the King only glanced and whom he commanded to pay their taxes: a moment later everything was quiet in the castle and in Dresden.

Everyone had plenty of time to rest until the King returned, when it would fall to their lot to amuse him again.

The whole retinue, escorted by a detachment of cavalry, had already reached the bridge, while Brühl's carriage still stood in the courtyard of the castle. The King's favourite came out thoughtfully and saw Sulkowski. Brühl's face brightened at once; he seized Sulkowski's arm and conducted him to one of the nearest rooms.

Brühl's face expressed the tenderest friendship. Sulkowski was indifferent.

'How happy I am,' said Brühl, 'to be able once more to win a place in your affections.' And his voice was as sweet as his words.

'Brühl, listen!' Sulkowski interrupted. 'I also remind you of our agreement. In good fortune or bad, we shall remain friends.'

'Do you need to remind me?' exclaimed Brühl. I love you, I respect you, I am grateful to you, I am your friend.'

'Give me a proof of it.'

'As soon as I have opportunity! Pray, give me that opportunity! Dear Count, I am yours! Do not forget me! You know what I mean--'

'Fräulein Kolowrath!' said Sulkowski laughing. 'Grand bien vous fasse, you shall have her. Her mother is in your favour.'

'But she?'

'Oh! don't be afraid, nobody will stand in your way. One must be as brave as you to attain to such bliss.'

'I missed a greater and the only bliss,' said Brühl, sighing.

Sulkowski slapped him on the shoulder and said laughing:

'I see that Moszynski is right in hating you.'

'Nonsense!' protested Brühl.

'Oh! don't deny it. It's difficult to conceal anything at court. You and the Countess Moszynski are better friends than if you were married.'

Brühl shrugged his shoulders. 'My heart owns only Frances Kolowrath.'

'Her hand is waiting for you.'

'Her mother herself will propose her to you. And it is time that Frances was married, for her eyes shine strangely.'

'Like stars!' Brühl exclaimed.

'What would the Countess Moszynski say to that?'

Suddenly Brühl seized Sulkowski's hand.

'Count,' said he, 'do not forget me and speak in my favour to the Prince. I fear whether I sufficiently showed my respect and attachment to him, as well as towards the pure and saintly Princess.---Tell him--'

'You speak for us to the King,' interrupted the Count, 'and I will do the same for you with the Prince. And then, my Brühl, you will not be without protectors. Padre Guarini tries to convert you, the Countess thinks of you as her future son-in-law, and I should not be surprised if you had still another friend at court.'

'All that is nothing if you are not with me,' said Brühl.--'I would give up Guarini and Kolowrath in your favour.'

'But you would not give up Moszynski,' said Sulkowski laughing. 'And now good luck to your journey; remember me in Poland to all my countrymen.'

'Not to their wives and daughters?'

'Yes, should some of them ask after me--but I doubt it. I prefer German women.'

'I too!' said Brühl.

They had already reached the door.

'Eh, bien, à la vie, à la mort!'

They shook hands. Brühl hastened towards the carriage. At the farther end of the courtyard Padre Guarini was standing, making the sign of the cross over Brühl as he drove off, following his master to Warsaw.

[CHAPTER V]

It was the beginning of January 1733. In the morning Prince Frederick returned from hunting at Hubertsburg. Sulkowski was with him. In the evening the incomparable Faustina was going to sing in the opera. The Prince was as great an admirer of her voice and beauty as his father. The singer would tyrannise over her competitors, would persecute those who had not the good fortune to please her, and when she deigned to sing there was quiet in the hall as in a church; if anyone dared to sneeze he might be sure that she would become his bitterest foe. The opera called 'Cleophia' was announced and Prince Frederick enjoyed the prospect.

In the afternoon, the Prince, dressed in a splendid robe de chambre, was sitting in an armchair, digesting with that pleasant feeling produced by a strong stomach and excellent cooking.

Sulkowski stood opposite him. From time to time the Prince would look at his friend, smile, and smoke on in silence.

The friend and servant looked with pleasure on his happy master, sharing his happiness silently.

The Prince's face beamed, but it was his habit, when in a happy mood, to speak very little and to think. Nobody knew what about. Sometimes he would raise his drooping head, look at Sulkowski and say:

'H'm! Sulkowski?'

'I am here.'

Then he would nod and that was the end of it. A quarter of an hour would elapse and the Prince would call him again by his Christian name, or caressingly in the Italian language. The Count would reply as before that he was there and the eloquent silence would follow.

The Prince spoke but little and only when obliged to do so. He disliked anything unexpected. His life must flow quietly, monotonously. The afternoon hours, when he only received his most familiar friends, were those he enjoyed best. In the forenoon he was obliged to give audience, to listen, to talk, to sign papers. After such efforts the afternoon siesta was delightful to him. When there was no opera he would go to Princess Josepha, listen to some music, and the day would end with a supper.

Never before did the courtiers have a lord more easy to entertain. He was satisfied though one day resembled another as two drops of water.

That day the afternoon siesta had just begun; the Prince was smoking a second pipe, when Sulkowski, noticing something through the window, hesitated a moment and then went towards the door. The Prince's eyes followed him.

'Sulkowski!' he said softly.

'I return at once,' answered the Count, opening the door and disappearing through it. In the anteroom two pages and some servants were waiting.

'Don't let anybody in without my special permission,' said Sulkowski.

All heads bowed.

Sulkowski went out, rushed down the stairs, and stopped in the doorway petrified.

'Brühl? You here?'

Wrapped in a fur cloak covered with snow, cold, tired, pale and troubled, there stood the favourite of Augustus II. In the courtyard one might have seen a carriage with two tired horses; the postillions had already dismounted and were also so tired that they could hardly keep on their feet.

Brühl did not answer: he made him understand by his look that he wished to enter and to rest. This sudden arrival had something so mysterious about it, that Sulkowski, being very much troubled about it, led the way to a room situated on the ground floor. The servants recognised Brühl, and pressed forward, but he dismissed them with a wave of the hand and entered the room with Sulkowski. Brühl quickly divested himself of his furs. The Count stood waiting.

'For Heaven's sake, Brühl, what news do you bring?'

Brühl sat down on a chair as though not having heard the question, and leaned his sorrowful head on his hand. The favourite of the Prince, uneasy and impatient, stood before him, but pride prevented him from insisting.---He waited.

Brühl rose and sighed, looked around, wrung his hands and cried:

'My most gracious lord, the King, is dead!'

Over Sulkowski's face there passed like lightning an expression difficult to define--fear and joy mixed. He moved as though about to run, but stopped.

'Nobody come before me from Warsaw?' asked Brühl.

'Nobody.'

'Then the Prince knows nothing?'

'No, he does not even suspect anything,' said Sulkowski. 'The Prince must be notified at once,' continued the Count. 'But tell me, how was it? The King was in good health.'

Brühl sighed pitifully.

'On the sixteenth we came to Warsaw,' he said quietly. 'The road was most abominable: in some places snow drifts, in others mud. The King was tired and impatient, but catching sight of Warsaw, his face brightened up. We sent couriers ahead; the reception was splendid notwithstanding the wretched weather, the cannons boomed, the regiment of musketeers was splendid. The carriage stopped at the door of the Saxon Palace. As the King alighted he knocked his foot against the step, in the place which has troubled him continually since Weiss amputated his big toe. We noticed that he grew pale and leaned on his stick. Two pages ran to help him, and leaning on them he entered the palace, where the clergy, the lords and the ladies awaited him in large numbers. The King was obliged to sit down immediately and he told the Grand Marshal to shorten the reception as he did not feel well. As soon as he entered the chamber he ordered Dr Weiss to be called, complaining that he felt his foot hot and wet. They cut the boot; it was full of blood. Weiss grew pale: the foot was already swollen and discoloured; yet notwithstanding that--'

'Cut it short,' cried Sulkowski. 'Someone might tell the Prince that you have arrived.'

Brühl came near to him.

'Count,' said he, 'I--we should come to some understanding before we venture to do anything. The Prince loved his father dearly, the shock he will receive--will it not be necessary to prepare him for the news?'

'Yes, but how?'

'My advice is,' said Brühl, 'that we should do nothing without first consulting Padre Guarini and the Princess.'

Sulkowski looked at him with ill-disguised discontent.

'But it seems to me,' said he, 'that the Prince needs neither the Princess's help nor the spiritual consolation of his confessor.'

'I should think--' said Brühl, and suddenly confused he looked towards the door which opened and Padre Guarini appeared. It was difficult to guess how he could have learned so quickly of Brühl's arrival. He walked straight to him; his face was sad although it was difficult for him to change its naturally cheerful expression; he opened his arms as though he would like to embrace him. Brühl would probably have kissed his hand had there not been a witness. Therefore he only advanced and drooping his head said:

'The King is dead.'

'Eviva il re!' answered the Jesuit quietly, raising his eyes. 'God's designs are impenetrable. Does the Prince know it?'

'Not yet,' said Sulkowski drily, looking at the Jesuit askance.

Guarini purposely averted his gaze.

'My wish,' said Brühl, 'is to spare the Prince's feelings and take the advice of the Princess.'

Guarini nodded and Sulkowski shrugged his shoulders and looked at Brühl with discontent.

'Then let us all go to the Princess,' he said, 'for there is not a moment to be lost.'

Brühl glanced at his travelling clothes.

'I can't go as I am,' said he. 'You both go to the Princess; I shall order my clothes to be brought here and dress first.'

Sulkowski agreed in silence to the proposition, Guarini nodded in the affirmative, and they turned towards the door. Brühl threw himself into a chair, as though unable to stand on his feet.

Sulkowski followed the Jesuit quite unwillingly, leaving Brühl who leaned his head on his hand and became thoughtful.

This resting and thinking did not last very long; as soon as the two disappeared in the dark corridor of the castle, Brühl rose quickly, hurried to the door, opened it, and looked into the ante-room.

There stood a lackey as if waiting for orders.

'Send page Berlepsch at once to me.'

The servant went off and five minutes later a boy, wearing the uniform of the King's pages, rushed in out of breath.

Brühl, standing near the door, put his hand on the boy's shoulder.

'Berlepsch, I hope you have confidence in me; don't ask any questions but go to the Prince's apartments, and on your own responsibility, understand, on your own responsibility tell the Prince that I have arrived. Listen! If anything prevented you all would be useless.'

The intelligent boy looked into Brühl's eyes, did not say a word, and went out. Brühl again sat at the table and covered his face with his hands.

It was quiet about him, but he trembled at the slightest noise. There was some stir and bustle on the upper floor, and on the stairs one could hear someone rushing down; a good-looking man, with an ironical smile, appeared in the doorway, and said:

'His Royal Highness, the Prince, having learned by an accident about your arrival, commands you at once to bring him the dispatches.'

Brühl pretended to be embarrassed.

'I am not dressed.'

'Come as you are.'

'Such is the order?'

'Word for word.'

Brühl rose as if he were forced, but he was satisfied inwardly.

They both went silently upstairs.

The door opened, Brühl entered slowly with such a sorrowful expression on his face, that the Prince dropped his pipe and rose.

The door closed and Brühl fell on his knees.

'I bring to Your Majesty the saddest news, but first bow down at the feet of the new King. Our most gracious lord, the King, is dead.'

Frederick stood for a while as if turned into a block of stone; he covered his face. There was a moment of silence; at length Frederick gave Brühl his hand to be kissed and made a sign to him to rise.

'Brühl, how and when did it happen?'

'On the first day of February, the King Augustus the Great died in my arms and entrusted me with his last will, with the jewels of the Crown and secret papers. I, myself, brought the jewels and the papers and I deposit them at the feet of your Majesty.'

Frederick again gave him his hand to be kissed; Brühl bent very low and pretended to be crying; covering his eyes with a handkerchief, he sobbed. The new King also took out a handkerchief and began to weep for his father, whom he loved and respected.

'Brühl, tell me, how did this misfortune occur?' he said quietly.

In a muffled voice, trying to master his emotion, Brühl narrated the circumstances of the illness, its course, and told of the King's patience and peace at the moment of death. At length he took out a letter and handed it to Frederick, who impatiently tore open the envelope. After having read it, he kissed it.

The letter contained the blessing and recommendation of his most faithful and best servant, the messenger of his last will. Frederick looked at Brühl and sighed.

'I will do as my father advises and commands me.'

The letter was still lying on Frederick's knees, when the door leading to the Princess's rooms opened, and there entered Josepha dressed in black, Sulkowski and Guarini.

How surprised they were at seeing Frederick crying, Brühl in his travelling clothes standing at the door, and the opened letter!

Frederick, still sobbing, threw himself into his wife's arms; she began to cry also, according to the Spanish etiquette prescribed to rulers and their courtiers as the form of sorrow and expression of grief.

Sulkowski looked at Brühl with disapproval and whispered to him:

'You told me, you would wait for me.'

'Someone betrayed the secret of my arrival; they called me; I was obliged to obey.'

'Who did that?'

'Watzdorf.'

Sulkowski seemed to be trying to remember the name.

The five people gathered in that room made an interesting group. Frederick alone was really sorrowful. Accustomed to respect and love his father, overwhelmed by grief and the fear of the burden that now fell on his shoulders, Frederick's face was very much changed. Usually serene and quiet, it was now twisted with grief which he could not conceal. Josepha's sorrow was more simulated than true; she never forgot for a moment her dignity and etiquette. Sulkowski was thoughtful and gloomy, as a man who, coming into power, calculates how to begin. His great self-esteem never left him even in the presence of the lady, to whom his respect was due.

Padre Guarini bent his head, closed his eyes, and twitched his face with an expression well assumed for the moment. Brühl while not forgetting that he should appear to be overwhelmed by sorrow, could not abstain from glancing from time to time at those present, especially at Sulkowski. He seemed to see an adversary.

While the Princess tried to comfort her husband, Sulkowski mustered up courage and coming nearer proposed that he should call the dignitaries for a council and announce to the capital and the country, by ordering the bells to be rung, that Augustus II was dead.

Josepha looked at the intruding adviser with some aversion, whispered something to her husband, and majestically directed her steps towards the same door through which she had entered a short time before, Guarini following her.

Those who remained were silent for a time. Brühl waited for orders which the new King did not dare to give; Sulkowski gave Brühl to understand that he had better leave them.

Brühl hesitated, and then he left the room. Frederick did not notice him go out. They remained alone, till suddenly Frederick took the handkerchief from his eyes and said:

'Where is Brühl?'

'He went out.'

'He must not leave me. Pray command him to stay here.'

Sulkowski wished to protest, but then he opened the door, whispered through it and returned.

'One must bear God's will as a man and king,' said he familiarly. 'The King has no time for sorrow.'

Frederick only made a gesture.

'The council shall be called at once.'

'Then go and preside at it; I can't,' said the King. 'Call Brühl here.'

'But why is Brühl necessary?' said Sulkowski in a tone of reproach.

'He? In his arms my father died. Father recommended him to me, I wish to have him, let him come.'

'They have sent for him,' Sulkowski said shrugging his shoulders impatiently.

'Joseph, don't be angry,' said Frederick in a plaintive tone.

As he said this the bells began to ring mournfully in the churches of the capital of Saxony. Frederick kneeled and prayed. Sulkowski followed his example. One after the other the bells rang out, the solemn sounds forming a gloomy choir, accompanied by the whispering of the people, whispering to each other the sad news.

[CHAPTER VI]

While the preceding events were taking place in the castle, preparations were in progress at the opera for the performance of 'Cleophila.'

The splendour with which the operas were put upon the stage, a hundred horses and camels appearing with numberless artistes in gorgeous oriental costumes, and the fairy-like effects produced by elaborate machinery, combined to attract as large an audience as did the charming voice of Signora Faustina Bordoni.

Faustina, the first singer of those times, famous for her victory over the equally famous Cuzzoni, was prima donna in the full meaning of the word, on the stage, behind the scenes, and beyond. Signora Bordoni, although married to the great composer, Johanet Hasse, could forget him. The marriage had been broken the next day by command of the King, who sent the musician to Italy to study there.

As the carriage bringing Brühl and the sad news of the death of Augustus the Strong neared the castle Faustina was sitting in the small drawing-room arranged for her near the stage, and having removed her furs was about to issue her orders.

The prima donna was not very young, but notwithstanding her Italian beauty, which blossoms and withers quickly, she preserved her voice, the charm of her figure, and the beauty of her face, the features of Juno with which nature had endowed her.

She was not a delicate woman, but strong and majestic, with the form of a statue, as though made from one block by the energetic chisel of Michael Angelo.

Her beauty was equal to her voice. Everything was in harmony with her character; her head of a goddess, bosom of a nymph, hand of a Bacchante, figure of an Amazon, hands and feet of a princess, abundant black hair like the mane of an Arabian horse. In her face, notwithstanding the classical beauty of her features, there was more strength than womanly sweetness. Not infrequently her black eyebrows contracted in a frown, her nostrils dilated with anger, and behind her pink lips her white teeth gleamed angrily.

Her manner was that of a woman accustomed to command, to receive homage, fearing nought, daring even to hurl her thunderbolts at crowned heads.

The drawing-room was elegantly furnished with gold, the furniture upholstered with blue satin, and the dressing-table, covered with lace, was loaded with silver and china. The wardrobes for her dresses were ornamented with bronze, and from the ceiling descended a china chandelier like a basket of flowers.

Three servants stood at the door waiting for orders. One could recognise that two of them were Italian women, for they had not given up their national coifure. Faustina glanced at the clock, threw herself on the sofa, and, half leaning and half sitting, played with the silk sash of her large, silk robe de chambre.

The servants were silent.

There was a knock at the door. Faustina did not move, but glancing towards a good-looking young man who appeared in the doorway, greeted him with a smile.

It was the tenor, Angelo Monticelli. It was easy to see that he was also Italian; but while Faustina was the personification of Italian energy and liveliness, he was the embodiment of almost womanly charm. Young, remarkably handsome, with long black hair falling over his shoulders, he seemed to be born for the rôles of innamorati, of lovers and gods. The classical Apollo, playing the lute, could not have been more charming. Only he lacked the pride and energy of the god.

He bent to salute Faustina, who hardly nodded to him.

'Angelo!' said Faustina, 'you run after those horrid German women--you will lose your voice. Fie! How you can see a woman in those German girls! Look at their hands and feet!'

'Signora!' said Angelo, placing one hand on his chest and looking into a mirror, for he was in love with himself. 'Signora, non è vero!'

'You would tell me, by way of excuse,' said Faustina laughing, 'that they run after you.'

'Not that either; I am longing for the Italian sky, Italian faces, and the heart of an Italian woman--I wither here--'

Faustina glanced at him and made a sign to the servants to leave the room.

'Ingrato!' whispered she. 'We all pet you, and yet you complain.'

Then she turned her gaze to the ceiling taking no notice of Monticelli's devouring eyes.

'Has Abbuzzi come?' she asked.

'I don't know.'

'You do not wish to know about Abbuzzi!'

'I don't care about her.'

'When you are talking to me! But I am neither jealous of her nor your Apollo-like beauty; only I hate her, and I can't bear you.'

'Why not?'

'Because you are a doll. Look at the clock and go and dress.'

As she spoke a new face appeared in the doorway; it was the cheerful Puttini.

'My humblest homage,' said he. 'But perchance I interrupt a duet; excuse me.'

He glanced at Angelo. Faustina laughed and shrugged her shoulders.

'We sing duets only on the stage,' said she. 'You are all late to-day. Go and dress.'

She jumped down from the sofa; Angelo moved towards the door; Puttini laughed and remained where he was.

'My costume is ready, I shall not be late.'

The door opened noisily and in rushed a man dressed in black; his round face, with small nose and low forehead, expressed fear.

Faustina who was in continual dread of fire, shrieked:

'Holy Virgin, help! Fire! Fire!'

'Where? Where?'

The new-comer, much surprised, stood still. His name was Klein, a member of the orchestra, Faustina's great admirer, a friend of the Italians, and an enthusiastic musician.

His Christian name was Johan, Faustina changed it into Giovanni and called him Piccolo.

'Piccolo! are you mad? What is the matter with you?' she cried.

'The King is dead! King Augustus the Strong died in Warsaw.'

At this, Faustina screamed piercingly, covering her face with her hands; the rest stood silent. Klein left the door open and the actors began to crowd in. The great majority of them were already half dressed for the performance of 'Cleophila.' Abbuzzi rushed in with naked bosom. Her beauty was striking even when compared with Faustina; only she was small and still more lively.

Catherine Piluga, with a crowd of Italians and French, half dressed, with frightened faces, followed Abbuzzi. All pressed round Faustina exclaiming in all possible voices: 'Il re è morto!' Their faces expressed more fear than sorrow. Faustina alone was silent, and did not seem much afraid of the news. All looked at her hoping that she would speak, but she would not betray her thoughts.

The bells resounded throughout the whole city.

'There will be no performance to-night, go home!' she cried imperatively.

But they did not obey her; frightened, they stood as though rivetted to the spot.

'Go home!' repeated Faustina. 'We have nothing to do here; we shall not play for some time.'

The crowd began to withdraw, murmuring. As soon as the last had gone, Abbuzzi also disappeared, and Faustina lay on the sofa not seeming to notice an elderly gentleman standing quietly apart.

He coughed softly.

'Ah! It's you?'

'Yes,' said the German, indifferently.

It was Hasse, Faustina's husband.

'What are you thinking about? About a new Requiem for the dead King?'

'You have guessed almost right,' answered the composer. 'I was wondering if the mass: Sulla morte d'un eroe, which I composed some time ago, would be suitable for the funeral service. I am a musician, and even grief turns with me to music.'

'But what will become of us now?' sighed Faustina.

'Chi lo sa?'

They were both silent; Hasse walked to and fro, then stopped in front of his wife.

'I think we need not fear,' said he, 'for there is hardly anyone who could be put in my place, not even such a one as Popora, and there is absolutely no one to rival Faustina.'

'Flatterer,' said the Italian. 'Faustina's voice is like a candle that burns brightly--it will be extinguished one day.'

'Not very soon,' answered the thoughtful German, 'you know that better than I do.'

'But that quiet, pious, modest, ruled-by-his-wife new King--'

Hasse laughed.

'E un fanatico per la musica, e fanatico per la Faustina.'

'Chi lo sa?' whispered the singer thoughtfully, 'Well, if he is not all that you say, we must make him so.' A bright idea flashed through her brain, 'Poor old Augustus is dead,' said she in a lowered voice. 'I should like to make a beautiful speech over his grave, but I can't.'

Hasse shrugged his shoulders.

'There will be plenty of funeral speeches,' he said almost in a whisper, 'but history will not be indulgent to him. He was a magnificent tyrant and lived for himself only. Saxony will breathe more freely.'

'You are unjust,' Faustina exclaimed. 'Could Saxony be more happy, more brilliant, more favoured? The glory of that hero is reflected in her.'

Hasse smiled painfully.

'He may have looked like a hero, when from his box in the opera, covered with diamonds, he smiled upon you, but the whole country paid for those diamonds with tears. Joy and singing resounded through Dresden, moaning and crying throughout Saxony and Poland. In the capital there was luxury, in the country misery and woe.'

Faustina sprang to her feet, she was indignant.

'Tace! I will not permit you to say anything against him; your words betoken horrid jealousy.'

'No,' said Hasse quietly, looking at her. 'My love was absorbed by the music, I loved the beautiful Faustina for her voice, and was entranced when I heard it or even thought of it.'

At that moment the door opened a little way, and then closed again immediately, but Faustina had perceived who was there and called him in. It was Watzdorf, the same who had called Brühl to the Prince. His figure and movements resembled those of the bandit of the fancy dress ball. For a courtier the expression of his face was unusual, an ironical smile, merciless and biting, overspread his features, which were illumined by piercing eyes.

'I thought,' said he, entering and smiling to Faustina, 'that you had not yet heard what had happened.'

'But it was announced urbi et orbi by the sound of the bells,' replied the Italian approaching him.

'Yes, but the bells ring all the same for funeral or wedding; you might even suppose that a princess was born and that they called you to rejoice.'

'Poor King,' Faustina sighed.

'Yes,' said Watzdorf maliciously, 'he lived long, had at least three hundred mistresses, scattered millions, drank rivers of wine, wore out plenty of horses' shoes, and cut off many heads--was it not time after such labour to lie down to rest?'

None ventured to interrupt the speaker; Hasse eyed him furtively.

'What will happen next?' asked Faustina.

'We had an opera called Il re Augusto, we shall now have a new, but will it be a better one? The daughter of the emperors, Padre Guarini, Padre Salerno, Padre Toyler and Padre Kopper. Faustina shall sing as she used to sing before; Hasse shall compose operas as he composed before. It will be worse for us court composers when the first rôles are taken by foreign pages and foreign lackeys.'

Hasse bowed and said in a low voice:

'Enough! Enough! Suppose someone should be listening at the door. It is dangerous even to listen to such a speech as yours!'

Watzdorf shrugged his shoulders.

'Where were you in March last year?' asked Faustina carelessly.

'I? In March? Wait--well--I don't remember.'

'I see you were not in New Market Square where the drama entitled "Major d'Argelles" was played.'

Watzdorf said nothing.

'Don't you remember that d'Argelles who spoke the truth invariably, sparing no one? I could see him from a window. I pitied the poor man whom they put in the pillory surrounded by the crowd. The executioner broke a sword over his head, gave him two slaps on the face, and thrust into his mouth a bunch of his libellous writings. Then he was incarcerated in Kaspelhouse in Dantzig till his death.'

'An interesting story,' said Watzdorf ironically, 'but I pity more the man who acted so cruelly towards Major d'Argelles.'

Watzdorf looked at Faustina triumphantly and continued,

'Signora Faustina, during the morning you will be able to rest and get strength for your voice so as to be able to charm the new king and rule over him as you ruled over the deceased. And I can tell you that it will be an easier task. Augustus the Strong was a great seducer, whilst his son is fond of smoking the same pipe; when they hand him a new one he shakes his head, and if he could he would be angry.'

He laughed and continued:--

'Well, I am not needed here, you know all about it, and I must hasten to get my mourning suit ready for to-morrow. I must show my sorrow outwardly if I cannot within; no one can see into my heart.'

'I have forgotten,' said he suddenly turning from the door to Faustina, 'to ask you how you stand with Sulkowski? To-morrow he ascends the throne, and to-morrow also Brühl will either return to Thuringia or accept the position of a lackey in order to overthrow him at the opportune moment. Brühl and Padre Guarini are the best of friends.'

Hasse called 'hush!' Watzdorf suddenly covered his mouth with his hand.

'Is it not allowed? I am silent then.'

Faustina was confused. 'Signore,' said she, coming near him, 'you are incorrigible. Be careful.'

She placed a finger on his lips.

'I fear nothing,' said Watzdorf sighing. 'I have no other ambition than to remain an honest man, and should they put me in Königstein I will not be tempted to change my opinion, it is worth something.'

'I hope you may not be your own prophet,' said Hasse clasping his hand. 'Think what you please, but say nothing.'

'There would be no merit if I did not try to spread my thoughts among people,' answered Watzdorf already at the door. 'I wish you a very good-night.'

And he disappeared.

'There is no doubt that he will end in Königstein, or if there should be no room for him there, then in Sonnenstein or Pleissenburg.'

And Hasse sighed.

[CHAPTER VII]

The next morning one could hardly see any signs of grief or mourning in the town, but a general feeling of uneasiness and curiosity had been aroused.

Small groups of people might be seen near the castle and in Taschenburg trying to guess what was going on.

There was unusual animation but the order of changing guards was unchanged. Carriages with drawn curtains and closed porte-chaises went to and fro through the streets. It was a quiet, subdued animation, however. The official signs of mourning did not yet appear, and there was no grief visible on any face. Every courier on horseback was an object of curiosity to the crowd who tried to guess his errand. The people whispered but did not dare to speak aloud. Königstein was near, and it seemed that at the head of the government the same officials would remain, carrying out the same policy, for the Prince, the present Elector, out of respect to his late father would not introduce any strangers, and he was too fond of peace and quiet to be bothered with changes. They guessed only that Brühl might fall and that Sulkowski would rise above all. But no one knew how he would exercise his power.

Round Brühl's house situated in the New Market Square everything was quiet. They only knew that, the day before, he had brought the crown jewels and the King's secret archives.

The whole day passed in this apparent quiet. The smaller officials did not know to whom they should bow or whom avoid.

Henniche, Brühl's confidential man, that ex-lackey whom although promoted to the rank of councillor the people still called by that name, was sitting in his house situated near that of his protector.

At the time of his marriage Henniche never dreamt of how high he might rise, for he had married a servant, whose only claim to his favour was youth and some slight beauty. To-day, when both had disappeared, Henniche's wife although a good woman was a veritable torture to her husband, for she bore such evident traces of her low origin, that he could not bring her forward. Notwithstanding her love for her lord and master, she tormented him by her talkativeness and petty ways. He had only just got rid of her and yawned leaning on his elbows, when there entered his room, without being announced, a good-looking man, elegantly dressed--although already in mourning--and evidently a courtier.

From, his face one could not guess much more than that he was an intelligent and cunning man, two qualities necessary for a life among intrigues, which, like the wheels of passing carriages, might catch and crush a man.

The new-comer threw his hat on a chair, took out a snuff-box and handing it to Henniche, who looked at him inquisitively, said:

'Well, what do you think, how will it be?'

'I don't think anything; I wait and watch,' answered Henniche quietly.

'You think, Brühl?'

They looked into each other's eyes.

'What does the world say?' asked Henniche.

'Everybody says that which he wishes for; some say that Brühl will be driven away and perhaps imprisoned; others say that Brühl will remain and drive out the rest. And what do you think?'

'I told you, I don't think anything,' answered Henniche. 'Should they succeed in overthrowing Brühl, I shall help them: should Brühl be successful in overthrowing them, I shall help Brühl. Thank God, I am not yet in so high a position, as to break my neck, should I fall down.'

The new-comer laughed.

'The fact is that the only safe policy is to wait and not mix oneself up in anything.'

'Yes, yes, my dear councillor Globig,' said Henniche rising, 'it's dangerous to go forward as well as to remain in the rear; the wisest course is to remain in the middle. But, between ourselves, I wager you anything you like--even my wife against another better-looking one, for she tried me to-day by her prattle--that Brühl will not fall and that nobody will be able to rival him: from to-day begins the reign of Brühl I, and let us pray that it lasts as long as possible. We shall both be satisfied. But you must have come from the castle? What news there?'

'Nothing, quiet as the grave; they prepare for mourning, that's all. Padre Guarini passes from the Prince to the Princess; Sulkowski watches them closely, and as to Brühl, I don't even know what has become of him.'

'He will not be lost,' said Henniche.

'It seems that the Princess will not be satisfied if she becomes only the wife of an Elector.'

'Brühl shall make her a Queen,' said Henniche laughing.

At that moment horses' hoofs resounded in the street; both men rushed to the window, in time to see a detachment of cavalry gallop to the castle. A court lackey entered the house. Henniche ran to the door; Globig took his hat. There was a knock and the lackey appeared holding a letter in his hand. Henniche glanced at it and Globig looked inquisitively at the message but could not read it, for their host put it into his pocket and dismissed the lackey.

Again they remained alone.

'There is no secret,' said Henniche smiling, 'a great deal of money is needed. It is not forthcoming but must be had.'

Globig advanced towards the door; Henniche took up his hat.

'Henniche, I hope we shall always pull together.'

'Even if we have to fall,' said the host smiling ironically.

'That is not necessary,' answered Globig quickly. 'On the contrary, if one of us should fall, the other must remain and help him to rise. We must climb together.'

'And if we fall, push each other down.'

'No, we should require no help from each other for that.'

They shook hands.

Henniche was just going out when he met a new-comer in the ante-room; this was a tall man with thin arms and long legs and an ugly but intelligent face.

'Look, he is here also,' said Henniche laughing.

The tall man entered bowing.

'Well, what news? Do we fall or rise?'

'You must be patient and wait,' said the host.

'When there is the question of our skins!' answered the new-comer.

'My dear councillor Loss, our skins sown together would not cover a comfortable seat. Everything rests on someone who has broader shoulders than ours. Have you heard anything?'

'Just what everyone expected; Sulkowski is prime minister.'

'Very interesting indeed!' Henniche hissed. 'Sulkowski, being a Catholic, cannot preside at state councils in Protestant Saxony, unless he becomes a Lutheran, and should he do this the Prince would spit in his face, not to speak of the Princess.'

'You are right,' said Councillor Globig, 'I never thought of that.'

'You forget,' said Loss showing a row of long teeth, 'that his majesty can change the law.'

'Without convocation of the diet?' asked Henniche.

'Yes, here he is ruler,' replied Loss, 'and Saxony is not Poland, where the nobles do as they please and the King is obliged to bow to their will.'

Henniche cleared his throat, for steps were heard at the door and at that moment there appeared a large, fat man, who without taking off his hat, looked at the three men.

He was another councillor. Hammer.

'What is it, a diet?' said he slowly uncovering his head.

'This is quite unexpected,' said Henniche angrily 'speaking frankly, one would think that we conspire.'

'Who does anything to-day? The work will not begin till to-morrow,' said Hammer. 'To-day everyone thinks of himself and makes a compromise with his conscience, lest he should seem to be against the rising sun by saluting the setting one; it is well known that if one turns one's face towards the West, one turns something else to the East.'

They all laughed.

'Hammer,' said Globig, 'you who know everything, tell us, what news have you?'

'Bells, bells, bells!' answered Hammer. 'Even if I knew anything I would not say, for who knows to-day, who is his friend and who his foe? One must be silent, one must cry with one eye and laugh with the other and be silent, silent! Henniche has his hat,' said he after a pause, 'are you going out?'

'I must,' said the host, 'duty!'
^Yes! it is the most important thing,' said Hammer. 'To-day, everybody serves himself--there is no more exacting master.'

'Don't you know anything new?' said Globig in a low voice coming near Hammer.

'On the contrary, I have much news, but I shall not tell it, except one item.'

All drew nearer.

'We Saxons do not count at present, Poles are the most important. They are sure of the succession to the principality of Saxony, but to get the Polish crown Sapiechas, Lipskis, Czartoryskis, Lubonirskis, Moszynskis, and Sulkowskis are necessary.'

'You have put Sulkowski last?'--asked Loss ironically.

'For this reason, that he should be at the head,' said Hammer; 'and now, gentlemen, I wish you good-bye.'

He put on his hat and went out first followed by the others. The host remained behind evidently wishing to go alone.

At the door of the house everyone of them looked round cautiously, and they all went in different directions.

In the square could be seen groups of people and soldiers marching. The same curiosity was aroused in other houses of the capital of Saxony, but until the evening nobody could say anything for certain.

The dusk was falling, when a porte-chaise stopped at the house in which Padre Guarini lived. He was in the same room in which we saw him previously with Brühl. Here, the confessor to the Prince and Princess, the most powerful although the most modest man in the court, received his friends. The modest old man would have contented himself with a couple of rooms, but as he was obliged to receive many distinguished guests, he occupied the whole house. According to the rank of his visitor, he received him either in his study or his drawing-room, the latter being beautifully furnished and ornamented with pictures by old masters.

A tall man alighted from the porte-chaise dressed in dark clothes and wearing a sword. By his face one could see he was a foreigner; his features were delicate, aristocratic but faded. A sweet smile brightened his face. His forehead was high and white, his eyes were large and dark; a Roman nose, thin lips, and a clean shaven face showed that he was a man of gentle birth. He wore a black cloak and white lace cuffs to his dress.

He ran upstairs, rang the bell, and when Guarini's old servant opened the door, he entered without asking any questions and without giving his name. The old servant hastened to open not the door of the study but that of the drawing-room.

The room was dark and unoccupied, but Padre Guarini entered almost at the same moment; not a little surprised at seeing the new-comer, he bent his head humbly and crossed his arms on his chest.

The stranger drew near and they kissed each other's shoulders, Guarini bending almost to his hand.

'You didn't expect me,' said the guest, 'I did not know myself that I should come to-day. You can guess what brings me here--the present situation is of the greatest importance.'

'Yesterday I sent a letter asking for instructions,' answered the host.

'I have brought them to you. Lock the door. We must be alone.'

'It is not necessary,' answered Guarini, 'we are quite safe here.'

'Then let us not waste time! How do things stand? What is going to happen? Are you afraid of anything? Do you need any help? Speak and let us be advised beforehand.'

Guarini became silent, weighing that which he was going to say. Although the stranger wore civil dress, he said to him:

'Most Reverend Father, you know as well as I do the state of affairs at the court. The Prince is a zealous Catholic, the Princess, if it were possible, is still more zealous. The first favourite Sulkowski is also a Catholic. Everyone about them confesses to our holy faith.'

'But Sulkowski! I heard that he will be the most important figure in the future. The Prince is good, of weak character, and lazy, consequently someone must rule for him. Can we trust Sulkowski?'

Guarini became thoughtful, looked into the eyes of the stranger, put one hand on his mouth and shook his head.

'He is a Catholic,' said he after a pause, 'but he is cold, his ambition is stronger than his faith; his longer influence would be perilous both for us and Catholicism. There is no doubt.'

'But, as far as I know, it is impossible to overthrow him,' said the guest. 'Is the Princess strong enough?'

'By her face and character?' whispered the Jesuit. 'Do you think, then, that in that quiet nature of the Prince, there will ever arise the blood and the passions of Augustus the Strong? Is it possible? Then of what account would the Princess be? Sulkowski will suggest other women to him, in order to rule through them.'

The stranger frowned.

'Your views are too gloomy,' said he 'we must find some remedy.'

'I have thought it over beforehand,' began Guarini seating his guest on the sofa and taking a chair beside him. 'We must have near the Prince a man whom we can be sure will serve us, who would also depend upon us. Frederick is lazy, we must make him a soft bed, provide him with his favourite amusements, give him operas, hunting and pictures. Who knows, perhaps something more,' said he sighing.

Again the stranger frowned.

'It is too bad,' he interrupted, 'that for so great a purpose, we must use base means; it is sad--'

'Cum finis est licitus, etiam media licita sunt,' quoted Guarini quietly. 'We cannot limit the means: they are different in every case.'

'I understand,' said the guest, 'it is of the greatest importance that we do not expose ourselves to calumny. The question is about the salvation of our souls, about holding our position here, where previously Luther was omnipotent. We have tools, it would be sinful if we dropped them for the sake of scruples, we must rather lose one soul than sacrifice thousands.'

Guarini listened humbly.

'Father,' said he quietly, 'I have told myself the same a hundred times, and that is why I serve as best I can, not always in the direction conscience would direct, but often like a pulcinello of the Prince, like an impresario behind the stage, like a councillor there, where advice is necessary. When the question is how to take a stronghold, and when one cannot take it by force of arms, one takes it by strategy. Media sunt licita.'

'We don't need to repeat that to each other,' said the guest. 'Tell me all about your plans.'

'We must act with caution,' began Guarini. 'You must not be scandalised at our actions; sometimes you will have cause to sigh over our wickedness, but weak people must be guided by the cords of their own passions.--We are sure of the Princess; our first duty is, if possible, to make her influence stronger. But that most pious lady, I am forced to admit, is the most unbearable in private life, and the King must have some distraction, for he could not live without it. If we do not furnish it, he will supply it for himself--'

He paused and then continued:

'Sulkowski will not listen to anybody, he will sacrifice everything for himself; in order to keep the King under his domination, he will give him everything he wishes for. We never can be certain of him; we must overthrow him.'

'By what means?'

'I shall come to that; Providence has given us a tool. We have a man. Brühl is that man.'

'Protestant,' said the stranger.

'He is a Protestant in Saxony and publicly; but in Poland and in his private life he is a Catholic. We must permit that; you know what our Maldonatus says:--Onando vobis dissimulantibus religio vera aliquod detrimentum acceptura sit aut aliqua religio falsa confirmaretur, alias ittam dissimulare licet, aliqua causa legitima interveniente.[^[1]] Brühl shall be or rather is a Catholic. We shall find him a Catholic wife, whom he will accept from the Prince's and our hands; we shall help him to overthrow Sulkowski; with Brühl we are lords here. Nobody will suspect that we have had a hand in the matter, for nobody could suspect us of helping a Protestant against a Catholic.'