The reign of Countess Cosel (she had already obtained the title of
Francis I.) promised to be a long one. Having obtained a written
promise of marriage from the King, she considered herself a second
Queen, and as such she acted. She was almost always in Augustus'
company, and she was ready alike for a journey or for war. No peril
caused her the least alarm.
Soon she knew his character, and was able to discern all the threads of
intrigue. She kept him constantly entertained by her calmness of mind
and unfailing gaiety; she ruled over him, and gained fresh influence
over him every day.
It was soon clear to every one that Cosel was invincible. If the
frivolous King forgot her for a few moments, she knew perfectly how to
hasten out to meet him and within a few hours had regained her former
influence over him. Her beauty seemed to increase rapidly. In vain did
jealous women look for some change in her appearance, for some
weariness in her manner, she bloomed continually, as though perpetual
youth had been granted her.
The following year, the King ordered a palace to be built for her, near
to the castle. This building was a masterpiece of art. It was called
the Palace of the Four Seasons, for there were different apartments for
the different seasons; cool rooms for summer, and bright, warm, and
sunny ones for winter. The former were adorned with marble, the latter
with tapestry. The most costly and valuable articles that Europe could
supply in the way of furniture, trinkets, carpets, dresses, &c., were
to be found here. The army could not be paid, but the palace was
marvellous.
A splendid ball was given as a house-warming, and Countess Cosel,
covered with diamonds, victorious, and looking like some beautiful
goddess, leaned on the King's arm, whom, in secret, she called her
husband. Frivolous Augustus, although not entirely faithful, yet loved
Cosel best of all. She was indeed most bewitching, and foreigners who
saw her at the zenith of her glory spoke of her with enthusiasm.
Cosel extended her influence, and made friends with great ability, but
she could not overcome the jealousy and fear of those who had any
reason to be afraid of her. In vain the clergy, scandalized at the
King's open attachment to her, began to preach against beautiful
Bathsheba, and one day Gerber, a famous preacher of those times, spoke
against her so strongly that there was murmuring in church.
Throughout the whole day nothing was spoken of but Cosel Bathsheba. In
the evening the King's favourite was informed of the attack that had
been made on her by the preacher. Augustus, coming into her apartment,
found her weeping.
"What is the matter, my beautiful goddess?" he exclaimed, seizing her
hands.
"Your Majesty, I beseech you for justice," she replied, sobbing. "You
say that you love me, then protect me from public insult."
"What is the matter?" asked the King uneasily.
"I ask for the punishment of Gerber! An example must be made of this
arrogant priest, who does not even respect the crown. Gerber said I was
Bathsheba."
Augustus smiled.
"I am not Bathsheba, I have no wish to be her! I am your wife, my lord!
You must punish him," cried Anna, kneeling before him.
But Augustus only answered kindly,--
"A priest can say anything he likes once a week, and I can do nothing
to prevent him. Did he pronounce a single word outside the church, I
would punish him. The church shelters him."
Gerber was not punished, but he made no further mention of Bathsheba.
During those most disastrous years that followed, the King's love
increased. The wild Charles XII., a severe and merciless soldier, with
hair cut short, and wearing enormous boots that reached higher than his
knees, persecuted the King covered in velvet and lace, who skirmished
against him clad in golden armour.
Many marvels were told about him. Augustus listened, and was silent.
The Saxon Army was defeated. Despite the exertions of Flemming,
Prebendowski, and Dombski, the prestige of the most magnificent monarch
in Europe was diminishing in Poland. Countess Koenigsmark, a former
favourite, sent over a secret mission, but could accomplish nothing.
Charles XII. had no desire to speak either with her or with any one
else. Good fortune abandoned Augustus II. Bottiger could not make gold,
Hoym was unable to supply it, and Cosel wanted millions. The people,
not wishing to serve in the army, ran away and hid themselves in the
mountains, whilst the preachers vehemently denounced the robbery of the
country.
The nobility, although very respectful, resisted paying such heavy
taxes.
The King was frequently in a very bad humour, but it never lasted long,
for Cosel smiled and her lord's face brightened. Countess Cosel had no
allies, but she did not want them, she felt she was stronger than them
all. The courtiers were frightened.
Vitzthum alone still enjoyed the favours of the King and his favourite,
for he cared not for politics, and loved Augustus like a brother.
The years passed one after the other, full of various incidents.
Fortune was not yet tired of persecuting this most magnificent of
monarchs. The Swedes were victorious, and threatened to drive him from
his throne. Augustus resisted as best he could, grieved, and
endeavoured to counterbalance adversity by indulging in merry-making.
But hunting parties, banquets, balls, masquerades, and theatres, all
were suddenly interrupted by the news that the Swedes had invaded
Saxony. Charles XII. had pursued the enemy into his own country. Fear
seized on every one.
After the defeat at Frauenstadt isolated groups of deserters returned,
and these were captured and hanged, or shot down, for not having done
their duty. On September 1st Charles XII. invaded Saxony at the head of
twenty thousand men. It was impossible to fight against them, so they
were obliged to feed them. Augustus' small army escaped to Wuerzburgh.
Dresden, Sizendorf, Koenigstein, and Sonnenstein had garrisons.
With Charles XII. came the new King of Poland, Stanislaus Leszczynski.
Dresden was deserted. The Queen went to her family at Bayreuth, her
mother went to Magdeburg, and then to Denmark.
Augustus was obliged to resign the crown of Poland in favour of
Stanislaus Leszczynski, and in 1706 a treaty was signed at Altranstadt,
but the Swedes did not leave Saxony.
During the war, and all the bloody horrors that accompanied it,
Augustus remained still the same; love played the most important part
in his life. He lost kingdoms, but he conquered hearts. He still loved
the Countess Cosel, but whenever he was absent from her, he led a life
of dissipation. Now, more than ever, he required distraction, and his
courtiers, who wished to get rid of Cosel, did everything they could to
displace her in his affections.
Fuerstenberg, Countess Reuss, and the whole clique of her enemies,
disappointed in their ambitions, did their best to procure her
downfall. But, confident in her beauty, Cosel cared nothing for their
efforts. She only smiled at their vain attempts. Her relations with the
King were by this time further strengthened by the birth of a daughter.
The proud woman persuaded herself that Augustus could not find another
like her; she alone was capable of participating in his pleasures, and,
besides, she was afraid of neither firing, mad riding, nor campaigning.
Yet, while she was with him in Warsaw, the King betrayed her with the
daughter of a French wine merchant. Having learnt what had occurred,
Anna threatened the King that she would shoot him, but Augustus only
laughed, kissed her hands, and obtained forgiveness. In truth, despite
his side wooings, the King loved Anna best, she alone was able to amuse
him, and he was happiest when with her.
The war, the devastation of the country, the loss of the Polish crown,
did not diminish any portion of Cosel's luxury. Amidst all these
calamities the King played the role of demi-god with a serene
countenance. From the clatter of arms, Augustus, after having signed a
shameful treaty, returned to Dresden, and the carriage had scarcely
stopped in the courtyard of the castle, when he sprang out and rushed
to Cosel's apartment.
At the door of her room he found the faithful Zaklika, leaning against
a chair, plunged in deep thought. Seeing the King, Raymond sprang to
his feet, and stopped him.
"Your Majesty, the Countess is ill; she expects to be delivered."
The King pushed him aside and entered.
There was silence in all the rooms. At the door of the chamber Augustus
heard the sound of a baby crying. Cosel, white as marble, exhausted by
suffering, and unable to utter a word, stretched forth both her hands
and pointed towards the infant. The King took it in his arms, and
kissed it. Then he sat down beside the bed, and covered his face with
his hands.
"Anna," said he, "the world will look on me with contempt, and will
cease to love me. Good fortune has deserted Augustus; I am conquered,
defeated!"
"Augustus," said Anna, sobbing, "I shall love you more than ever, now
you are unhappy."
"I need such a consolation," rejoined the King gloomily. "My enemies
pursue me, my allies are helpless. Every one bows to the victors. I am
indeed most miserable."
Thus an hour passed; the sick woman needed rest. The King left her, and
was speedily surrounded by generals and ministers, Flemming,
Fuerstenberg, Plug, Hoym, and others, who all rushed to him, terrified
at the calamities that had fallen upon Saxony. They all looked at him,
searching for traces of grief. But egotism had stifled all feeling in
him; so long as he himself was well, he cared nothing for the rest; he
did not even blush.
On the 15th of December Augustus disappeared. He, Plug, and one servant
rode to Leipzic to see Charles XII., for the King was convinced that if
his stern adversary saw the serenity of his face and the magnificence
of his apparel, he would grant him better terms.
There could not have been a greater contrast than that presented by
these two enemies. Charles XII. looked like a Puritan, Augustus like a
courtier of Louis XIV. They saluted with great cordiality, and kissed
each other. Their private conversation lasted for an hour, and by the
time it was ended Augustus looked pale and exhausted.
That day spent with Charles XII. weighed heavily on the King, and he
never spoke of it to any one. The following day Charles returned his
visit; the treaty, however, remained unchanged.
The year that followed was a very hard one for the King, who was
anxious to get rid of the Swedes, even at a great sacrifice. Augustus
spent many weary days, travelling between Altranstadt, Moritzburg, and
Leipzic, trying to obtain the ratification of the treaty.
Augustus and Charles met frequently, but the latter never wished to
talk about politics; his secretaries, Piper and Cedermhiolm, were for
that.
The treaty was eventually ratified, but still the Swedes did not think
of leaving the country.
Without counting the burden of the enemy camping in his country, the
poor King really had a great deal to do. He hunted, loved, and
entangled himself in the intrigues of his courtiers in order to forget
his own misery.
But from time to time his serenity was clouded by Cosel's outbursts of
jealousy.
One day during her confinement, as the King was sitting by her bedside,
a servant came with the news that letters of importance had just
arrived. Augustus wished to go and read them, but Anna, ill and
capricious, prevailed on him to stay with her, and to allow the
Secretary, Bose, to come to her chamber and read them. The King
yielding to her despotic wish, Herr Bose was introduced.
He began by making His Majesty such a profound bow that his wig touched
the floor. He paid the same mark of respect to the sick lady, who,
wrapped up in lace, looked like a pale pink rose among snow.
Herr Bose whispered to the King,--
"Urgent, from Warsaw."
They both went to the window. Cosel, who had caught the word Warsaw,
looked at the King's face intently, trying to read there the contents
of the papers. With great respect, Herr Bose handed the King letter
after letter. At first they were all large, and sealed with great
seals. Cosel did not budge, but remained with her head resting quietly
on both her hands.
Suddenly Bose whispered to the King, and handed him a small letter. The
King opened it, read it, smiled, blushed, and then glanced
involuntarily at Countess Cosel.
Anna was sitting up in bed.
"What is in that letter?" she asked.
"State business," replied the King.
"May I see it?"
"No!" said the King coolly, continuing his reading.
Anna's face flushed, and, forgetful of the Secretary's presence, she
sprang out of bed, and seized the letter. The King grew confused, and
looked at the old man, who was likewise greatly embarrassed. This
violent scene so surprised him that he knew not what to do.
Cosel devoured the letter with her eyes, and then tore it into
fragments. Her presentiments were correct; the letter was from
Henriette Duval, for whom the King had betrayed Cosel at Warsaw. She
had written to her royal lover, telling him that she had been delivered
of a daughter, who afterwards became the famous Countess Orzelska. The
mother ended the letter by asking what she was to do with the child.
"Drown her!" screamed Cosel.
The King laughed, Anna wept, Bose bowed and began a retreat towards the
door.
"Cosel, for Heaven's sake, be quiet," said the King, coming over to
her.
"What?" she screamed. "You dare to betray me; you to whom I consecrated
everything!"
It was not the first scene of the kind, but this time it lasted longer
than ever before. It was in vain that Augustus kissed her hands,
promising everything.
"What is it you wish me to do?" he exclaimed.
"If you write a single word to that impertinent woman, I shall take the
post, and go straight to Warsaw. I will kill both mother and child. I
swear I will!"
To pacify her, the King promised everything. He would have nothing
further to do with her; would forget her existence; would leave the
unfortunate woman to the caprice of fortune.