No one would ever have known of that scene, for it was Bose's policy
always to keep his tongue behind his teeth, had not the weary King
gathered a few of his companions together, that he might find
distraction in their conversation. After drinking a second and a third
bumper, the King began to laugh and look towards Fuerstenberg.
"What a pity," said he, "that you did not bring those papers this
morning, instead of Bose; perhaps you would have made it up with Cosel
had you seen her as that old man had the good fortune to do."
"But the Countess has not yet left her bed," returned the Prince.
"She sprang from her bed, though, to tear the letter poor Henriette had
sent me, from my hand. She is so jealous, that I should not be
surprised if one day she were to shoot me."
Fuerstenberg looked round cautiously, that he might be sure that only
those who hated Cosel were present, then he said,--
"Your Majesty, if the Countess Cosel is so jealous, she should be
careful to give you no cause for jealousy."
The King slowly raised his head, frowned, thrust out his lips, and
replied coldly,--
"The person who dares to make such assertions should weigh his words
well, and carefully consider the consequences. You must explain
yourself."
The Prince glanced round at his companions.
"I am ready to justify my words. All of us here present have seen how
the Countess conducted herself during your Majesty's absence. The
palace was always full of guests and admirers, amongst whom the Count
Lecherenne enjoyed especial favour. Sometimes he was seen leaving the
palace about midnight."
The King listened with apparent indifference, but those who knew him
well, could see that the dart had stung him.
"It is the voice of jealousy speaking through you," said Augustus. "You
do not like Cosel, and you would be glad to see her shut up in one
room. Naturally she longed for my return, and required some
distraction, and you must allow that Lecherenne is amusing."
"Your Majesty," said the Prince, with well-feigned simplicity, "I had
no intention to be an informer. I enjoy your Majesty's favour, and I do
not care much about that of the Countess. But, being your Majesty's
devoted servant, I should be deeply grieved to see your great love
repaid with ingratitude."
Augustus looked gloomy. The wine cups were full, but no one raised one
to his lips; the conversation stopped, and the King rose.
Fuerstenberg understood that he had gone too far. Whenever Augustus
wished to get rid of a favourite, he was glad to hear something against
her. His anger on the present occasion was a proof that as yet Cosel
was not an object of indifference to him.
Not wishing to talk any more, Augustus nodded to his guests, and
retired to his chamber.
Fuerstenberg and the other courtiers regarded each other
sorrowfully--they feared the consequences of such a bold attack.
But an unseen witness had overheard the conversation; this was none
other than Zaklika, whom Countess Cosel had sent with a letter to the
King. Wearying of her solitude, she had written to the King, begging
him to come and see her, and had sent the faithful youth with the
message. No one save Zaklika was allowed to enter the room while the
King was merrymaking; unseen, he had entered the room, and stood behind
the great side-board, waiting until the conversation was ended to
deliver his letter. Thus he had overheard everything. The danger
threatening Anna gave him sufficient courage to leave the room without
handing the King the letter; he rushed back to his mistress's palace,
and tapped at the door of her chamber. She had just risen for the first
time. The moment he entered, she knew by his pale face that something
had happened.
"Speak!" she exclaimed. "Has something happened to the King?"
"No," replied Zaklika, and then he repeated all that he had heard.
Cosel listened, blushing, confused and offended; when he had finished,
she took the letter from him, and signed to him to withdraw. She left
her chamber and entered the drawing-room, the walls of which were
covered with pictures representing scenes in the life of the King. One
of them was a picture of the King's coronation.
As Cosel was gazing on it, her eyes filled with tears, steps were heard
approaching--it was Augustus. He walked quickly, and looked pale and
angry.
As though she had not noticed his entrance, Anna rose and approached
the picture.
"Well," said he angrily, "so you condescend to look at my portrait?
Surely it is a mistake? I cannot believe that I still receive such
honour."
"Your Majesty," replied Anna calmly, "it would be ridiculous to
suppose, that, being aware of all that makes you superior to other men,
any one else should attract my glance after you. The most frivolous
woman would be incapable of doing so. How could your Majesty have such
suspicions?"
"Yes," interrupted the King with trembling voice, "until to-day I
flattered myself, I thought--but appearances are deceiving, and the
caprices of a woman are in most cases difficult to understand."
The King's angry tones rejoiced Anna, for she was sure his jealousy
meant that he still loved her, but she pretended to be offended.
"I do not understand your Majesty," she said. "Will your Majesty please
to speak clearly, so that I may have a chance of justifying myself?"
"To justify," interrupted the King passionately, "there are some deeds
that cannot be justified. You wish to deceive me, but I have proofs."
"Proofs against me!" exclaimed the Countess, wringing her hands.
"Augustus! You torture me! Speak! I am innocent."
She threw her arms round his neck; he tried to push her away, but she
grasped his hand and began to weep.
"Have mercy upon me! Speak! Let me at least know why I suffer. Who has
dared to slander me?"
It took quite a long time to pacify the King, but her tears softened
him, and he made her seat herself beside him.
"Very well, then," said he, "I will tell you everything. Fuerstenberg
told me that the whole city was scandalized at your conduct towards
Lecherenne, whom you received every day, during my absence; he used to
spend whole evenings with you."
Cosel put on the air of an offended woman.
"Yes," she replied, "it is all true, Lecherenne is in love with me, but
I laugh at him. He amused me with his love, but I do not think I sinned
in listening to him. Your Majesty is mistaken in thinking that it is
enough for any one to be in love with me, to have my love in return.
But it is dreadful," continued she, wringing her hands again, "to think
that such a person as Fuerstenberg can shake your Majesty's faith in my
love."
She sank back on the sofa, weeping bitterly. The King was completely
disarmed; kneeling before her, he began to kiss her.
"Cosel, forgive me," he pleaded, "I should not be jealous, if I did not
love you. Fuerstenberg is the most poisonous snake at my court. Forgive
me! but I do not like your being even suspected."
Anna continued to weep.
"Sire," said she, sobbing, "remember that if you do not punish the
slanderers, they will soon attack your own person, which is so sacred
to us."
"Be content," replied the King. "I give you my word that I will not
suffer any one to slander you, my dearest."
Thus the scene ended. Cosel was obliged to promise that she would not
let Fuerstenberg know that she had learned of the accusation he had made
against her.
Thanks to Zaklika, Cosel was victorious.
The pacified King returned to his castle, but throughout the next
day he did not speak a word to Fuerstenberg. The Grand Master of the
court, Augustus Lecherenne, received an order to leave Dresden within
twenty-four hours.
This was such an unexpected blow to the young Count, that he was unable
to believe the tidings. He rushed immediately to see Countess Cosel.
When Zaklika went to announce his arrival to her, she blushed from fear
and uneasiness.
"Tell him," said she calmly, "that I cannot receive those whom the King
has banished--tell him, also," added she, lowering her voice, "that I
am sorry he has to go."
Saying this, she pulled from her finger a diamond ring that had been
given her by the King.
"Give him this ring from me," she whispered, turning her eyes away from
the faithful servant.
Zaklika turned pale.
"Countess," he ventured to say, in a muffled voice, "kindly excuse me,
but this ring is from the King."
Cosel, who could not brook the slightest contradiction, turned towards
him with a threatening glance and frowning brow.
"I do not ask you for advice, I give you an order and you have to
execute it," said she.
Zaklika left the room, confused; he waited for a few moments behind the
door. A few years back, a Bohemian noble had given him a costly ring,
similar to the one he now held, as a reward for his great strength.
Some presentiment caused him to change the rings; he gave his own to
Count Lecherenne, and hid the ring the Countess had given him, close to
his heart.
A few days later, the King entered Cosel's room while she was dressing.
As it was always her custom to wear that ring, the jealous lover
immediately noticed its absence.
"Where is my ring?" he asked.
Cosel began to search for it, while the King's face grew crimson.
"Where is it?" he repeated.
Cosel turned to her servant.
"I have not noticed it on your finger for four days," whispered the
maid.
Augustus counted the days. It was exactly four days since Count
Lecherenne had left Dresden, and had gone to the palace to take leave
of Cosel, a fact of which the King had been duly informed.
"Do not waste time searching for it," said he ironically, "I can tell
you where it is."
Cosel looked confused. The King broke forth in fury. He did not wish to
hear any explanation. The servants rushed out terrified, for the King's
voice resounded loudly throughout the palace. Fear took possession of
every one.
Cosel was just ready to faint, when a knock was heard at the door, and,
looking up, she saw the pale, sad face of Zaklika.
"I beg to be excused for entering," said he, "but the servants have
informed me that they cannot find the ring, which about an hour since I
picked up on the floor, and which I was only waiting for a proper
opportunity to return."
The King glanced at the ring, and was silent.
Cosel did not even look at Zaklika, she said not a word to Augustus,
but, placing the ring slowly on her finger, she cast an angry glance at
her lover, and walked into another room.
That was quite sufficient to calm the King, and make him seek her
pardon on his knees. He remained the whole day at the palace, thereby
hindering Cosel from summoning Zaklika, and demanding an explanation.
It was almost midnight when the King retired to his cabinet, where his
ministers were awaiting him. The King had barely quitted the palace,
before Cosel rang the bell, and ordered the servant to send Zaklika to
her.
As was his wont, the faithful Raymond was sitting in the ante-room,
reading a half-torn book. On seeing the servant he shivered. He had
saved Cosel, but he knew his action would be regarded as a sin.
Tremblingly he entered the lady's room. Cosel, beautiful as a goddess,
and proud as an absolute sovereign, was pacing up and down the room.
She frowned on seeing Zaklika, and stood before him threateningly.
"Who gave you permission to alter my orders?" she inquired.
Zaklika stood for a few moments with his eyes drooped, then, raising
them towards the Countess's face, he replied,--
"I am guilty, Madam. You remember Laubegast, and the devotion with
which I gazed on you from afar. This sentiment, cherished until now,
explains everything to you. I desired to save you."
"I require help from no one!" exclaimed Cosel severely. "I required you
to obey me, that is all, and I despise the sentiments of a servant!
They are offensive to me."
Zaklika's head drooped.
"Who told you that I cared more about your helping me to get out of
trouble than I did about Count Lecherenne not receiving the ring?"
"The Count received the ring," replied Zaklika, although he suffered
dreadfully at receiving such hard words.
"What ring?" demanded Cosel.
"One similar to yours. I had received one from Count Starenberg, and I
gave it to the Count!"
Cosel was astonished.
"You deserve some reward," she whispered.
"Not a reward, but forgiveness," said Zaklika. "I could not accept a
reward."
He retreated towards the door, and stood leaning against it. Cosel
watched him for some time. Evidently some change had come over her
sentiments, but pride prevailed.
She approached Zaklika, and handed him the ring that had been intended
for Lecherenne.
Then Raymond woke, as from a dream, and seeing the ring in her white
hand, he said,--
"I cannot accept it! It would always remind me that you were cruel to
me."
The ring disappeared, and instead, the white hand approached Zaklika's
lips.
He kissed it rapturously, and then rushed from the room like a madman,
and Countess Cosel was left alone, thoughtful, and with tears in her
beautiful dark eyes.
"It is thus that poor men love," said she to herself. "Kings are
different."
All this time the Swedes were still in Saxony. Charles XII. was
heartless and sardonic towards the King; severe towards the nobility;
and a grievous burden to the country, for his soldiers went about
catching men and enrolling them in the Swedish army. The treaty of
peace had been signed, but Charles XII. would not leave Saxony.
So many humiliations, so many sacrifices, exhausted the patience of
all, and caused despair in every heart. The arrogance of the Swedish
monarch, who rode through the country attended by twenty or forty
soldiers, disgusted every one.
One morning, when the King was busy presiding over a council of his
ministers, Count Schulenberg was announced. The old man was invited to
take part in the council, but he had no desire to speak, and begged a
private audience.
When they were alone, the King inquired,--
"General, do you bring me the good tidings that the Swedes are going to
leave us?"
"I am sorry that I cannot bring your Majesty such good tidings. But
there might be a way of getting rid of them."
"The only way I know of would be if Heaven sent us its army, with the
archangel Michael at its head."
"Your Majesty," interrupted Schulenberg, "I am sure that with a little
desperate courage we could rid ourselves of them, without the help of
the angels. There are twenty thousand Swedes scattered throughout
Saxony; it is but a mere handful, that one man's daring renders
terrible. Let us catch him, and the rest have lost their value."
"How can you say that? Catch him during peace, when he trusts us?"
"That is what makes our vengeance possible," replied Schulenberg. "I
have reconnoitred his quarters. They are very badly guarded. I could
attack them during the night, and seize him. I will convey him to
Koenigstein; if they besiege me, I shall not surrender. Then the King's
head will answer for my safety, and he will sign the treaty, as we wish
it to be signed."
Augustus listened attentively.
"Suppose you should not succeed?" he asked.
"In that case, the blame will fall on me, and not on your Majesty,"
replied the General. "I desire to save my country from the invaders."
"General," said the King, "I think you are dreaming. You know that I
respect knightly customs, and I cannot consent to your plans--I cannot!
I hate him, I should like to strangle him if I could get him into my
hands, but I cannot allow him to be attacked during the night. General,
this is not a business for Augustus the Strong!"
Schulenberg looked at him gloomily.
"Have they always acted in a knightly fashion towards your Majesty?"
"Ruffians such as they can do what they please; they are barbarians.
But Augustus, whom people call the Strong, and whom monarchs style the
Magnificent, will not stoop to employ such means."
The old soldier twisted his moustache, and saluted.
"But suppose some insubordinate soldier were to do it?" he asked.
"I should be obliged to defend my enemy, and to release him," exclaimed
Augustus.
"That is very noble and knightly," said Schulenberg sarcastically,
"but--"
He did not finish, but saluted respectfully.
The King took his hand.
"My dear General, give up that idea, and do not say another word about
it. I do not wish for victory at such a cost."
Schulenberg looked at him with his pale blue eyes, as though he would
ask whether the imprisonment of Imhoff and Pfingstein, and the
surrender of Patkul, about which Augustus had not hesitated, were
nobler deeds than this. The King must have understood the mute
reproach, for he blushed. After a moment of sad silence, Schulenberg
said,--
"We must try and get out of this difficulty by some act of despair. We
must risk our lives. We have nothing else to lose. We have lost a crown
that has cost us millions; the other is almost broken--what can happen
further?"
"What can happen?" said Augustus. "The arrogant youth will go further.
A few victories have given him a mad boldness, and he will be crushed
in some crazy enterprise for which he has not properly calculated his
strength. Why should we stain our name by trying to hasten that which
must most surely come to pass? Why should we not bear our adversity
patiently, so that in the end we may profit by that which some one else
has accomplished?"
"But in the meantime, Saxony suffers dreadfully," said the General.
"Yes, the poor people suffer," exclaimed the King. "But the people are
like the grass that is trodden down by the cattle; it is greener the
next year."
"But they are people," said Schulenberg.
"The crowd should not be taken into consideration," rejoined the King.
Silence followed, and the General took his leave. When he was gone, the
King threw himself into a chair, and was soon deep in thought.
After the surrender of Patkul his chivalrous sentiment was at the least
very peculiar.