At the beginning of the eighteenth century Berlin was a small city. It
had only been recently built, and its principal characteristic was
cloister-like order and tranquility. It was full of soldiers.
Everything was prescribed, the business transactions as well as the
pleasures. No other city could be more melancholy, after gay Dresden,
than was Berlin. In the larger streets there were rows of houses, built
there by order. The city was quiet and empty, although it already had
five districts and large poor suburbs. Here and there stood palaces
built in a pretentious but tasteless style. In Spandau shone the
Queen's Montbijou; in Stralause, the King's Belvidere.
Here everything was new, like the state itself: the oldest buildings
were thirty years old. A few statues were erected in this desert; a
couple of large squares were waiting for animation.
One bridge had been built across the Spree--it was called "New Bridge,"
and instead of Henry IV., they put on it the Elector Friedrich Wilhelm.
They began to build the King's castle, and its architect, Schluter,
ornamented it with so many garlands, that its walls could not be seen
beneath them.
Berlin had then the beginnings of a great city; it wanted only life and
people. A theatre, library, and museum were hurriedly built, and filled
as they could with what they could. In the meantime they did not spend
their gold in manufacturing porcelain; they purchased soldiers instead,
paying their weight in gold for them. And, in fact, the most
interesting thing in Berlin was the army--drilled like a machine,
regular as a watch, moving like one man.
Here one could see the battalion of the biggest and tallest
grenadiers--the most famous in the world--composed of men of every
nationality, and an example of the perfection that the mechanics of
militarism can reach. Those big grenadiers were well paid, although the
strictest economy was applied to other things.
Berlin, after Dresden, looked like a monastery after a theatre. When
Cosel's carriage entered the streets of the capital, and the beautiful
Countess glanced at those dusty and empty thoroughfares, her heart was
ready to break; but she expected to find peace here: here she wanted to
wait for the change of her lot.
A servant sent ahead had already rented a house, which, after the
palaces she was used to, appeared poor to her, although it was only
cold and uninhabited.
The next day Zaklika arranged it as comfortably as he could, while
Cosel sat in a corner and dreamed of her brilliant past.
But in Berlin nobody could remain incognito. The third day Zaklika
announced to her the visit of Marshal Wartesleben, the governor of
Berlin; and another marshal, Natymer, commandant of the gendarmes,
often passed through the street and looked at the house.
It was known in high circles that the dweller in that house was the
Countess Cosel, and her arrival was agreeable, for they knew also that
a considerable amount of money came for her to the banker Liebmann.
Notwithstanding the good relations existing between Dresden and Berlin,
Cosel would not expect still to be persecuted here. Only here, in that
silent solitude, amid the city that slept at dusk, did her misfortune
appear in its full size.
Her heart was filled with bitterness. She spent the days sitting
motionless, looking at the wall and thinking about her past.
She was asking herself whether it was possible that one could forget
true love, and pay for happy moments with ingratitude. The King's
character seemed to be a monstrous conundrum. She recollected his
tenderness, the proofs of his attachment to her, his oaths--and she
could not understand how he could change.
She had doubts about the man, who seemed to her to be a wild animal.
She could not understand how he could go back on the past, and
contradict his former conduct towards her. She asked herself whether
she had done anything so bad that she might look upon her present
downfall as a penance for her sins.
A few days later Zaklika entered her room, although she had not called
him. Cosel looked at his sad face, and asked,--
"Some bad news?"
"It seems that there is no good news for you in this world," answered
he. "Spies already surround the house, and I wanted to tell you to be
careful. If I am not mistaken, sooner or later somebody will come and
offer you his friendship; you must be careful what you say."
The Countess frowned.
"You ought to know me by this time, I cannot lie even by silence. I had
the courage to tell him the truth to his face; I shall have it now, and
shall tell the truth to any one who is willing to listen."
"What benefit will it be to you to make them angry?" said he sadly.
The stubborn woman said not a word more, and Zaklika left the room.
Three days after this an elegant young man asked to be announced to the
Countess.
It was the Baron von Sinen.
The Countess knew him well in Dresden, and she told the servant to show
him in.
He said he was very much surprised, while visiting Berlin, to hear the
Countess was there.
Cosel looked ironically into his eyes and asked,--
"And where were you when I was leaving Saxony?"
"I was in Dresden the very evening that you made that poor thing
Denhoff faint; but then I could not inquire what had become of you."
"I am glad you could forget me," said Cosel, "as I do not wish for
anything but to be forgotten."
"I think," said Von Sinen, "that they would be glad also to be certain
that you have forgotten the wrongs they did to you."
There was silence for a moment, then Von Sinen whispered,--
"I could tell you much interesting news."
It seemed that he wanted to gain Cosel's confidence.
"I am not curious," said Cosel, smiling sadly. "I have no interest in
anything now."
"We enjoy ourselves immensely," continued Von Sinen, as if he had heard
nothing. "It is nothing new to you, who participated in so many
splendid feasts; but--" Evidently he wanted to make her speak. Cosel
was silent.
"The place is very well known to you," continued the Baron, "for in
Laubegast--"
"I lived there happily," whispered Cosel.
"Flemming gave a great feast to the King and Denhoff--on the plain near
Laubegast, opposite Pillnitz."
"Ah!" exclaimed Cosel.
"In the first place six regiments went there," continued the visitor.
"On the hills they placed cannon, and disposed the army in such a way
that the Court might see the imitation of a battle. Everything
succeeded admirably. The regiments advanced firing, and although, with
the exception of a few who were trampled on, nobody was killed, one
could have sworn the battle was a real one. The King was looking at the
spectacle, Denhoff was beside him, he was surrounded by a splendid
Court."
Cosel smiled ironically.
"Not far off they put up magnificent tents. Under one of them the King
dined with the Countess Denhoff, Pociej, Bielinska, and the cream of
the Court."
"Were you there?" asked Cosel sneeringly.
The Baron blushed.
"No, I was in another tent," replied he; "but I saw everything very
well. Several bands of music played during the dinner, and every toast
was announced by a salvo of cannon."
"How charming!" interrupted Cosel. "And that is the end of it?"
"No, it is only the beginning. When the dinner was over they did not
clear the tables, as Flemming wanted to give the rest to the soldiers;
but as there was not enough bread for them, he ordered a silver thaler
to be put in every small piece of bread. Then they sounded the bugle
for the attack. The soldiers marched in military order towards the
tables, but the first ranks were broken by the following, the second by
the third, and so on. The tables were upset, heaps of soldiers were
sprawling on the ground. The spectacle was magnificent; we split our
sides with laughter. Then the retreat was sounded.
"When evening came, dancing began, and lasted till seven o'clock in the
morning. During the whole time Flemming was going from guest to guest
with a bumper, praying them to drink. He himself was drunk first, and
when the King started to go, he threw his arms round his neck and
exclaimed, 'Brother, dear brother, if you leave me now, our friendship
is gone,' and to our great surprise the King was not offended at such
familiarity."
"For he did not want to spoil his amusement," said Cosel, laughing
sarcastically. "But when he is tired of a man he only nods, the man
disappears and the comedy is over."
She began to walk to and fro. The Baron said,--
"I do not wonder at your bitterness."
"Yes," she broke in, "if I had no heart--if I did not feel the wrong,
but tried to make a bargain of it, I could talk differently. But I did
not profit by the example left for me by Haugwitz, Aurora, Esterle and
Teschen, who went hand in hand at Leipzig fair."
She laughed spasmodically.
"No, I am different. I thought there were hearts, souls, consciences;
that love was not lechery, that promises ought to be kept, that the
King's words were holy. All that was only my illusion. Consequently,
while the other women are happy, I am dying of humiliation, longing,
and shame."
The Baron von Sinen was moved and confused by the complaints of that
still beautiful woman. Cosel noticed it.
"Listen," said she, "I know that you came here neither from curiosity
nor in sympathy, but by order."
"Madam!" exclaimed he.
"Do not interrupt me, but listen! I forgive you, for every one of you
cares more for a career than to be men. Repeat to them what you have
heard from me; let them know what I think of them; and if you wish to
be well rewarded, tell the King that you have heard from Anna Cosel's
own lips that she will do as she told him, she will shoot him for his
treachery and unfaithfulness. In one, two, ten years, the first time I
meet Augustus, I shall fire at him. I always have a pistol with me, and
shall not discard it until I have accomplished my vengeance."
The Baron was mortally pale.
"Countess," he exclaimed, "you force an honest man to be a traitor. I
am a nobleman, and I am in the King's service. I shall be obliged to
repeat what I have heard from you. It is my duty!"
"That is what I wanted you to do," said Cosel.
"But it would give to your numerous foes a new weapon."
"One less or more does not amount to anything. They use lies, calumny,
treachery. The villains feel in me a being that cannot suffer their
villainies; my honesty is a continual reproach to them. How can they
forgive a woman who did not wish to be as soiled as they are?"
She laughed bitterly, while the Baron felt very uneasy. During that
conversation her eyes were in turn wet with tears and burning with
fire. Cosel possessed all the characteristics of Medea--everything that
an ideal turns into reality. When she became silent, the chamberlain
still stared at her as if he were mesmerized.
"I am very sorry indeed," said he at last, "that you force me to
contribute to your misfortune." And he was sincere there.
"No one can make my misfortune greater," said she. "You are mistaken if
you think that I regret the loss of palaces and luxury. No! I suffer
because I have lost my faith in a human heart. Give me back his heart,
and I will give up for it the crown of the world. I loved him! My whole
life was bound up in him--he was my hero; he was my god; but the hero
turned clown, his godhead is smirched."
The Baron tried to tranquilize her, but she cried,--
"O my golden dreams, where are you?"
Von Sinen could hold no longer. Pity was stronger within him than any
other consideration.
"I implore you," said he, "to go away from here! I can say no more."
"What!" said Cosel. "Is it possible that even here I am threatened?
Would the King of Prussia surrender a woman as Augustus surrendered
Patkul?"
Von Sinen stood silent; it was evident he could not say any more.
"Where is there to go?" she murmured to herself. "I could not live too
far from him; my heart still longs for him. Let them do with me what
they please. I am disgusted with life. They have taken away my
children--they have left me only bitterness."
The chamberlain had seized his hat.
"I pity you," said he; "but as long as you do not change your
sentiments your friends can do nothing for you."
"My friends?" said she, ironically.
"You have more than you think," said the visitor. "I am the first."
"What! You my friend! I could find three or four such as you are. They
are willing to console the widow and share her riches!"
Von Sinen was so confused that he could not answer. He bowed distantly,
and, pursued by Cosel's scornful looks, left the room.