Old Stolpen Castle was then in a half-ruined condition. The summits of
its towers had been destroyed by lightning, and the old building would
hardly shelter a small garrison. The commandant of the castle, Johan
Friederich von Wehlen, occupied one of the uncomfortable towers; the
other, called Johannisturm, was destined for the unfortunate favourite
of Augustus.
The former inhabitant of luxurious palaces was now obliged to be
satisfied with two rooms, one of which was intended as the kitchen, the
second for the Countess herself.
When she looked round this bare and dreary room, lighted by small
windows, she gave way to despair, and continued to weep so bitterly
that they were obliged to watch her continually. Her guards and
servants, specially chosen that they could not be bribed, stood
motionless at the sight of such an outburst of grief.
Wehlen, an old soldier, who never made war against women, lost his head
and patience. It was a hard thing for him to be severe on this
unfortunate, but still beautiful woman. The first day of Christmastide,
celebrated with such solemnity throughout the world, was spoiled for
him by the scene of despair. The sentries walking under the walls were
afraid of the crying and screaming of that unfortunate lady.
She spent the whole night in this way, till finally she fell upon the
bed, half-dead from exhaustion. The women whispered that she would die.
The third day Cosel rushed from the bed and asked for some paper; she
wanted to write to the King.
They had foreseen this wish, and the order was for all her letters to
be sent to Loewendahl. Augustus had strictly forbidden any communication
to be brought him from Cosel, and ordered her correspondence to be
burned; but she was not forbidden to write and to have some hope. Cosel
still believed in Augustus' heart.
When the first outburst of despair had passed, she looked around and
recognized the walls which had frightened her so much when she visited
them with the King. From the windows she could see the thick high walls
surrounding the castle, and in the distance the blue mountains covered
with woods, bare hills, and the country which looked as if it were
uninhabited.
This made her the prey to solitude, reminiscences, watching the
soldiers, harassing the servants who were at the same time her guards
and executioners.
Wehlen had received the strictest orders to watch her carefully, a
responsibility which in those days might cost him his own life. Those
who wrote the instructions, it is true, had recommended politeness
towards the woman; but the watchfulness must be so strict as to destroy
all hope of flight. At first glance such a thing as flight seemed
impossible. The castle was surrounded by high walls; the St. John's
tower was strong, and it had been lighted by so many windows that the
sentries walking beneath them could see what the prisoner was doing.
Two courtyards had to be crossed before the tower could be reached.
At the gateway were sentries; the castle was on a high mount dominating
the country, every one approaching it could be seen.
There was nobody except the commandant, two officers, a handful of
soldiers, and the Countess's servants in the castle. Nobody could enter
it without the commandant's special permission, and the gates were
always shut.
Old Von Wehlen, who had never seen the Countess, and concluded that the
King did not care for her because she was old, was amazed when he set
eyes on her for the first time. Cosel was then thirty-six years of age,
and God had granted her eternal beauty and strength. Her face bore no
traces of suffering, and perhaps she was never more charming than then.
The brightness of her eyes, the freshness of her complexion, her
majestic figure, and statuesque shape, made those who looked at her
wonder. In cynical disdain, and as if sneering at her present position,
Cosel assumed the manners and speech of a queen. She gave her orders,
and in her voice there was pride in proportion to her misfortune.
The days were long, weary and monotonous. Cosel filled them with
memories and sometimes with hope. She cursed Augustus' cruelty, but she
could not understand how the one who had loved her so tenderly could
become such a terrible executioner.
The letters that she wrote became by habit a necessity. By the silence
she knew that it was in vain, but at the same time she felt better when
she had committed her thoughts to paper, which could be only scorn for
other people.
When they had packed up her things in Nossen, some one had picked up
the old Bible, and the Countess was constantly reading its pages, in
which so many sorrows are expressed. Those stray leaves aroused in her
the desire to read the whole book. She sent to the commandant to buy a
Bible for her. He asked permission from Dresden; they ordered her
desire to be gratified; and from that time the Bible was constantly on
her table. In reading it she found, if not consolation, at least
forgetfulness. From it she learned that for thousands of years life had
been constant torture.
Thus she found the spring! The spring, which awakes everything to life,
was only going to prolong her sufferings. The swallows came to the old
nests to repair them again; the trees began to open their buds towards
the sun. Over the earth there blew a warm air, mingled with the scent
of flowers. Even around the castle some life appeared; the ploughmen
went freely to the fields--she alone could not move. Cosel used to stay
at the window for hours deep in thought, and did not notice that a
soldier, astonished at her beauty, would often look at her, and ask
himself what this angel-like woman could have done to merit
imprisonment. Old Von Wehlen, smoking his pipe on the ramparts, looked
also at her windows, and his thoughts were bitter; his heart heaved,
for he felt that he loved his lord Friederich Augustus less.
He pitied her. The space in which she could walk consisted of a small
room in the tower, which the sun could not warm.
At the foot of the St. John's tower there was a piece of land,
surrounded by the wall of the fortress--enough space for a comfortable
grave. In that corner there grew wormwood, wild thyme and wild pinks.
Wehlen thought it could be turned into a little garden; but to make the
garden, permission would be necessary, for it would make it pleasanter,
and to show pity for the rebellious woman would mean to make her
bolder. Consequently he made a garden for himself, thinking that the
Countess would at least look on the flowers.
Cosel looked from the window, and noticing that they were digging, she
withdrew, thinking that they were making a grave. Only when, after some
time, she perceived some flowers there, she smiled at them.
It seemed to her that if, instead of sitting on the stones, she could
rest on the earth, she would revive. The flowers could be her
confidants and companions; but considering herself a queen, she could
not ask for it--she preferred to suffer.
At last, considering that she could not escape from it, old Wehlen told
the servant to tell the Countess that she could go there. And when one
morning she went down to see her garden, the air seemed to intoxicate
her; she was obliged to lean for a while against the wall.
From that time she used to spend whole days in the garden, taking care
of the flowers, which she planted herself then.
Thus passed the spring and summer without any change or hope. There was
no answer to her letters; nobody came to see her. Out of an immense
fortune taken from her, they paid her about three thousand thalers,
which she could use as she pleased; but the commandant controlled all
her expenses, and she could not transact any business without his
knowledge.
Since coming to Stolpen she had been waiting for Zaklika; but month
after month passed, and there was no news from him. Once, however, a
Jew pedlar, who used to bring her different things, whispered to her
that the one who used to break the horseshoes was still alive, and that
she should see him. Those few words were sufficient to awaken in her a
slumbering hope.
In the meantime Zaklika was working constantly. His plans of
facilitating the escape of the Countess from Nossen being ruined, he
was obliged to begin anew. He knew that Cosel was imprisoned in
Stolpen.
This cruelty they tried to justify by spreading reports that Cosel,
when in Berlin, had tried to plot against the King's life, that she had
threatened to kill him, that she was mad, and called herself a queen.
And they ended in whispers that Augustus was ashamed of the levity with
which he had given her a promise of marriage although the Queen was
living. That promise, notwithstanding all efforts, they could not find
or get back. It was the first time that Augustus had acted with such
cruelty, and it frightened even the Countess Denhoff, although she
could not flatter herself that she was much loved by the King.
It was true that her court was quite brilliant, but her following had
no political weight. Even those who had helped her to rise, in order to
get rid of Cosel, kept away from her. Watzdorf alone, who thought
through her to overthrow Flemming, was attached to her, and served her
by asking the King for considerable sums of money, which she squandered
lavishly, sometimes spending 10,000 thalers on a ball. She was then
already not counting on the King's long-continued favours, and she
looked after Bosenval and the young Lubomirski, who seemed to be fond
of her.
Augustus' cold and sometimes cruel treatment of his best favourite
warned the others to be armed against the caprices of their lord,
who could take everything from them. Thus Hoym, the Countess Cosel's
ex-husband, whom the King needed but did not like, remembering the fate
of Beichling, Imhoff, and even his ex-wife, had sold his estate in
Saxony, sent away the money, and, resigning from the Saxon service, had
retired to Silesia.
With Denhoff the reign of omnipotent King's favourites was ended. The
actors of those comedies and dramas grew old and died out. The King
himself lost his taste for noisy amusements. Leipzig fair alone could
distract and animate him for a while.
Zaklika had been for a long time thinking of the best means to help
Cosel. He did not know Stolpen; he went to see it. He could stop safely
in the town, for they paid no attention to travellers. Here he learned
everything--who was the commandant of the castle, and that it was
difficult to get in.
Zaklika racked his brains to find a way, and he returned to Dresden
with the determination to act openly. He had plenty of acquaintances
from former times, but no friends. In the meantime, however, there came
some lords from Poland, through whose influence he might do something.
Zaklika thought that the best way would be to try to enter the military
service, and be sent to the garrison at Stolpen. The way was long and
difficult, but Zaklika had an iron will and boundless self-sacrifice.
With the Polish lords his old name was of itself a good recommendation.
When he appeared at the Court, they were quite surprised, for they knew
he had been with Cosel; but no one asked him what he had been doing
since her downfall. Zaklika told every one that he had been in Poland
for some time. When the Bishop of Cracow, Sieniawski, came to Dresden,
Zaklika decided to try through him to purchase a grade of captain in
the Saxon army.
On the Bishop mentioning Zaklika's name to the King, Augustus frowned,
but ordered him to be called. He had not seen him for several years,
and found him greatly changed. He looked at him suspiciously, but
finding him bold but quiet, and learning that he left the Countess of
himself, he raised no objection to his entering the army. The only
question was to purchase the commission, which he soon was able to do.
Zaklika had saved some money; he soon concluded the bargain with the
German, and once again he wore a uniform, still more magnificent than
before.
Great disorder reigned in the Saxon army; sometimes officers did not
see their regiments for years; they preferred to remain in the capital,
and boast before the women about their marvellous bravery. They did not
respect orders, and led a dissipated life. All that was the worst in
the country served in the army; adventurers, gamblers, usurers,
blacklegs. The generals lived on the soldiers, and the latter, being
driven to despair, and following the example of their officers, lived
as they could.
Such disorder was favourable to Zaklika for carrying out his plans with
money, and it was not difficult, having become acquainted with
comrades, to find the way to replace some one in the garrison of
Stolpen, which was considered a horrid prison.
Old Wehlen being, as he learned, a quiet and a good man, continually
playing draughts and smoking tobacco, would not be difficult to
deceive.
Cosel was greatly astonished when, after several long months of
waiting, the pedlar Jew announced to her that the horseshoe-breaker
would appear again.