Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/countbrhl00krasrich
2. Alternate spelling of author's name: Jozef Ignacy Kraszewski.
COUNT BRUHL
THE LOTUS LIBRARY
Foolscap 8vo, top edge gilt, with bookmark.
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Zyte. By Hector Malot. _In Preparation_.
The Dream. By Emile Zola.
Sidonie's Revenge. By A. Daudet.
The Poison Dealer. By G. Ohnet.
Sevastopol. By Leo Tolstoy.
The Woman of Mystery. By Georges Ohnet.
The Disaster. By Paul and Victor Margueritte.
The Diamond Necklace. By F. Funck-Brentano.
Cagliostro & Co. By Franz Funck-Brentano.
Count Bruehl. By Joseph Kraszewski.
The Latin Quarter. By Henry Merger.
Salammbo. By Gustave Flaubert.
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La Faustin. By Edmond de Goncourt.
A Modern Man's Confession. By Alfred de Musset.
The Matapan Jewels. By Fortune du Boisgobey.
Vathek. By William Beckford.
Romance of a Harem. Translated from the French by C. Forestier-Walker.
Woman and Puppet. By Pierre Louys.
The Blackmailers. By Emile Gaboriau.
The Mummy's Romance. By Theophile Gautier.
The Blue Duchess. By Paul Bourget.
A Woman's Heart. By Paul Bourget.
A Good-natured Fellow. By Paul de Koch.
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The Temptation of Saint Anthony. By G. Flaubert.
Captain Fracasse. By Theophile Gautier.
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A Passion of the South. By Alphonse Daudet.
The Kreutzer Sonata. By Leo Tolstoy.
The Outlaw of Iceland. By Victor Hugo.
[Illustration: "They pushed on at a smart trot."]
_COUNT BRUeHL_. _Frontispiece, see p. 268_.
COUNT BRUeHL
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 BRUeHL
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
Bruehls 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
Bruehl 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. Bruehl 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 Bruehl 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
Bruehl.
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
Bruehl; 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 Bruehl, 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 Bruehl. 'His Majesty has not been
in such a good humour for a long time.'
Sulkowski bent close to Bruehl'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?'
Bruehl looked at him, and smiled.
'A faithful page should not know anything.'
'I understand,' said Sulkowski, 'but between ourselves--'
Bruehl 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
Bruehl'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 Bruehl, '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 Bruehl'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, Bruehl nodded.
'The King is fond of you.'
'Do you think so?' asked Bruehl, 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 Bruehl 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 Bruehl. '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, Bruehl,' he said. 'Go forward boldly and count on me.'
Those words seemed to arouse Bruehl'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.
Bruehl 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. Bruehl 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, Bruehl 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 Bruehl 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 Bruehl 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, Bruehl 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
Bruehl.
'Are we in the way?' asked the stranger, who did not appear to be in
the least alarmed.
'No,' answered Bruehl 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, Bruehl 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?' Bruehl 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 Bruehl. 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, Bruehl 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 Bruehl, 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.'
Bruehl 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.'
Bruehl 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 Bruehl. '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.'
Bruehl 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.
Bruehl 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 Bruehl, 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.'
Bruehl 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 Bruehl 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:
'Bruehl, thank you--I know everything, I understand, I am not drunk--You
are a good boy, Bruehl, I thank you.'
Then he closed his eyes, sighed and muttered, 'Hard service!' and fell
asleep.