Ten years have passed since that prologue to Bruehl's life, since that
first scene in a long drama. Bruehl was still that brilliant, affable,
charming young man, whose fascination even his foes could not resist.
In the magnificent court of the Louis XIV of the North, whom the
flatterer called Apollo-Hercules, the people and favourites were
changed. A few days after that on which Bruehl succeeded to Pauli's
office, Augustus II's favourite became his aide-de-camp.
When old Fleming died, Bruehl was placed in charge of the King's secret
archives. Humble and exceedingly polite, Bruehl succeeded in
overthrowing two ministers: Fleming and Manteufel. Soon he was created
a chamberlain, and promoted to wear a key, as badge of office; the key
to the king's heart and exchequer he had already possessed for some
time; at length he became a grand chamberlain and was given a new
appointment created specially for him, that of _grand maitre de la
garde-robe_. To this office belonged the care of the libraries, art
galleries and other collections of Augustus II, who could do nothing
without Bruehl. Many others could not do without him either, and he, as
if needing everyone himself, as if afraid of everyone, bowed, smiled,
and respected even the door keeper of the castle.
King Augustus the Strong had changed a great deal since the days when
he could drink so much. He still preserved the stature of Hercules but
no longer possessed his strength. No more could he dig his spurs into
his horse's flanks or saw his head off. Carefully dressed and smiling
he would walk with a stick, and if he lingered for a longer time than
usual to chat with a lady he would look round for a chair, for he felt
pain in the toe, which the surgeon Weiss cut off, risking his head, but
saving the King's life. The surgeon's head still existed, but the toe
did not, and thus the King could not stand for long at a time. It was a
glorious memory that tournament in which Augustus conquered the heart
of Princess Lubonirski. The King's loves were scattered throughout the
world. Even the last, Orzelska, now the Princess Holstein Beck, was a
respectable mother of a family, for in the year 1732, during the
carnival, she gave birth to the future head of the princely house.
The King would have felt lonely had not the Italian nightingale,
Faustina Bordoni, brightened his gloomy thoughts by her lovely voice.
The singer was married to the famous composer of those times, Hasse,
whom however they sent to Italy, in order to give him a chance to
cultivate his art and that he might not disturb his wife. Hasse
composed masterpieces inspired by the yearning of his heart.
That year the carnival promised to be brilliant, but there was a lack
of money, which the King could not bear: Bruehl, who could manage
everything, was the only man who could assure tranquillity to the
King's mind. Therefore, during the carnival the King entrusted the
modest Bruehl with the portfolio of the minister of finance.
In vain the modest young official tried to excuse himself from such an
honour, but King Augustus II would brook no refusal, would listen to no
excuses, and commanded him to provide him with money. From that moment
it was Bruehl's duty to make the Pactolus flow continually with gold,
although it would be mixed with blood and tears.
Bruehl was no longer a humble page, but a man with whom the most
influential dignitaries were obliged to reckon. The King would permit
no word against him, and would frown threateningly if any were
ventured. In him alone he found that for which he had formerly looked
in ten other men. Bruehl knew all about pictures, he was fond of music,
he understood how to get money from those who were moneyless, how to be
blind when occasion demanded, how to be dumb when it was prudent; he
was always obedient.
Through the King's munificence he was then given a house near the
castle, and he soon turned it into a palace.
The evening before Shrove-Tuesday the newly created minister was
sitting in his palace; he was thoughtful, and seemed to be awaiting the
arrival of someone.
The room in which he sat might have been the boudoir of the most
fastidious woman spoiled by the luxury of the court. In gilded frames
shone mirrors; the walls were covered with lilac-coloured silk; on the
mantle-pieces, tables, consols, there was a perfect museum of china and
bronzes; the floor was covered with a soft carpet.
Bruehl, with his legs stretched out, lying back in the recesses of a
comfortable arm chair, his hand shining with splendid rings, seemed to
be absorbed in thought and perplexities. From time to time, at the
sound of an opening door, he would listen, but when nobody came, he
returned to his thoughts and calculations.
Sometimes he would glance at the clock standing on the mantle-piece,
for a man burdened with so many duties was obliged to count his time as
he counted the money.
Notwithstanding work and emotions, his youthful face had not lost its
freshness, his eyes shone brilliantly as ever; one felt that he was a
man reserved for the future, who had more hopes than reminiscences.
At the further end of the house doors could be heard opening one after
another. Bruehl listened--steps approached. The steps were those of a
man, though cautious and soft; the tread of one person.
'It's he,' whispered Bruehl, and rose from the chair.
The knock at the door was gentle and full of respect, as though the
fingers that rapped were swathed in cotton wool.
'Enter!' said Bruehl softly, and the door opened noiselessly. At the
door stood a man, such as one could only find at the court, for they
are born for the court; though cradled in a stable, their coffin would
certainly be found in a palace. He was tall, strong and flexible in
every movement as a juggler.
At the first glance one could read nothing in the man's face, for its
features were insignificant, neither ugly nor comely, the expression
was cold and vulgar. Clean-shaven, his lips closed so tightly that one
could hardly see them, the new-comer stood humbly at the door and
waited to be questioned.
His dress did not betray to what class he belonged. It was neither
elegant nor striking. The coat he wore was grey with steel buttons; the
rest was black; at his side hung a sword with dark enamelled hilt; on
his head he had a wig, which was rather official and dignified than
coquettish. Under his arm he held a black hat, innocent of galoons; and
he had no lace round his sleeves. Bruehl on seeing the man, rose quickly
as though moved by a spring, and walked across the room.
'Hans,' said he, 'we have but half an hour. I sent for you about an
unfortunate affair. Open the door and see that there is no one in the
ante-room.'
The obedient Hans Henniche quickly opened the door, looked through it,
and signed that there was no one.
'You know,' said Bruehl, 'that his Majesty was kind enough to appoint me
Secretary of the Treasury.'
'I wanted to congratulate your Excellency,' said Henniche with a bow.
'Don't trouble yourself,' said Bruehl with the well-assumed mien of an
embarrassed man. 'It's a new burden on my feeble shoulders.'
'Your Excellency is too modest,' said Henniche with a new bow.
'Hans,' said Bruehl, 'do you wish to help me, to be my right hand? Will
you swear to be faithful and obedient to me? Do you wish to go with me,
even if we have to break our necks?'
'But you and I can't break our necks,' said Henniche, smiling
cynically.
'Stronger people than we have done so before now.'
'Yes, but they were not so cunning as we are! Strength means nothing,
if one does not know how to use it. I guarantee you that we shall
succeed, provided I can do what I please.'
'Remember only,' Bruehl said coolly, 'that these are not trifling words,
but a solemn oath.'
Henniche raised his hand and said ironically:
'I swear--but on what, my lord and master?'
'On God!' said Bruehl, bending his head piously. 'Henniche, you know
that I am a religious man, you mustn't joke.'
'Your Excellency, I never joke. Joking is a very costly thing, and many
people pay for it with their lives.'
'If you help me,' added Bruehl, 'I promise to make you rich, powerful,
important.'
'Before all, the first,' said Henniche, 'for riches mean everything.'
'You forget the one who although rich went to Koenigstein.'
'Do you know why?'
'Lord's disgrace. God's disgrace.'
'No, it's trifling with the sleeper,' said Henniche. 'An intelligent
man ought to put a sleeper on the altar and pray to it: the women do
everything.'
'But they fall also: Cosel is in Stolpen.'
'And who overthrew Cosel?' asked Henniche. 'If you look through a glass
you will see the white fingers of the Countess Denhoff and a small
sleeper, under which the great King was held.'
Bruehl sighed but made no remark.
'Your Excellency entered on a new life yesterday, and ought to remember
one word: woman.'
'I remember it,' Bruehl said gloomily, 'but we don't have time to talk
about it. Then you are with me?'
'For life or death,' answered Henniche. 'I am a man of no importance
but great experience; and believe me that my wisdom is quite equal to
those who bear silver trays to drawing-rooms. I need make no secret to
you that for a long time I served as a lackey and used to open the
door. But before that they opened to me. My first experience was in
Luetzen as a revenue officer.'
'That is why I need you. The King needs money and the country is
already overtaxed. The people groan and complain.'
'Who would listen to them?' answered Henniche indifferently. 'They will
never be satisfied, they will always complain. One must squeeze them as
one squeezes a lemon for the juice.'
'But how?'
'We shall find the means.'
'They will complain.'
'To whom?' said Henniche laughing. 'Can we not close the road with
bars, and send those who are too noisy to Koenigstein, or Sonnenstein,
or Plissenburg, for the sake of the King's tranquillity?'
'Yes, that's true,' said Bruehl thoughtfully, 'but it won't bring any
money.'
'On the contrary, we must be severe, if we wish to obtain it.'
Bruehl listened attentively.
'We need a great deal of money; the carnival will be costly.'
'Yes, and all that is spent at court does not sink into the ground, it
returns to the people, therefore they can pay. We need money for the
King and for ourselves.'
Bruehl smiled and said:
'Naturally, we cannot toil for nothing.'
'And endure so many curses.'
'Well, when it is a matter of duty, one cannot pay attention to
cursing. The King must have that which he needs.'
'And we, what is due to us,' Henniche added.
Bruehl stepped before him and said after careful thought:--
'Then keep your eyes and ears open; inform me about everything, work
for me and for yourself; I have already so much to do, that I can
undertake no more without you.'
'Rely on me,' said Henniche. 'I quite understand, that while working
for you, I work for myself. I don't promise you Platonic love; for thus
if I mistake not, they call kissing the gloves, having no respect for
the hands. One must clearly define the business. I shall remember my
own interests; you and I will not forget the King.'
He bowed. Bruehl clapped him on the shoulder.
'Henniche, I shall help you to rise.'
'Provided it's not too high, and not in the new market square,'
whispered Henniche.
'You may be easy about that. And now, what would you advise me to do in
order that I may not lose my footing at the court? It is easy to mount
the ladder, but the question is not to break one's neck.'
'I have only one piece of advice,' said the former lackey, 'everything
is done by the women.'
'Oh! Oh!' said Bruehl,' there are other means too.'
'Yes, I know that your Excellency has Padre Guarini on his side.'
'Silence, Henniche!'
'I am already silent, but I must add all the same, that your Excellency
must bear in mind the power of women, it will do no harm to have two
strings to one's bow.'
Bruehl sighed.
'I shall remember your advice.'
They were both silent for a few moments.
'How does your Excellency stand with the Count Sulkowski?' whispered
Henniche. 'One must not forget that the sun sets, that the people are
mortal, that the sons succeed the fathers, and Sulkowski the Bruehls.'
'Oh!' said Bruehl, 'he is my friend.'
'I would prefer that his wife was your Excellency's friend,' said
Henniche. 'I put more faith in her.'
'Sulkowski has a noble heart.'
'I don't deny it, but the best heart prefers the chest in which it
beats. And how about the Count Moszynski?'
Bruehl shivered and blushed: looked at Henniche sharply, as though he
would learn whether he mentioned the name with any design. But
Henniche's face was placid and indifferent.
'The Count Moszynski is of no importance whatever,' hissed Bruehl, 'and
he never shall be of any importance.'
'His Majesty gave him his own daughter,' said Henniche slowly.
Bruehl was silent.
'The people have evil tongues,' continued Henniche. 'They say that
Fraeulein Cosel would have preferred to marry someone else than
Moszynski.'
'Yes,' cried Bruehl passionately. 'He has stolen her from me.'
'Then he has done your Excellency a great favour,' said Henniche
laughing, 'instead of one tool, you can have two.'
They looked into each other's eyes. Bruehl was gloomy.
'Enough of it,' said he. 'Remember that you are mine and count on me.
Your office will be here; to-morrow I shall send you an official
appointment.'
Henniche bowed.
'And salary corresponding with my official position.'
'Yes, if you find the means to pay it with.'
'That is my business.'
'It is late; good-night.'
Henniche bowed and went out as quietly, as he came.
Bruehl rang the bell; a lackey promptly attended.
'I must be in the castle in half-an-hour: my post-chaise!'
'It is ready.'
'Domino, masque?'
'Everything is ready,' and having said this the lackey opened the door
and conducted Bruehl to a large dressing-room.
Bruehl's dressing-room was already considered one of the sights of the
capital. Round it were large wardrobes of carved oak; between two
windows stood a table and on it a large mirror in a china frame
composed of cupids and flowers. Round the table, winter and summer,
there were always a profusion of roses and lilies of the valley. And on
the table were disposed such an array of toilet articles as might have
belonged to a woman. The wardrobes contained dresses with shoes,
swords, hats, and watches to match each, for the fashion demanded that
everything should be in harmony.
For that evening the most important detail was the domino and not the
dress. In a special wardrobe was everything necessary for fancy balls.
Bruehl was not quite decided in his choice of a dress. It was a very
important matter, for the King was fond of difficulty in recognising
his guests; and perchance Bruehl did not wish to be recognised at all.
The lackey, walking after him with a candelabra, waited for the order.
'Where is that dress of a Venetian noble?' asked Bruehl turning to the
lackey.
The servant ran to a wardrobe standing in a corner and handed him the
dress.
Bruehl began to dress hastily. The dress was becoming to him; everything
was black, even the sword. The only shining ornament was a heavy gold
chain on which hung a medallion on which was the figure of Augustus the
Strong. Bruehl looked at himself in the mirror and put on a mask. In
order not to be easily recognised he glued to his chin a little Spanish
beard.
He changed the rings on his fingers and went downstairs.
At the door the post-chaise was in readiness.
The two carriers wore red woollen caps, short dark brown cloaks and
masks. The moment Bruehl entered the carriage and drew the green curtain
he was driven to the castle.
In the principal gate the guards, gorgeously dressed, permitted only
the lords' carriages and post-chaises to pass, thrusting back the
curious crowd with halberds.
The court was already crowded with equipages, post-chaises and
servants. The castle was profusely lighted: that day two courts were
united, those of the King and the Prince.
Within the castle there were already numerous guests, all in fancy
dress. Bruehl's post-chaise stopped at the door and a Venetian nobleman
stepped out gravely. Just as he was about to mount the stairs, there
appeared another Italian but quite differently dressed. He was tall,
strong, stiff, with a soldierly bearing, and was dressed like a bandit
taken from Salvator Rosa's picture. The costume was very becoming to
him. His head was covered with a light, iron helmet, on his chest he
wore armour ornamented with gold, over his shoulder was thrown a short
cloak, at his side he had a sword, and at his belt a dagger. His face
was covered with a frightful mask, with long moustachios and a small
beard.
Bruehl glanced at the unpleasant mask and walked upstairs, but the
bandit followed him.
'_Signore!_' he hissed, '_come sta?_'
Bruehl merely nodded. The bandit came close to him, bent over him and
whispered evidently something disagreeable in his ear, for Bruehl drew
aside impatiently. The bandit laughed and said:
'_A rivederci, carissimo, a rivederci!_' and continued to follow him.
One could already hear the music. When they both reached the rooms,
Bruehl disappeared in the crowd. The rich, resplendent dresses of the
women, were shining with precious stones. Everybody moved about,
laughed, muttered, exclaimed, came and went.
In magnificent Polish dresses, their swords ornamented with precious
stones, walked several senators who were easily recognised, for they
wore only a small black strip over their eyes, in obedience to the
King's order, that everyone should wear a mask. There were many Turks
and Spaniards; several monks, women disguised as bats, many
mythological goddesses and Venetians were to be distinguished among
clowns, harlequins, and cupids with bows and arrows. There were also
Queen Elizabeth, Mary Stuart, Henry IV, and many others.
The King, leaning on a gold-headed stick, walked slowly, talked to the
women, and tried to recognise them. It was not difficult for him, he
knew them all, at least those who were worthy to be known.
In one of the King's rooms were beautiful ladies sitting in the booths
distributing refreshments. Beyond the King's apartments, the Princess
Josepha and her court received the distinguished guests. Among her
ladies in waiting the most brilliant was Frances Kolowrath, the same
who, when but eight years of age, could so well play the role of a lady
of the court. Now she was a beautiful young lady, coquettish, lively,
proud, and covered with diamonds.
The Princess Josepha did not participate much in such amusements; she
was there only to please her father-in-law and her husband. Her proud
mien, severe and not beautiful face, cold manners, did not attract the
people. Everybody knew she was not fond of amusements, that she
preferred family life, prayers and gossip. Severe with herself she was
the same with others, and looked sharply at those around her. Her
surroundings were stiff and cold. Nobody dared to joke for fear of the
lady's disapproval of any outburst of levity. Even during the fancy
dress ball, Josepha did not forget that she was the daughter of an
emperor.
Polite, affable, silent, the Prince Frederick stood beside her; he was
good-looking but also cold and stiff like a statue. He was pleased that
others enjoyed themselves, but took no part in the entertainment. One
could see, that notwithstanding his youth, he was both physically and
spiritually heavy, especially spiritually.
Splendidly dressed and lordly-looking, Sulkowski, the acknowledged
favourite of the Prince, stood behind him, ready to carry out his
orders. The Prince would often turn to him, ask some question and
having received the answer, nod his head in sign of satisfaction.
On seeing them together, one could easily guess their relation to each
other. The servant was much more lord than the lord himself, who merely
represented his office but did not feel it. Sulkowski on the contrary
assumed great airs and looked proudly on the people around him.
He was also better looking than the Prince, who notwithstanding his
youthful age and good health looked like a common German.
Round Augustus the Strong's table a more joyful company was gathered.
Bare-shouldered women tried to attract the attention of the King, who
looked on their charms with indifference.
Bruehl entered, as it seemed to him, without being noticed; he did not
speak and seemed to be looking for someone. As he passed through the
refreshment rooms he did not notice that the bandit was following him.
His beautiful figure attracted the women and several of them tried to
stop him, but he looked at them indifferently, and passed on. One or
two tried to intrigue him but laughing he whispered their names and
they let him alone.
The King looked at him and said to Frisen:
'If a Prussian prince were here, he would steal that man for his guard.
Who is he?'
No one could answer the question for certain. The bandit disappeared
behind the columns.
In the meantime Bruehl was stopped by a gipsy. She was old, tall,
leaning on a stick, and covered with a long silk cloak. Through the
small mask could be seen the yellowish wrinkled face of the woman. She
put out her hand and paling asked him to give her his that she might
tell his fortune.
Bruehl had no wish to look into the future and wanted to pass the gipsy,
but she insisted.
'_Non abiate paura!_' whispered she. 'I will tell you of good fortune.'
Bruehl put out his hand. The gipsy lifted it and having examined it,
shook her head.
'A splendid future!' she said. 'You will be marvellously successful,
but I cannot promise you much happiness.'
'How can that be,' said Bruehl, 'to have success and not be happy?'
'For one can be happy but not successful,' exclaimed the old woman.
'And would you know the reason that you will lack happiness,--you have
no heart.'
Bruehl smiled ironically.
'You don't love anybody,' continued the woman.
'What more?' he asked.
'You are ungrateful,' she whispered, 'you are blind, you are only
pursuing greatness.'
'I see,' said Bruehl, 'that you take me for somebody else.'
The woman wrote on his palm; Bruehl withdrew his hand, mixed quickly
with the crowd and disappeared. Perchance he preferred to wander
unknown among the guests. At length he noticed a woman who absorbed his
whole attention.
Her fantastic, oriental costume, was meant to represent some queen,
Semiramis or Cleopatra, it was difficult to say who, for its
magnificence was greater than its historical exactness. The great thing
in those days was to be magnificently dressed, not archaeologically
exact. So the lady, who wished to appear a majestic ruler, succeeded by
means of her dress which was made of gold brocade, over which a
transparent veil fell from her diamond crown to her dainty feet; round
her white neck hung a magnificent amethyst necklace; her girdle was set
with diamonds; she held a sceptre in her hand; and her bearing was that
of one who ruled not only over people, but also over their hearts.
Her hair was dark, covered with gold powder; the lower part of her face
was of great beauty.
As she passed, everyone gave way to her, nobody dared to speak to her.
She looked round indifferently.
Bruehl stood near a column, hesitated for a moment, and then greeted
her, touching the brim of his hat. She stopped. Bruehl put out his hand
and she gave him hers on which he wrote her name.
She looked at him attentively, and walked further on; Bruehl followed
her. She turned several times and seeing that he followed her, she
stopped again. A bench nestled among some palms, and here the queen sat
down. Bruehl stood. She looked at him and when he gave her his hand, she
wrote H. B. on it and laughed.
'It's no wonder, Countess, that I recognise you,' he said, 'for I could
not mistake you, even were you not dressed like a queen. But I wonder
how you recognised me?'
'By the dress of a member of the Council of Trent,' said the lady. 'And
to whom would it be more becoming than to you?'
'Countess, you are beautiful.'
She accepted the compliment without paying much heed to it.
'But beautiful,' he continued, 'like a marble statue, and cold like the
marble.'
'What more?' asked the woman. 'Say something more amusing, I have heard
that so many times.'
'What else could I say to you?' said Bruehl with trembling voice. 'Every
time I look at you my anger is aroused, storms of vengeance and
jealousy shake me.'
'Very pathetic,' whispered the woman. 'What more?'
'Had I the heart, I would curse the hour I first saw you,' said Bruehl
passionately. 'But a glance at you conquers me. You have a power over
me possessed by no one else.'
'Is that true?' the woman coolly inquired.
'Is it necessary to swear it to you?'
'I do not need your oath. I merely wanted to be convinced, and very
often an oath fails.'
She looked at him piercingly.
'But my love--' said Bruehl.
The woman laughed.
'Bruehl,' she said, 'I believe you were in love with me, I am not
surprised at that. I was young, I had a good name and I could assure a
splendid future to the man I married; but your love might have been
that we see everyday, burning in the morning and quenched in the
evening. I do not want such love.'
'I gave you proof of my constancy,' said Bruehl with animation. 'My love
for you began when I was a mere lad and was not quenched even when you
took all hope away; it lasts although repulsed and despised.'
'Is it love or ambition?' asked the woman. 'For with you ambition
dominates everything.'
'I do not deny that since I cannot be happy, my aim is now to be strong
and to be feared.'
The woman looked at him and spoke slowly.
'I do not know what the future may have in store for us. Wait, be
faithful to me. I will be frank with you; I was fond of you; with you I
could have been happy; we are alike in character.--But things are
better as they are. Husband and wife are two fighting enemies; we can
be faithful friends to each other.'
'Friends!' said Bruehl, 'it sounds like a funeral to my love for you.
Your husband will be your lover and I your friend; that means a
despised friend.'
'A husband a lover?' said the woman laughing. 'Where did you hear of
that? Those two words swear at each other. My husband, I hate him, I
despise him, I can't bear him!'
'But you married him.'
'My father, the King, married me to him; but believe me, it is well
that it happened so. With him my heart is free, I am myself and shall
preserve myself for the future. I believe in my star.'
'Will our stars ever meet?'
'If they are destined for each other, they will.'
'You say this so indifferently--'
'I always control my feelings, whether I love or hate. The sentiment
that betrays itself, becomes the prey of the people.'
'But how can one believe in it, if one cannot see it?'
'Then what is faith?' said the woman laughing. 'The one who loves must
feel, and he who cannot guess the woman's love is not worthy of it.'
Having said this, she very quickly, and before Bruehl could realise it,
disappeared.
He was standing thoughtfully, when a rather remarkable clown--for he
had diamond buttons--appeared. He seemed to be looking for someone and
seeing only the Venetian, stopped, gazing at him attentively. He bent
down, wishing to look under the mask, but Bruehl pressed it over his
face with his hand.
'_Cavaliero nero!_' said the clown, what did the queen say to you? Do
you know her?'
'_Sono un forestiere--Addio_,' hissed Bruehl and made off, but the clown
followed him. Presently he met the bandit to whom the clown whispered:
'Who is he?'
'Bruehl.'
'Ah!' exclaimed the clown. 'I guessed it was he by the hatred I felt
towards him. But are you sure it was he?'
'I? Who hate him more than you, Count? I would recognise him even in
hell.'
The clown suddenly darted forward, for he caught sight of the queen.
The bandit, thankful, wandered about without aim. The guests grew more
and more animated and those who were searching for each other could
hardly move among the dense crowd. Laughter and chatting were louder
than the music. Bruehl directed his steps towards the apartment where
the Princess was receiving the people. A monk seized his hand.
'If you did not wish to be recognised,' said he in Italian, 'you have
not succeeded. Who would not recognise you, the Secretary of the
Treasury?'
And he laughed.
'How could they recognise me?' asked Bruehl.
'By your way of walking and by your beautiful dress.'
Bruehl could not be sure that he recognised the monk; he disappeared in
the crowd. He could have sworn it was Padre Guarini, but could he
suppose that a Jesuit would be at a fancy dress ball?
A little disappointed, he found himself in a room lighted with
alabaster lamps. Here a tall woman struck him with her fan. He
recognised her and had no doubt that she knew also who he was.
'Bruehl, accept my congratulations,' said she.
'What for?'
'You have already mounted very high, but be careful, for _non si va
sano_. You must lean on the arm of a woman, who often raises a man as
though he had wings.'
Bruehl sighed.
'I know for whom you sigh,' she continued, 'and what there is in your
heart. But you must forget the ungrateful queen and look for another.'
'To search, in order to be repulsed and despised!'
'Only the one who is unworthy of you could despise you, and such a
woman is not to be regretted.'
She bent close to his ear, and having whispered something in it,
disappeared in the crowd. He passed on. Opposite him was Frances
Kolowrath's table, surrounded by young men. The girl laughing, her
parted lips showing her teeth, handed the glasses of wine. He looked at
her from a distance. She was tempting and graceful, but her cool
coquettishness frightened him. He stood for a long while deep in
thought, and then turned aside.
Hardly had he sat down on a chair, in order to rest for he was tired,
when the bandit sat beside him.
'Not long ago,' said he, 'you were flirting with a queen, and now you
are thinking of that young girl. Am I not right?'
Bruehl shook his head without answering.
'She is a rich girl, and she has plenty of diamonds.--Are you not fond
of them?'
Bruehl turned his head away and did not answer. But the bandit spoke
further.
'Look, what dainty hands, what round arms, what a fresh face. It's a
bite for a minister if not for a king; but Augustus II is too old, and
the Prince is too pious,--you may have her. And after that, I don't
know what might happen, for look how she smiles on twenty young men,
and it's dreadful what her eyes are saying! She is the very wife for
such a man as you. They married Hasse, a great musician, to Faustina;
such an artist as you must marry Frances Kolowrath. See how admirably
she already plays her part and what a success she will have in the role
of _la grande coquette_!'
One could see by an impatient movement that Bruehl was terribly annoyed,
but he did not lose his head, he did not change his position, he did
not look at the bandit; he rose and went off. His tormentor searched
for him in vain, he was no longer in the palace.
The music played and the masqueraders danced till daybreak.
The last couple still whirled in the King's apartments, while, in the
chapel of the castle in Taschenberg, Padre Guarini put ashes on the
young Prince, his consort and the Catholic court.