During the reign of Augustus the Strong, Dresden was not lacking in
beautiful women. Notwithstanding sad experiences of the King's
instability, every beautiful woman hoped to be able to attract his
attention, although they well knew that it would not be for long. Among
the young ladies there was not however, one more beautiful, more
coquettish, more vivacious, or better able to please, than the young
Countess Frances Kolowrath, the same who, several years before,
received Bruehl in the Taschenberg Palace, the same, whom we saw in one
of the booths during the fancy dress ball in the castle. The high rank
of her mother, who was the principal lady-in-waiting at the court of
the Princess, gave her the privilege of precedence before all other
ladies except the princesses of the ruling houses: the favours of
Princess Josephina, hopes of a brilliant future, her family name, all
made the girl proud and self-willed. The older she grew the more
difficult it was for her mother to control her. An only child and much
petted, notwithstanding the Princess's severity, she was able to throw
off the court etiquette, and form many acquaintances and love
intrigues. She did not seem to care much about the future. She looked
upon matrimony as upon freedom from a yoke which she could not bear.
A few days after the news of the King's death, when the court was
obliged to go into mourning and all amusements were stopped, Lady
Frances was bored more than ever. The black dress, which she was
obliged to put on, was becoming to her, but she disliked it very much.
That evening she stood in her room before her mirror and admired her
beautiful figure and features.
As dusk fell she rang the bell and ordered lights to be brought. She
was alone, for her mother was at the court, and she did not know what
to do with herself. Walking to and fro she noticed a box and took it
from a little table. She brought it near the light and opened it with a
little key she carried in her pocket.
The box was full of small jewels and pieces of paper. One could guess
that these were letters addressed to herself.
Some of them she put aside with a smile, the others she read and became
thoughtful. Then she locked the box and lay down on the sofa, looking
at a little ring that glistened on her finger. It was an old, black
enamelled ring, with an inscription in gold on it: _A hora y siempre_.
In the young lady's room, besides the door leading to her mother's
apartment, there was another little door concealed in the wall, leading
to some side stairs. Just as she became thoughtful over the ring, the
door opened quietly and someone looked through it cautiously: the young
lady turned her head, saw who it was, and rose from the sofa with an
exclamation. The good-looking young Watzdorf stood before her. We saw
him at Faustina's comically joking, and ironically sneering. To-day his
face, usually ironical, bore quite another expression; it was almost
sad and thoughtful.
The beautiful Frances, as if afraid at his appearance, stood silent.
Watzdorf seemed to beseech her forgiveness with his eyes.
'Christian, how could you!' she said at length, with a voice in which
there was true or artificial emotion. 'How could you do this, when
there are so many people about? Someone will see you and tell about it.
The Princess is severe, and my mother--'
'Nobody could see me,' said Watzdorf coming nearer. 'Frances, my
goddess! I have been waiting for hours under the stairs, in order to
see you alone for a moment. Your mother prays with the Princess, there
is nobody in the house.'
'Ah! those stolen moments!' cried Frances. 'I don't much like such
secret happiness.'
'Patience, till the other comes,' said Watzdorf taking her hand. 'I
hope--'
'Not I,' interrupted the girl, 'they will dispose of me, against my
will, as they would dispose of a piece of furniture. The Princess, the
Prince, my mother, Padre Guarini--I am a slave.'
'Then let us run away from here!'
'Where?' asked Frances laughing. 'To Austria, where we shall be caught
by the Emperor's police: to Prussia, where the Brandenburgian would
stop us. Let us run! That is all very well, but how and with what? You
have nothing, except your salary at the court, and I have only the
favour of the Prince and Princess.'
'But your mother's heart--'
'That heart will search out happiness for me in diamonds--it
understands no other.'
'Frances, my goddess! How cruel you are to-day, you take all my hope
from me!'
'I can't give that which I don't possess myself,' said the girl coolly
and sadly.
'For you don't love me.'
The lovely girl looked at him reproachfully.
'I never loved anybody but you!' said she. 'I shall never be able to
love anybody else, and because I love you, I should like to speak
frankly with you.'
Watzdorf cast his eyes on the floor.
'I understand,' he muttered.--'You wish to convince me, that because
you love me, you cannot be mine, and that I must give you up. Such is
the logic of love in courts. Because you love me, because I love you,
you must marry another man--'
'Yes; I must marry the first one they give me; but that man shall not
have my heart.'
'It's hideous!' interrupted Watzdorf. 'You do not wish to sacrifice
anything for me.'
'For I do not wish to bring evil on you,' said the girl. 'They would
catch us to-morrow if we fly today, you would be sent to Koenigstein,
and they would marry me to the man whom they have selected for me.'
'I think I shall go to Koenigstein in any case,' said Watzdorf. 'I
cannot shut my mouth looking at this horrible life, at this despotism
of a lackey. I say what I think, and that is, as you know, the way to
get there, where one speaks only to four walls of the prison.'
'Listen, Christian, instead of talking, we ought to be silent,' said
the girl, 'instead of wishing to improve them, we ought to despise them
and rule them.'
'Giving in to their fancies, and lying for a lifetime, cheating them,
and soiling oneself--' said Watzdorf. 'What a lovely life!'
'Then is it better to give up everything?' said the girl laughing. 'I,
a woman, I am not so tragical, I take life as it is.'
'I despise it,' muttered Watzdorf.
The girl put out her hand to him.
'Poor enthusiast!' she sighed. 'Ah! how I pity you and myself; there is
no hope for us--and if we could catch a moment of happiness, it is
amidst falsehood and lying.'
She came near him, put one hand on his shoulder, and the other she put
round his neck.
'Ah! this life!' she whispered, 'one must be drunk in order to bear
it.'
'And be a cheat!' added Watzdorf, who seized her hand and kissed it
passionately. 'Frances, you don't love me; you love the life more than
me; the world and the golden fetters.'
The girl was silent and sad.
'Who knows?' she said. 'I don't know myself. They brought me up,
cradling me in falsehood and teaching me how to lie, in the meanwhile
arousing in me a desire for sensation, distraction, luxury and
enjoyment. I am not certain of my own heart, for I was corrupted before
I began to live.'
'Love ought to make us both better,' said Watzdorf looking into her
eyes passionately. 'I was also a courtier before I loved you--by that
love I became a man; I became purified in its flames.'
The girl laid her head on his shoulder and spoke to him in a whisper;
they both seemed to forget about the whole world. Their eyes spoke more
than their lips; their hands met and joined.
They forgot themselves to such a degree that they did not notice that
the same door by which Watzdorf had entered opened, and the
threatening, pale and angry face of the girl's mother appeared through
it.
Seeing her daughter with a man whom she did not recognise at once, she
was struck dumb. She made a step forward and pulled Watzdorf by his
sleeve. Her lips trembled and her eyes were full of awful anger; the
girl turned and perceived the thunder-bolt look of her mother. But she
was not afraid. She retreated a step, while Watzdorf not knowing yet
who had disturbed them, mechanically searched for his sword.
Only when he turned and saw the Countess did he become pale and stood
silent like a criminal caught red-handed in the act.
The Countess could not speak, because of her great anger: she breathed
heavily, pressing her bosom with one hand, with the other pointing
imperiously to the door.
Watzdorf before obeying bent over the girl's hand and pressed it to his
lips; the mother pulled it from him, and trembling continually pointed
to the door.
Watzdorf looked at the pale girl and went out slowly. The Countess fell
on the sofa--her daughter remained cold and indifferent like a statue.
The Countess cried from anger.
'Shame on you!' cried she, 'you dare to receive that man in your room!'
'Because I love him!' answered the girl calmly.
'And you dare to tell me that!'
'Why should I not say what I feel?'
The Countess sobbed.
'And you think that because of your stupid love for that
good-for-nothing man, who is hardly tolerated in the court, I shall
sacrifice your future? Never!'
'I did not expect that I could be happy and honest,' answered the girl
coolly.
'You are mad!' cried the mother.
The girl sat in the chair opposite her mother, took a flower from the
bouquet standing on the table, and raised it to her lips. Cold and
ironical resignation was depicted on her face; the mother looked at her
and was frightened.
'Happily, he could go out without being noticed,' she murmured to
herself. 'To-morrow I shall order that door to be fastened, and I shall
lock you in like a slave. Could I ever have expected to see such a
thing?'
The girl, biting the flower, seemed to be ready to listen to any
reproaches her mother might heap on her. The disdainful silence of her
daughter made the Countess still more angry. She sprang from the sofa
and walked rapidly across the room.
'If Watzdorf shall dare to speak, or look at you, woe betide him! I
shall fall at the feet of the Princess, I shall pray Sulkowski, and
they will lock him up for ever.'
'I don't think he would like to expose himself to that,' said the girl.
'To-day I took all hope from him. I told him that I may not dispose of
myself; that they would treat me like a slave; that I shall marry the
man they destine for me, but that I shall not love him--'
'You dare to tell me that!'
'I say what I think. The man who would marry me, will know what to
expect from me.'
The Countess looked at her daughter threateningly but she was silent.
Suddenly she wrung her hands.
'Ungrateful!' she cried more tenderly. 'The moment I try to secure for
you with our lady the most brilliant future, you--'
'I am quite aware that I shall be led like a sacrifice, dressed in
brocade,' rejoined the girl laughing bitterly. 'Such a future is
unavoidable.'
'Yes, for you know that you cannot resist the will of your mother and
that of the Princess and the Prince.'
'Who has no will whatever,' said the girl ironically.
'Silence!' interrupted her mother threateningly. 'I came to tell you
about happiness, and I found shame!'
'It was not necessary to tell me of that which I was aware. Sulkowski
is married, consequently I must marry the other minister, Bruehl. I
expected that. Indeed, it's a great happiness!'
'Greater than you deserve,' answered her mother. 'What could you have
against the nicest man in the world?'
'Nothing whatever; I am as indifferent to him as if he were the most
stupid and the most horrid. He or another is just the same to me, if I
can not marry the one whom I love.'
'Don't dare to pronounce his name: I hate him! If he dares to make one
step he is lost!'
'I shall warn him: I don't wish him to come to nought: I wish him to
avenge me.'
'Don't you dare to speak to him! I forbid you!'
The girl became silent. The Countess, having noticed that she was five
minutes late for her duties at the court, said:
'You come with me; the Princess commanded you to come. You know how you
should behave.'
A few minutes later both ladies went out. It was supper time. The
strict etiquette introduced from the Austrian court and severely
observed by the Princess Josephine did not permit anyone to sit at the
same table with the Prince and Princess, except the ministers. The
other dignitaries of the court, who were present during meal times sat
at another table in a separate room. That day the Prince supped alone
with his consort. Padre Guarini sat on a stool apart to keep them
company. Before the court went into mourning he would amuse the Prince
by joking with Frosch and Horch, who usually would fight, while the
Prince would laugh to encourage them, and be in his best humour. The
new mourning did not permit the fools to perform, but in consideration
of the necessity of distraction for the Princess, Guarini allowed
Frosch and Horch to be present in the dining-room, but they were not
permitted to play their usual jokes. They were placed in such a way
that the Prince would notice them immediately.
The table was set magnificently and lighted profusely. Frederick
entered with his consort whose common features were in striking
contrast to the serene and beautiful although cold face of her husband.
The type of the Hapsburgs was not well represented in Josephine, who
although still young had none of the charm of youth; the hanging lower
lip, gloomy expression, something common and severe in her face, made
her repulsive.
Whilst Padre Guarini recited the _benedicite_, the Prince and Princess
stood with piously clasped hands, the servants waiting. As Frederick
sat down he caught sight of Frosch and Horch who had assumed such a
dignified and pompous mien that they were more ridiculous than ever.
Frosch was almost dwarfish; Horch tall and thin. They were both dressed
alike. Although the court was in mourning the fools wore red tail coats
and blue trousers. Frosch's wig was curled like a sheepskin, while
Horch's hair was flat. Frosch stood in the position of the Colossus of
Rhodes, with hands placed behind his back. Horch stood stretched like a
soldier, with arms straight down his sides. Both were very amusing.
The Prince having noticed them smiled. While eating and drinking with a
famous appetite, Frederick looked from time to time at his favourites;
he was sorry he could not permit them to play their jokes, but they
would have been too noisy. The sight of them alone made the Prince
happy, but he had another source of happiness in that Sulkowski and
Bruehl were such good friends. Bruehl willingly resigned his appointment
as Grand Marshal of the court, which dignity the Prince bestowed upon
Sulkowski, and was content to be the president of the ministers and
Secretary of the Treasury. It was only a matter of form, as Sulkowski
was expected to keep everything under his own control.
But the future was not certain.
Bruehl seemed to be Sulkowski's best friend, and the latter being sure
of the Prince's favour did not fear him as a rival.
Having put the whole burden of ruling on these two men, the Prince felt
at ease to lead his own monotonous life. He only longed after the
opera, after Faustina, and after hunting. But all that was bound to
return after the mourning was over. In Poland the Count Moszynski, the
Bishop Lipski and others were working hard to assure the Prince's
election as King, and Bruehl guaranteed that it would be done.
A few days after the news of his father's death, Frederick declared
that he would not change anything. But Saxony expected some
improvements, and was soon disillusioned and informed that she must not
expect anything. The taxes were as heavy as ever.
That evening when the Prince went to his apartment, Sulkowski and Bruehl
followed him.
In another room some courtiers were grouped round Josephine, and
between them was the joking Padre Guarini. The Princess, having
remained to talk to them for a time, retired to her own room followed
by the Countess Kolowrath, who told her daughter to follow her.
Josephine stood in the centre of the drawing-room as though expecting
something. The young girl entered without the least sign of fear. The
Princess asked her to come near and said:
'My dear girl, it is time to think of your future--I am willing to do
something for you.'
The mother fearing some improper answer said:
'We shall ever be thankful to your Royal Highness.'
'I know that you are a good Catholic,' continued the Princess,
'therefore, I must assure you before all, that your future husband,
although not born in the Catholic faith, shall embrace it. Consequently
you shall have the merit of gaining one soul for God.'
The girl listened quite indifferently. The Princess looked at her but
failed to see any emotion in her face.
'I congratulate you,' added she, 'on the choice made for you by myself
and your mother; the man destined for your husband is very pious, of
great character and keen intelligence-it is the Secretary of the
Treasury, Bruehl.'
Josephine looked again at the girl, who stood silent.
'You must permit him to approach you, so that you may get to know each
other, and I hope you will be happy.'
The mother pushed the girl towards the Princess; Frances resented being
pushed, bent her head and moved aside.
Thus the day ended, memorable in the life of the girl, who looked so
indifferently on her future.
The next day, probably by permission of the Countess, Bruehl paid his
respects to the young girl who was sitting alone. After a moment's
reflection she allowed him to be shown in. She received him in the same
room in which yesterday, leaning on Watzdorf's shoulder, she had said
good-bye to happiness.
The mourning was very becoming to her: her beauty seemed still greater
on the dark background of her black dress. Besides paleness there was
no other sign of suffering on her face; cool and brave resignation lent
something imposing to her features.
Bruehl, who was one of the most refined dandies of his time, attributed
great importance to dress, and was dressed that day with particular
care. The sweet smile did not leave his too delicate face even for a
moment. In the same proportion that the young lady wished to be sober
and thoughtful, did he wish to be joyful and happy.
He advanced quickly to the table behind which she was sitting; she
nodded slightly and pointed to a chair standing near.
'I see,' said Bruehl, 'that you have assumed a sad expression to be in
harmony with your mourning, while I--'
'You are more lively to-day than ever,' interrupted the young lady.
'May I ask what makes you so happy?'
'I hope you are aware of the cause,' said Bruehl raising his hand to his
heart.
'Let us not play a comedy,' said Frances, 'neither you can deceive me,
nor I you. They commanded me to marry you, while I love another man;
they command you to marry me, while you love another woman. Those are
not very joyful things.'
'I, in love with another?' said Bruehl, with well-assumed surprise.
'For a long time you have loved, and passionately, the Countess
Moszynski; of this both she and her husband and everyone else, is
aware, and you think that I, living in the court, do not know it?'
'If you wish me to confess that I was in love with her--'
'Oh! the old love is lasting.'
'But you tell me that you love.'
'Yes, I don't conceal that I love another man.'
'Whom?'
'There is no need to betray his and my secret.--Suffice it that I am
sincere when I tell you of this.'
'It is very sad news for me!' exclaimed Bruehl.
'It is still sadder for myself. Could you not find another woman, with
whom you could be happy?'
She looked at him: Bruehl grew confused.
'It is the will of the Prince and Princess.'
'As well as Padre Guarini's,' said the young lady. 'I understand. Is it
then irrevocable?'
'Madam,' said Bruehl, 'I hope that I shall win your regard--I--'
'I have no hopes, but as our matrimony is inevitable, it would be well
to prepare ourselves for that which we must expect.'
'I shall try to make you happy.'
'Thank you, but I think I had better take care of my happiness myself,
and you of yours. I don't forbid you to love Moszynski, for even were I
to forbid you to do so, it would be useless. Cosel's daughter inherited
her mother's beauty and power--which unfortunately, I don't possess.'
'You are cruel.'
'No, I am sincere, that's all.'
Bruehl, notwithstanding a great faculty for conversation, felt that
words failed him. His situation became painful, while the young lady
did not show that she was disturbed in the least.
'Notwithstanding all, I am not in despair,' he said after a pause. 'I
have known you ever since you were a mere child, I have been your
admirer for a long time; that which you said about the Countess
Moszynski was only a fancy, already passed and forgotten. My heart is
free, and it is yours. I hope you will be able to throw off your
aversion to me.'
'I have no aversion to you; you are a matter of perfect indifference to
me,' the young lady interrupted.
'Even that means something.'
'It means, that you might awaken my aversion, while wishing to awaken
love.--It is very possible.'
Bruehl rose; his face was burning.
'Perchance never a wooer met with a worse reception,' he said sighing.
'But I shall be able to overcome this impression.'
'Do as you please, but remember, that if I become a victim, I shall
marry you, for I must, but you know now what awaits you.'
Having said this, she rose; Bruehl smiling as sweetly as he could,
wished to take hold of her hand, but she withdrew, and said:
'I wish you good-bye.'
The secretary left the room: his face was sweet and serene as ever, and
nobody could have guessed his defeat.
While walking with elastic step across the drawing-room, he met the
Countess Kolowrath, who, before speaking, looked at him sharply--but
discovered nothing.
'Have you seen Frances?' she asked.
'I return from her.'
'How did she receive you?'
Bruehl did not answer at once.
'As one receives someone who is not welcome,' he said at length.
'Ah! you have plenty of time.---For many reasons I should not care to
hasten the wedding.'
'I am not of your opinion, for I know that it is easiest to conquer the
heart, when one is sure of the hand,' said Bruehl. 'The approach of the
wedding would give us a chance to know each other, and I hope that your
daughter knowing me better, and my sentiment--'
The Countess smiled.
'Enough for to-day,' said she, '_cela viendra_. Frances is so beautiful
that it is impossible not to worship her, but she is proud and
high-spirited like a goddess. If our old King were living, I should
fear for her, for she could make an impression even on him.'
Bruehl, having made some further remark, left her with a sweet smile.
When he entered his post-chaise, waiting for him at the door, his face
became gloomy.
'I should like to know,' said he to himself, 'whom she loves. She had
always so many admirers, and was so sweet to them all, that it is
impossible to guess who succeeded in winning her heart, but her beauty
is necessary to me. Who knows! The Prince may not always be faithful to
his wife,--and in that case--'
He finished his thought with a smile.
'She may not love me, but our common interests will make us friends.
Then they know about Moszynski; it is difficult to conceal love.'
Drowned in his thoughts, Bruehl did not notice that his post-chaise had
stopped before the door of his house.
Numerous servants waited for him. The moment he alighted his face was
sweetly smiling.
He ran upstairs. Henniche was waiting for him. The faithful servant
looked better and more healthy than usual. His face was smiling
ironically. Bruehl entered the office, where he found Globig, Hammer,
and Loss. All rose to greet his Excellency, followed by Henniche.
The secretary was ready to look through some papers, when Henniche
whispered.
'You are wanted there.'
And he pointed to the door of the drawing-room. There, Padre Guarini,
dressed in a grey coat was walking to and fro.