Soon after the events described, one day after dinner, which was served
in those days before two in the Castle, Bruehl entered his house.
On his face, usually serene, one could see traces of irritation. He
glanced at the clock and hastened to his dressing-room. Four lackeys
here waited for his Excellency, the fifth was Henniche standing at the
door; his face was very sour.
Bruehl having noticed him, asked:
'What do you want?'
'A very important affair,' said Henniche.
'I have no time just now,' said Bruehl impatiently. 'I am still more
pressed than your Excellency,' muttered the factotum.
Seeing that he would not be able to get rid of him, Bruehl came to him
and waited to hear what he had to say. But the councillor shook his
head, signifying that he could not speak before witnesses. Bruehl took
him into the next room, locked the door, and said:
'Speak quickly.'
Henniche put his bony hand into one of his pockets, took from it
something shining, and handed it to Bruehl.
It was a medal as large as a thaler. Bruehl took it to the window, for
the day was dark, and examined it: one side of it represented a throne
with a man in a sitting posture, dressed in a morning gown and holding
a pipe; it was easy to guess that it represented the young Kurfuerst;
three men, two of them in pages' costumes, the third one in livery,
supported the throne. On the other side could be read the following
verse relating to Bruehl, Sulkowski and Henniche:
Wir sind unserer drei
Zwei Pagen und ein Lakai.
Bruehl threw the medal on the floor; Henniche stooped and picked it up
from under the sofa where it had rolled. Bruehl was angry and
thoughtful.
'What does your Excellency say to that?' said Henniche.
'What? Give me the man who did it, and you shall see,' cried Bruehl.
'It was stamped in Holland,' said Henniche, 'and we cannot get at them
there. But it came from Saxony, for in Holland nobody cares that I was
a lackey and both your Excellencies were pages. It came from Saxony!'
'Then we must find the man who did it,' cried Bruehl. 'Don't spare
money, but find him.'
Henniche shrugged his shoulders.
'Give me that medal,' said Bruehl. 'Where did you get it from?'
'Someone put it on my desk. I have no doubt you will find one also.'
'I shall send the culprit to Koenigstein,' cried Bruehl. 'We made Erell
ride on a donkey, but this one will be safer in a dungeon.'
'In the first place we must find him,' muttered Henniche. 'I will
attend to that.'
'We must buy out the medal and destroy it and you will find the
culprit. One can do a great deal with a couple of thousand thalers.
Send some intelligent man to Holland.'
'I shall go myself,' said Henniche, 'and I shall find him. He would not
be a man who, having done such a witty thing, did not boast about it to
anybody. We shall get him.'
Bruehl was in a hurry, so he nodded and went out. Henniche left the room
also.
The minister, still gloomier now, washed his face, dressed carefully,
matching his sword, snuff-box, wig and hat to his suit. The carriage
waited at the door. As soon as he got in, the equipage rolled towards
the suburb of Wilsdurf. At the entrance to it, he stopped the carriage,
put on a light cloak, told the coachman to return, waited till the
carriage was at a certain distance, looked round carefully, and seeing
only common people he advanced and turned towards a large garden; he
followed a path till he came to a gate of which he had the key; he
looked once more round, opened the door and entered a small garden at
the end of which could be seen a modest country house surrounded by
lilac bushes. The birds chirped in the bushes--everything else was
quiet.
Bruehl, with bent head and thoughtful, walked slowly along the path
bordered with trees. The noise of an opening window woke him up. In the
window appeared a very beautiful lady who seemed to expect him. He
caught sight of her and his face brightened. He took off his hat and
saluted her, putting his left hand on his heart.
Those who knew the perfect splendour of the unrivalled beauty of the
Countess Cosel, then locked up in a solitary castle, would recognise in
the lady standing at the window some likeness to that unfortunate
woman. She was not as beautiful as her mother, not having her regular
features, but she inherited her dignified and majestic mien and the
power of her glance.
The lady standing at the window was the Countess Moszynski, whose
husband was preparing in Warsaw for the election of the Prince. She
preferred to remain in Dresden.
When Bruehl reached the threshold she came to meet him. The interior of
the house was more luxurious than one would have expected from its
modest exterior. It was ornamented with mirrors, luxurious furniture
and full of the scent of flowers. In the first large, quiet room, there
was a table set for two people, shining with silver, china and cut
glass.
'So late--' whispered the Countess, whose hand Bruehl kissed.
'Yes,' answered the minister, looking at his watch set with diamonds,
'but I was prevented by an important and unpleasant incident.'
'Unpleasant? What was it?'
'Let us not speak about it to-day. I should like to forget it.'
'But I would like to know it.'
'My dear Countess, you shall learn it in time,' said Bruehl, sitting
opposite her. 'It is no wonder that a man who has reached my position
by degrees has enemies in those who remain behind him, and who avenge
their inferiority by calumnies.'
The Countess listened attentively, made a trifling movement with her
hand, and said:
'Calumnies! And you are so weak that you pay attention to them, that
they hurt you? I should have my doubts about you, my dear Henry, if you
are so weak. The one who wishes to play a great part in the world, must
pay no heed to the hissing of spectators. It does not amount to
anything. If you feel hurt by such trifles, you will never rise high.
One must be superior to such things.'
'A vile insult,' rejoined Bruehl.
'What do you care about the barking of a dog behind a hedge?'
'It irritates me.'
'Be ashamed of yourself.'
'You do not know what there is in question.'
Having said this Bruehl took the medal from his pocket and showed it to
the Countess. She looked at both sides, read the inscription, smiled,
shrugged her shoulders, and wanted to throw it through the window, but
Bruehl stopped her.
'I need it,' said he.
'What for?'
'I must find out who did it. The joke came from Saxony. If we don't
punish the man who did it--'
'In the first place you must find him,' said the Countess, 'and then
you had better think it over, if by taking revenge you would not be
giving too great an importance to some childish folly.'
'They are too daring,' cried Bruehl. 'We were obliged to make Erell ride
a donkey through the town, and it would be necessary to send the man
who ordered this medal to be struck, to Koenigstein.'
The Countess shrugged her shoulders contemptuously.
'Believe me, it would be better to leave vengeance to Sulkowski,' she
said. 'As long as you share the responsibility of state affairs with,
him, see that everything painful falls on him; you take that which is
agreeable. But I hope that you will not be long in partnership with
him,' she added.
'I don't know how long it will last,' said Bruehl. 'As far as I can see,
we must wait till he makes some mistake through being too confident
about his own powers.'
'You are right, and that will come soon. Sulkowski is very proud and
too conceited; he thinks that he can do anything he likes with the
Prince. One must give him a chance to turn a summersault. In the
meantime _il tirera les marrons du feu_.'
The Countess laughed, Bruehl remained gloomy.
An intelligent-looking servant, wearing high-heeled shoes and dressed
like Liotard's famous 'Chocolate girl,' brought in a silver soup
tureen. She smiled to Bruehl as she put the dish on the table and
disappeared.
The _tete a tete_ dinner was animated by a lively conversation. The
Countess asked about Fraeulein Kling, about her mission, even about
Bruehl's coming marriage.
'I don't think that you will cease to love me,' she said sighing, 'the
girl does not love you, and you are indifferent towards her; you marry
to win favour with the Princess and the old Countess Kolowrath; I know
that and therefore I keep quiet.'
'You are right,' said Bruehl, 'I have not a second heart, and the one I
had, I gave to you. I marry because it is necessary, as it is necessary
also for me to share government affairs with Sulkowski.'
'Try to become indispensable to the Prince: amuse him, hunt with him,
leave him as little as possible. If I am not mistaken, Sulkowski will
wish to take it easy, to play the part of the _grand seigneur_, you
must become indispensable to the King,--I call him king already, for I
am certain that he will be elected. He must have somebody always near
him, he is weak, and likes the faces he is most accustomed to. You must
remember all this.'
'Dear Countess!' said Bruehl, taking hold of her hand, 'be my guide, my
Egeria, my Providence, and I shall be sure of my future.'
At that moment voices were heard at the gate. The servant rushed in
frightened. The Countess rose frowning, angry.
'What is it?' she cried.
'Some one--I don't know, somebody from the court, with a letter or
invitation, asks to be admitted.'
'Here? But who could have told him that I was here? I don't receive
anyone here.'
Hardly had she pronounced the last words, when amongst the trees in the
garden appeared a man in a chamberlain's dress. The gardener tried to
bar his way but the chamberlain, paying no heed to him, advanced
slowly. Bruehl bent forward, looked through the window, recognised
Watzdorf and at a signal from the Countess withdrew to the next room,
closing the door behind him. The Countess ordered the servant to remove
the second plate from the table, which was done in the twinkling of an
eye, but the second glass was forgotten. The Countess sat at the table,
looking with uneasiness towards the garden: she frowned and trembled
with anger. In the meanwhile Watzdorf came to the house and seeing the
Countess through the window, said to the gardener:
'I told you that the Countess was here, I knew it.' Saying this he
bowed with an ironical smile, looking impudently round as if expecting
to see someone else.
The Countess assumed a very severe expression when he entered.
'What are you doing here?' she asked threateningly.
'I beg a thousand pardons! I am the most awkward of men and the most
unfortunate of chamberlains. The Prince gave me a letter for you. I
went to your palace but could not find you there. The Prince's letter
is very urgent. I was obliged to try and find you, and I came here.'
'I am not surprised that you tracked me like a hound,' hissed the
Countess, 'but I don't like to be the game.'
Watzdorf appeared to be delighted at her anger. He glanced at the chair
on which hung a napkin left, by Bruehl. The Countess noticed when he
smiled at this discovery. She did not grow confused; but was angry in
the highest degree.
'Where is that letter?' she asked.
Watzdorf smiled ironically and began to search his pockets, muttering
in the meanwhile impertinently:
'Well, this house is charmingly situated for two.'
He took out several things and among them as if by accident the medal,
then he added:
'Just imagine the daring of these agitators! Who could have expected
anything like this?'
He put the medal on the table and searched further in his pockets. The
Countess took the medal and looked at it, pretending that she had not
seen it before: then she said indifferently, replacing it on the table:
'A very poor joke indeed! It does not hurt anybody.'
Watzdorf looked at her.
'It might suggest something to the Prince.'
'What?' asked the Countess.
'That he might find other props,' said Watzdorf.
'Whom? You, Frosch and Horch?'
'Countess, you are malicious.'
'With you one might become mad. Where is that letter?'
'I am in despair! It seems that I have lost it.'
'Running after me for the purpose of amusing me,' muttered the
Countess, 'to disturb me when I wish to be alone.'
'Alone!' Watzdorf repeated, smiling ironically and looking at the chair
with the napkin.
'I understand you,' the Countess burst out. 'Did the Count Moszynski
tell you to spy on me?'
At that moment the rustling of a silk dress was heard, and a lady who a
few minutes previously had entered the room and slipped behind a
Chinese screen, came slowly to the centre of the room.
Watzdorf was struck dumb with amazement. There was something so unusual
in the apparition that even the Countess trembled.
The lady was tall and not young; her gaze was piercing; her mien
majestic; her face beautiful notwithstanding her age; she was dressed
so strangely that one might have thought she was mad. She wore a large
gown, bordered with galoons. The girdle worn on the dress underneath
was golden with black cabalistic signs; on her black hair she wore a
kind of turban with a band made of parchment inscribed with Hebrew
letters, the ends of the band hanging over her shoulders.
She looked piercingly at the intruder, frowned contemptuously, and said
severely:
'What do you wish for here? Did you come to spy on my daughter and her
mother in order to entertain the Prince by telling him that you have
seen the old Cosel? You son of "the pagan and buffoon from Mansfeld,"
do you intend to annoy me also? Get out! Let us alone!'
She pointed to the door. Watzdorf, confused, retreated. His eyes shone
angrily--he went out. Cosel followed him with her eyes, then she turned
to her daughter.
It was not her day for her visit from Stolpen, and this time the
Countess Moszynski did not expect her. Thinking that Bruehl when he saw
Watzdorf go out would return, she grew confused. The Countess Cosel sat
on the chair previously occupied by Bruehl. After having driven off the
intruder she became almost absent-minded as she struck the table with
her white and still beautiful hand and gazed round the room.
'I came unexpectedly,' she said at length, not looking at her daughter,
'but you permitted me to receive people here whom I wished to see. I
asked the minister to come here.'
Moszynski's face expressed surprise.
'Don't be afraid; I expect him only towards evening,' added Cosel. 'But
who was here with you? Why did he hide?'
Moszynski was silent, not knowing what to answer: her mother looked at
her silently with a kind of pity.
'I understand,' said she with a disdainful smile. 'Some court intrigue.
New master, new servants; you must try not to fall on that slippery
ice.'
What Moszynski was afraid of happened at that moment. Bruehl appeared at
the door, and having perceived the woman whom he had never seen before
but guessed who she was, became dumb with astonishment and did not know
what to do.
Moszynski blushed, then grew pale. Cosel looked at the man, trying as
it seemed to guess his character.
'Then it is he?' said she smiling. 'Who is he?'
'The minister Bruehl,' her daughter answered.
'Everything new now! Bruehl! I don't remember. Come nearer,' she said to
Bruehl, 'don't be afraid. You see before you a priestess of a new faith.
Have you heard of me? I am the widow of Augustus the Strong. I was his
wife. You see the Countess Cosel, famous throughout the world both for
her success and her misfortunes. At my feet lay the rulers of the
world, I commanded millions. Augustus loved nobody but me.'
She spoke quietly; her daughter did not dare to interrupt her; Bruehl
stood silent, and leaning a little forward seemed to listen
attentively.
'You have chanced to see the queen who has come from another world--she
was dead, buried, but she is still living in order to convert
unbelievers to the true faith of the one God who appeared to Moses in a
burning bush.'
The Countess Moszynski trembled and by her furtive looks seemed to
beseech her mother to be silent.
Perchance Cosel understood that look, for she rose and said:
'I am going to rest, I shall not interrupt your councils any more.
Cosel's daughter ought to rule over Saxony--I understand--'
Having said this she moved majestically towards the same door by which
Bruehl had entered, and through which she disappeared.
By the other door the servant appeared with a dish.
'I am going,' whispered Bruehl, taking his hat. 'It is an unlucky day,
but I am glad that that malicious Watzdorf did not see me here.'
'He had a medal,' said the Countess, 'he was delighted with it: I see
that he is your bitter foe. What have you done to him?'
'Nothing, except that I was too polite to him.'
'He is a poisonous snake, I know him,' said the Countess.
'He is a buffoon like his father,' Bruehl said contemptuously, 'but if
he gets in my way--'
'That inscription on the medal, does it not sound like some of his
sneers?'
Bruehl looked at the Countess; her suspicion seemed to be probable.
'I shall give orders that he is to be watched,' he said shortly. 'If it
is as you think, he is not long for this world.'
Having said this he kissed the Countess's hand, took his mantle, thrown
into a dark corner near the door and therefore not observed by
Watzdorf, and went out.
He returned by the same path by which he came full of hope for a long
and free conversation; now he was thinking how he could return home
without being noticed.
He passed the gate neglecting to keep a look-out and he needed all his
presence of mind in order not to betray his emotion, when he perceived
Watzdorf standing opposite and saluting him with an ironical smile.
Bruehl returned the salute with perfect ease and amiability.
'You here!' Bruehl exclaimed. 'How glad I am!'
'It is I who can call myself happy,' said Watzdorf, 'for I never
expected to meet your Excellency under the apple trees. If I remember
well, the fruit of an apple tree is called forbidden.'
'Yes,' said Bruehl laughing. 'But I did not come for forbidden fruit.
The Countess Cosel wished to see me, for she has a request to make to
the Prince.'
There was so much probability in it that Watzdorf became confused.
'And you, chamberlain, what are you doing in the country?' asked Bruehl.
'I was searching for happiness which I cannot find elsewhere,' Watzdorf
muttered.
'Under the apple trees?'
'One might find it more easily there than at court.'
'I see you do not like court life?'
'I have no talent for it,' answered Watzdorf walking beside Bruehl.
'But you have wit, a sharp tool, with which you need not be afraid of
anything.'
'Yes, it's a good tool for making enemies,' said Watzdorf.
They walked in silence for a while. Watzdorf appearing to think over
something.
'I have not yet had the opportunity to present my congratulations to
your Excellency,' said he.
'What?' asked Bruehl.
'They say that the most able minister is going to marry the most
beautiful young lady in the court.'
There was so much passion in his voice, that it struck Bruehl suddenly
that Watzdorf might be the man whom the beautiful Frances loved. It was
only a supposition, or rather a presentiment. Bruehl trembled. 'If that
is so, then the author of the medal and the beloved of my future wife
must be put in a safe place,' he thought.
But nothing was yet proved. They looked at each other smiling, but with
hatred in their hearts. The more Bruehl hated anyone the more sweet he
was towards him: it was not in vain that he had been brought up in the
school of Augustus the Strong.
'Your Excellency neglects the Prince,' said Watzdorf. 'The Count
Sulkowski is too busy, and Frosch and Horch and Padre Guarini do not
suffice for him.'
Bruehl smiled as sweetly as he could.
'You are right, I should like to compete even with Frosch and Horch to
amuse our gracious Prince, but I have no time, for I must try to
conquer the heart of the young lady of whom you have just made
mention.'
'That is not necessary,' said Watzdorf, 'the one who shall have her
hand, and the rest--does not need her heart. It might be left to
someone else. Your Excellency has an excellent example of this in the
Count Moszynski, who does not care for his wife's heart.'
Bruehl blushed; he stopped, still smiling, but he was out of patience
with this preaching man.
'My dear sir,' he said, 'let us speak frankly: have I done you any
wrong that you should prick me, or is it only a habit of yours to bite
everybody?'
'Both,' answered Watzdorf, 'but I did not expect that such a giant as
your Excellency would feel the pricking of such a small fly as I am.'
'I feel no pain,' said Bruehl, 'but it tickles me. Would is not be
better to make a friend of me?'
Watzdorf laughed.
'Ministers have no friends,' he said, 'it is written in the most
elementary catechism of politicians.'
Here Watzdorf saluted and turned into a side street.
It was something like a declaration of war. Bruehl was struck dumb with
astonishment.
'He declares war? He must be crazy! Why such a dislike towards me? I
must find out!'
He went swiftly homeward. As soon as he entered his house, he went to
Henniche's office. Henniche was a little surprised at seeing him.
'Give orders that Chamberlain Watzdorf is to be watched,' said Bruehl.
'But as Watzdorf is very cunning you must choose a man more cunning
than he. Bribe Watzdorf's servants and search his papers.'
'Watzdorf?' repeated Henniche surprised. 'Have you any reason to
suspect him?'
'Yes.'
'Must he be sacrificed?'
Bruehl was thoughtful for a while.
'We shall see,' he said, 'I don't like to make enemies, but if it is
necessary--'
'Is he in the way?'
'I don't like him.'
'One can always find something against him.'
'Yes, find it then, and have it in store,' muttered Bruehl. 'I always
tried to be amiable. I must show now that I can be threatening.'
Henniche looked at him ironically--Bruehl left the room without having
noticed it.
Watzdorf, who at the turn of the road separated from Bruehl, walked
swiftly at first, then slowly, wandering without any aim. His face was
gloomy, for he felt that in satisfying his own irritation he had
committed a grave mistake which he would redeem very dearly. He was too
angry with Bruehl to be able to control himself.
Watzdorf although brought up at the court and accustomed to look at its
perversity, which might corrupt him also, was a man to be feared for
his honesty and integrity. All who surrounded him shocked him. The air
which he breathed seemed to him infected and he was disgusted with it.
His love for Frances Kolowrath also contributed to make him hate the
world, which had corrupted the beautiful girl. He saw all her faults:
coquettishness, levity, pride, egotism and lack of heart, but
notwithstanding that, he loved her madly, weeping over her and himself.
All her drawbacks he attributed to her education, to the court and its
customs, the air which she breathed.
He was in despair.---All noticed lately that Watzdorf had grown gloomy
and irritable to a degree. If he could he would avenge her on somebody,
and as Bruehl was Frances's fiance, on him he concentrated his whole
anger.
The courtiers, his former friends, avoided Watzdorf: some of them spoke
frankly, that he was smelling like a corpse.
Having nothing else to do he went almost mechanically towards
Faustina's house. The first part of the mourning was over and there
were already whispers of an opera. Sulkowski and Bruehl knowing how fond
the Prince was of music and of Faustina, were inclined to persuade him
to have a performance.
Although Hasse was the husband of the diva they did not live together.
_Il divino Sassone_, as the Italians called him, occupied a separate
house. Faustina's house was luxuriously furnished. She gave the orders
for each performance, and received those who applied for appointments
at the theatre.
Watzdorf asked the lackey if his mistress was at home, and received
an answer in the affirmative. When announced, and entering the
drawing-room, he found the beautiful Italian standing in the centre of
the room; while Padre Guarini, dressed in civilian's clothes was
walking to and fro. His face was smiling while Faustina was red with
anger.
Guarini, seeing Watzdorf, said to him, pointing to the singer:
'Look what this woman is doing with me, the most peaceful man in the
world. _Furioso diavolo! Furioso!_ If she was singing instead of
shrieking--'
Faustina turned to Watzdorf.
'Be my witness,' she shrieked, 'he wishes to make a puppet of me that I
may not have my own will. To-morrow his protege would ruin my theatre.
No, he must be dismissed!'
'Why?' said Guarini quietly. 'Because the beautiful youth does not
admire you? Because he prefers the blue eyes of the Frenchwoman to
yours?'
Faustina clapped her hands.
'Do you hear him, that abominable _prete?_' cried she. 'Do I need his
homage? Have I not enough of that? I am disgusted with it!'
'Yes, as if woman had ever enough of it,' laughed Guarini.
'But about whom, is this question?' asked Watzdorf.
'_Un poverino!_' the Jesuit answered, 'whom that pitiless woman wished
to drive from the theatre.'
'_Un assassino! Un traditore! Una spia!_' cried Faustina.
Watzdorf, although feeling sad, was amused by this quarrel between a
priest and an actress.
'I shall reconcile you,' said he, 'wait!'
They both looked at him, for the reconciliation was a doubtful one.
'Let the culprit go,' said Watzdorf, 'and in his place, as a good actor
is necessary, put one of the ministers. There are no better actors than
they! And as Faustina would not quarrel with a minister, there will be
peace.'
Guarini nodded, Faustina became silent, and threw herself on a sofa.
The Jesuit took the chamberlain by the arm and led him to the window.
'_Carissimo!_' he said sweetly, 'it is still very far to hot weather,
and you seem already to be sun-struck.'
'No, I am not mad yet,' said Watzdorf, 'I cannot guarantee, however,
that I shall not become mad soon.'
'What is the matter with you? Confess!'
'Shall Faustina's knee be a confessional?'
'What a heathen!' laughed the Jesuit, 'What is the matter with you?
Tell me!'
'The world seems to me stupid, that's all!'
'_Carissimo! Perdona_,' said the Jesuit. 'But it seems to me that you
are stupid, if you say such things. I shall give you some advice. When
you have an excess of bad humour, go into the forest; there you may
swear as much as you like, shout as much as you like, and then return
to town quieted. You know that in old times they used that remedy for
those who could not hold their tongues.'
Watzdorf listened indifferently.
'I pity you,' added Guarini.
'If you knew how I pity you all,' Watzdorf sighed. 'But who could say
whose pity is the better?'
'Then let us leave it,' said the Jesuit taking his hat. He came to
Faustina and bowed to her humbly.
'Once more I pray your Excellency for the _poverino_, don't dismiss him
for my sake.'
'You can do what you please without me,' answered Faustina, 'but should
you force me to sing with him, I give you my word that I shall slap his
face in public.'
Guarini inclined his head, bowed, and went to the Prince with his
report.
It was the hour of rest which Frederick enjoyed after doing nothing the
whole day. The hour in which he smoked his pipe, enjoyed the tricks of
Frosch and Horch, and the company of Bruehl and Sulkowski, for no one
else could see him then.
Guarini entered whenever he liked. He was the more amiable companion.
The Prince was fond of laughing, and Guarini made him laugh: when he
wanted to be silent, Guarini was silent: when asked a question, he
answered mirthfully, never contradicting.
Bruehl was alone in the room with the Kurfuerst. He stood at the master's
chair and whispered something. The Prince listened attentively and
nodded.
'Father, do you hear what Bruehl says?' said the Prince to the Jesuit as
he entered.
Guarini came nearer.
'Speak on,' said Frederick.
Bruehl began to talk, looking significantly at Guarini.
'He is ironical, and for a long time has been too biting and too
bitter.'
'Oh! That's too bad!' the Prince whispered.
'About whom is this question?' asked the Jesuit.
'I have dared to call his Royal Highness's attention to Chamberlain
Watzdorf.'
Guarini recalled his meeting with the man.
'The fact is,' he said, 'that I also find him strange.'
'And at the court it is contagious,' Bruehl added. The Prince sighed,
evidently already bored, and did not answer.
'Where is that fool Frosch?' he said suddenly. 'I am sure he is already
asleep in some corner.'
The Jesuit ran to the door and made a sign. Frosch and Horch rushed
into the room so precipitously that Horch fell down and Frosch jumped
on his back. The Prince began to laugh heartily.
The humiliated Horch tried to avenge himself on his adversary, rose,
thinking that he could shake him off, but the cautious little man
slipped down and hid behind a chair.
Frederick's eyes followed them--he was anxious to see the result of the
contest. Behind the chair both fools, squealing, began to fight.
Frederick laughed and forgot all about what he had heard that day. It
would be difficult to say how long this would have lasted if Guarini
had not whispered to the Prince that it was time to go to the chapel
for prayers; the Prince becoming suddenly grave went with the Jesuit to
the chapel, where the Princess was already awaiting them.