One day towards evening both the great ministers were sitting in
Sulkowski's house: they were silent and seemed to try to penetrate each
other's thoughts. Through the open window came the joyful chirping of
the birds and the rumbling of carriages.
The faces of the two rivals to a close observer bore a striking
difference. One who looked at Bruehl at a moment when he thought he was
not observed, would have seen under that sweet smile a cold perversity,
the depths of which were frightening. In his eyes could be seen the
keenness and cunning of a society man who guesses and understands
everything, who penetrates the springs of social movements and does not
hesitate to take hold of them, if he can do so safely, and provided
they can be turned to his own advantage.
Sulkowski was a proud petty noble, who having become a lord, thought
that he was so sure of his high position, that he believed everything
was subservient to him. He treated Bruehl as _malum necessarium_ and
looked down upon him with that superiority, sure of itself, which shuts
its eyes to peril. He was not lacking in ideas, but he was lazy and
disliked every effort.
Looking on them it was easy to guess the result of so unequal a fight,
for never did a beautiful face conceal more falsehood than that of
Bruehl, who, when he knew that he was watched, could assume an innocent,
childlike expression.
Two men of such calibre, placed in opposition, could not help fighting,
but they did not fight yet; on the contrary they seemed to be the best
of friends. Some instinct made Sulkowski feel that Bruehl was his
antagonist, but he laughed at the idea. Bruehl was perfectly aware that
he would not be able to rule absolutely over the Prince, until he
overthrew Sulkowski, who furnished arms against himself. Although he
could dissimulate and wait, Sulkowski sometimes avowed to himself, that
he disliked the omnipotence of the Jesuit at the court, and that the
Princess's influence also stood in his way.
He did not make Bruehl his confidant, but he did not exercise sufficient
caution and permitted him to guess. While Bruehl and Guarini were the
best of friends Sulkowski kept aloof from him. He was very respectful
towards the Princess, but did not try to win her particular favour.
Sometimes he would say something that would have passed muster under
the rule of Augustus, but was unadvisable with so severe a Princess.
Father Guarini, knowing that the Prince was fond of him, bowed to him
but kept his distance.
He very seldom met Bruehl alone, as one of them was obliged to be always
with the Prince, to keep him amused.
Evidently they had said all they had to say to each other, for
Sulkowski was silent, and Bruehl did not interrupt him, but he did not
leave him, plainly wishing to say something further before he left.
After a long silence, the Count said:
'All that must remain _entre nous_. The house of Hapsburg is near an
end, the glory of the Saxon family should begin. I know well, that we
gave up all right of inheritance, that we accepted the Pragmatic
Sanction, but with the death of the Emperor, things must take another
turn for us. We should, at least, take Bohemia, even Silesia,
recompensing Prussia elsewhere. I told you that I made a plan. I told
Ludovici to make a copy of it.'
'I should like to have it and to think it over,' said Bruehl. 'The plan
is good and worthy of you and most important for the future of Saxony.
I need hardly say that it will give me great pleasure to assist in its
realisation. You have in me the most zealous helper and servant. Tell
Ludovici to make a copy for me.'
'I do not wish,' said Sulkowski flattered by his approval, 'that this
plan for the division of Austria be seen twice by Ludovici. I shall
make a copy of it myself.'
Bruehl smiled very sweetly.
'It would be a great favour,' he said, 'the means of realising such a
wonderful project must be thought over beforehand. One could find in
Berlin--'
'Ah!' said Sulkowski smiling, 'there is no doubt that it will be well
received there: I rest assured that Prussia is our best friend.'
'I agree with you,' said Bruehl, 'the question is only that they might
not wish too much.'
'But it's not yet time to treat about it.'
'But it is to prepare the way for the strategy we are going to use.'
After saying this, Bruehl rose and observed carelessly:
'I am almost certain that that medal was stamped by someone from
Dresden, and I have my suspicions as to who did it.'
Sulkowski turned to him.
'Who could be that daring man?'
'Who could be, if not a courtier, who is confident that his position
will protect him? A man of small importance would not dare, for he
would know that it would bring him in contact with the executioner and
the pillory.'
'Yes, but as he attacked our august lord, he might meet with something
worse, because we could not overlook that.'
'I think likewise!' said Bruehl. 'They are already too daring and the
good-heartedness of our Prince and your magnanimity give them still
more courage. Have you noticed how daring Watzdorf junior is?'
Sulkowski looked at Bruehl with pity.
'You don't like Watzdorf,' he said. 'He is a buffoon like his father,
but not dangerous.'
'Excuse me,' said Bruehl with animation. 'The one who trifles with
everything, will not respect anything. He will harm me, and you, my
dear Count, and at length, our gracious lord.'
'He would not dare.'
Then taking hold of Bruehl's button, he said confidentially:
'Tell me frankly, why do you dislike him?'
'He annoys me,' said Bruehl, 'by his jokes.'
'I think you imagine,' Sulkowski continued, 'that he is in love with
Frances Kolowrath.'
'I should not mind that, because it would prove his good taste,' said
Bruehl apparently with indifference, although he was irritated.
'But he annoys the Countess Moszynski for whom I have the greatest
regard.'
'Ah!' exclaimed Sulkowski laughing.
'The Countess could defend herself,' Bruehl said.
'She could ask the Prince to punish the man, but the worst of it is
that he slanders us all, without any exception.'
'What? Me also?' asked Sulkowski.
'I could prove it to you.'
'It would be too daring!' said Sulkowski. 'Take my word for it. I think
that he ordered that medal to be struck--' said Bruehl.
'It is only a suspicion, my dear Bruehl.'
'Perhaps it is more than a suspicion,' said Bruehl.
'I am certain that he personally gave away four such medals.'
'To whom?'
'To the people belonging to the court. Where does he get so many of
them? And why such zeal in distributing a medal which I buy out and
destroy?'
'But are you certain of it?'
'Henniche will furnish you with the names of the people.'
'That alters the question,' Sulkowski said. 'It is a fact, and although
I explain it by his animosity towards you, it hurts me also.'
'To be quite certain,' Bruehl remarked, 'I must tell you frankly, that I
ordered secret search to be made in his rooms. A number of those medals
were found, which left no doubt that he was the author of them and you
must punish him for that. In your high position you might be
indifferent,' Bruehl continued with well-played animation, 'but for such
a small man as I am--'
Sulkowski frowned.
'I never could suspect that Watzdorf would be capable of such
villainy.'
'You shall have proofs of it, but, in that case, I shall not act
without you; only I beg of you to punish him. To Koenigstein--'
Sulkowski became thoughtful.
'I would pity him,' he said, 'but if he is guilty--'
'I shall not ask the Prince to do that--you must act. I am your
servant, your assistant. I am nobody, and I don't wish to be anybody by
myself: my warmest wish is to remain Sulkowski's right hand.'
Sulkowski took his hand and said with his usual pride:
'I wish to have you for my friend, only my friend, my dear Bruehl, and
for my part, I shall serve you as a friend. I need you, and I can be
useful to you.'
They shook hands; Bruehl played admirably the part of being moved.
'Listen, Bruehl, I speak as a friend; many people know that Watzdorf is
in love with Frances; if you wish to get rid of him for that reason,
believe me they will accuse you and not me.'
Bruehl simulated surprise also admirably.
'My dear Count,' he said with animation, 'I am not jealous at all, but
I can be for my lord's and your honour. To-day they attack us as well
as the throne, to-morrow they will attack our gracious lord alone. We
must prevent that.'
'You are right,' said Sulkowski coolly, 'but we must prove that he is
guilty.'
'Naturally,' said Bruehl, going towards the door.
'_Au revoir!_'
Yes, at the shooting,' said Bruehl. 'The Prince, needs some distraction,
and we must furnish it--He is passionately fond of shooting--It is such
an innocent amusement.'
Bruehl hastened, for it was time to go to the park where targets were
placed, and the court was going there. They did not wish to shoot in
the castle grounds in order to preserve the appearance of mourning.
In the park, situated near Dresden, the court often found enjoyment.
Beautiful avenues of linden trees, enormous beech trees and oaks, a
great number of statues, and a lake, made that spot one of the most
charming round Dresden. It was situated only about half an hour from
the capital. The park in which there was an amphitheatre was surrounded
by a densely wooded forest. The scent of freshly opened buds and the
quiet made the place charming.
The targets were placed in the amphitheatre. Father Guarini, not
satisfied with the preparations made by the huntsmen, and knowing
Frederick's character, wanted to prepare some surprise for him and was
busy all the morning. Not far from the amphitheatre a shanty was
erected, at which a guard was placed with orders not to allow anybody
in, for it contained Father Guarini's secret. Three times the Jesuit
came with some boxes, and every time he, and several men who helped
him, remained there quite a long time. The Jesuit's face beamed with
satisfaction when he came for the last time. Evidently he had got
everything ready, for, when the rumbling of carriages were heard, the
Jesuit putting his hands behind his back, walked quietly down the
avenue leading to the amphitheatre. The royal carriages, preceded by
the runners, with lackeys in front and rear, cavaliers on horseback,
and beautiful ladies, arrived one after another. The Prince was
accompanied by his consort who never would leave him, especially when
there were ladies in the party. The Countess Kolowrath with her
daughter, ladies-in-waiting, chamberlains, pages, followed the Prince.
Sulkowski and Bruehl in elegant hunting costumes walked beside him.
The rifles were ready, the huntsmen in charge and the pages were to
hand them. As Frederick got ready to shoot, Father Guarini appeared in
the right-hand alley. He pretended to be very much surprised to see the
court: he approached the Prince humbly, and exclaimed:
'Ah! Your Highness, what do I see? Shooting at the target--what a
splendid amusement!'
'Is it not?' said Frederick laughing, 'but you shoot only at souls.'
'And not very fortunately either--I miss very often,' rejoined the
Jesuit sighing. 'Here the competition will be splendid. But where are
the prizes.'
'What prizes?' the Prince asked, a little surprised.
'Your Highness must pardon me,' answered Guarini, 'but to put it
plainly, those who prove the best marksmen ought to get some souvenir
for their skill.'
'I had not thought of that,' the Prince replied, looking round as if
searching for someone.
'If it is permitted me,' said Guarini bowing, 'I will offer five
prizes. I cannot give much, for I am poor, but for the amusement of my
beloved lord, I deposit my modest gift at his feet.'
The Prince's eyes brightened.
'What? What?' he asked.
'It is my secret!' said the Padre, 'I cannot disclose it until the
right time.'
He pointed to the shanty.
'My prizes are there. There are five of them for the five best shots.'
It looked like some funny joke, for Father Guarini was always most
anxious to amuse the Prince; very often his jokes were not very new or
very elegant, but he always succeeded in making Frederick laugh.
'You make me anxious to see your prizes,' said Frederick.
'The only condition I would make, is that your Highness does not
compete. There is no doubt that nobody here shoots better, but I have
not prepared a prize worthy of your royal hand. Consequently--'
The eloquence in his eyes ended the sentence.
Frederick began to shoot first. Being used to a rifle since he was a
mere boy, it was true that very few people could compete with him, and
directly he took hold of a rifle he became so absorbed in the sport
that he paid no attention to anything else.
The targets were so arranged that if the ball struck the centre, a
white and green--Saxon colours--little flag sprang out: a yellow and
black flag--colours of Dresden--marked the first circle beyond the
centre; and a black flag marked the further circles.
When Frederick began to shoot and hit the centre with one ball after
another, he was applauded by the whole court. After having shot
a great many times, the others shot by turns: Sulkowski, Bruehl, the
envoys of foreign courts, the old General Bandissin, the Count
Wackerbarth-Salmour, the Count Los, the Baron Shonberg, the Count
Gersdorf and the rest. Every shot was marked. The Prince seemed to wait
impatiently for the distribution of Father Guarini's prizes.
It happened that after counting all the marks, old Bandissin won the
first prize. The Prince rose from his chair, gazing after Guarini, who
told a lackey to bring out the first prize from the shanty.
Curiosity was at its height. The door opened, and two lackeys in court
livery--yellow tail coats with blue facings--brought out a large basket
covered with a white cloth.
'General,' Guarini said seriously, 'it is not my fault that you do not
receive a prize more suitable to your age, but it so pleased the Fates,
and nobody can avoid his destiny.'
They opened the basket and took from it an enormous goose, but not in
its natural attire. A clever artist had made a very amusing thing of
it. On its wings a silk dress, such as was then worn by fashionable
ladies, had been put; on its feet there were slippers, while its head
was ornamented with a wig and feathers.
The apparition of the frightened bird was received with a burst of
laughter, as it began to scream and wanted to fly away; but its wings
were entangled in the dress, its feet in the shoes; so it opened its
beak as if crying for help and rolled among the spectators.
The Prince laughed till the tears came; all laughed, even the stern
Princess.
'The second prize!' cried Frederick.
'Your Majesty,' said Guarini, 'The first prize is called _Angelo o
l'amorosal_.'
'Who takes the second prize?' the Prince asked.
The second prize was won by Sulkowski, who was disgusted with Guarini's
joke.
The second basket was brought out--and from it jumped a monkey dressed
as a clown; the monkey was not less frightened than the goose, but
notwithstanding the clothing, it began to run away and having reached
the first tree climbed up it.
The Prince seized a rifle and fired: the monkey screaming, hanging
bleeding on the branch, fell to the ground.
The third prize, destined for Bruehl, was an enormous hare, dressed as
_Crispino_. The Prince killed the hare also. He was much excited and
happy; his hands trembled, his eyes shone, he laughed.
The fourth prize was a rabbit dressed as _Scaramuzzia_. It was also
killed by the Prince.
The last prize was a very amusing one, and it was spared: it was an
enormous turkey clad as _Dottore_, with a tail coat, wig, waistcoat and
everything that belonged to its official costume. Its comical gravity
saved its life.
They all laughed heartily.
The Prince thanked Guarini and made him a longer speech than usual. He
assured the Jesuit that not only would he never forget that excellent
farce, but that he should order it to be repeated.
They shot till dark: the evening was quiet and warm, the air sweetly
scented and the landscape charming; nobody wished to return to town;
the court dispersed, forming small groups.
It happened that the Chamberlain Watzdorf stood by the side of the
beautiful Frances Kolowrath. Her mother noticed it and tried to
separate them, but she did not succeed. Not wishing to draw more
attention to them than was proper, she was obliged to leave them alone.
Watzdorf did not neglect to take advantage of his opportunity. Usually
ironical, that evening he was sad and depressed. As there was nobody
near them he could speak to the girl.
'I am grateful to fate,' said he, 'for the opportunity it gives me of
seeing you to-day: and this happens very seldom. The opportunity is the
more precious to me, as I see you for the last time.'
'What do you mean? Why for the last time?' asked the girl with
uneasiness.
'I feel that over me hangs the vengeance of that minister-page. They
dog my footsteps, they have bribed my servants, for many of my papers
are missing. They must have taken them secretly, and if that is so, I
am lost.'
'Run away!' cried the girl passionately. 'I beseech you by our love,
run away. Nobody watches you just now, take the best horse, and in a
couple of hours you will be in Bohemia.'
'Yes, and to-morrow the Austrians would catch me.'
'Then flee to Prussia, to Holland, to France,' said the girl wildly.
'I have no means,' answered Watzdorf, 'and what is worse the charm of
life is lost to me. There is no happiness for me. Frances--do not
forget me--and avenge me. You will become that man's wife, be his
executioner--'
Watzdorf looked into her eyes; they shone with love.
'Should you not see me to-morrow at the court, it will mean that I am
lost,' he continued. 'I have a presentiment of which I cannot get rid.'
'But what reasons have you to suspect this?'
'An hour ago I found everything upside down in my room; the lackey has
disappeared. Farewell,' he said with a voice full of emotion. 'You will
live, I shall die between four gloomy walls. Frances, I beseech you,
drop a handkerchief for a souvenir. I shall carry it on my heart;
looking at it my grief will be less painful.'
The girl dropped the handkerchief: Watzdorf stooped, picked it up, and
hid it in his bosom.
'Thank you,' said he. 'One moment more, and I shall not see your eyes
again. Farewell, Frances, _addio_, my sweetest!'
The girl's mother came up at that moment, and, taking advantage of the
general confusion, she pulled her daughter away almost by force.
Watzdorf withdrew. At a distance of a few steps from him, Sulkowski
encountered Bruehl, while Guarini entertained the Prince.
'One word--' said Bruehl, 'my suppositions were right.'
'What suppositions?' the Count asked indifferently.
'I ordered Watzdorf's apartments to be searched and they found fifty
copies of the medal and a letter from the manufacturer, who tried to
justify himself because he could not execute a better facsimile of the
drawing sent him. It is absolute proof that he is guilty.'
Sulkowski grew pale.
Bruehl slipped a paper into his hand.
'Take this: I do not wish to do anything on my own responsibility;
do what you please, but if you don't put Watzdorf in Koenigstein, who
knows if one of us will not take his place there? Impudence can do
much--Count, do what you please, but I wash my hands of it.--I would
not condescend to a search to avenge myself--but the Prince is
attacked--It's _crimen laesae majestatis_ and for that death is the
penalty.'
Having said this Bruehl stepped aside quickly; his face assumed its
usual sweet smile. He perceived the Countess Moszynski and he turned
towards her, bowing in a most ceremonious and respectful way.
Frances Kolowrath followed her mother; she was silent and proud; she
gazed several times after Watzdorf and paid not the slightest attention
to what was going on around her.
While she was so deeply thoughtful Bruehl came to her, bowed
respectfully and smiled sweetly. The proud girl's eyes shone; she drew
herself up and looked at the minister contemptuously.
'Don't you think,' Bruehl said, 'that we succeeded in amusing the
Prince?'
'Yes, and you proved a good marksman,' answered the girl. 'I don't
doubt that you could shoot just as well at people--'
Bruehl looked sharply at her.
'I am not very skilful,' he said coolly, 'but if I were obliged to
defend His Majesty, I don't doubt I should shoot well. I noticed that
you enjoyed your conversation with the Chamberlain Watzdorf.'
'Yes,' said the girl, 'Watzdorf is very witty, he shoots with words as
you do with balls.'
'That is a very dangerous weapon. If one does not know how to handle
it,' said Bruehl, 'one might shoot oneself.'
The girl's mother interrupted this unpleasant conversation, Frances'
look closed it. She wished to intercede with Bruehl, but pride closed
her mouth: besides she was not certain that Watzdorf did not exaggerate
his peril.
The Princess had already left with her ladies in waiting, the Prince
still remained. Sulkowski tried to come near him, and the Prince
expressing his desire to walk some little distance, the favourite
seized the opportunity and walked at his side. Bruehl accompanied the
Countess Kolowrath.
Sulkowski did not wish to postpone the affair, for he was afraid that
Watzdorf might fly if it were delayed.
'It's a very unpleasant duty,' said Sulkowski, 'to be obliged to spoil
your majesty's humour after such pleasant amusement.'
Having listened to this, Frederick became gloomy, and looked askance at
his minister, who continued:
'The matter is pressing; Bruehl and I and even your Majesty are exposed
to the ridicule of the whole of Europe: I did not speak before, wishing
to spare your Majesty's feelings.--In Holland an abominable medal has
been struck--'
Frederick stopped; his face grew as pale as his father's used to do
when extremely angry, and he lost control of himself.
'I did not wish to mention it, until we had found the culprit,'
Sulkowski wound up. 'I and Bruehl would forgive the offence to
ourselves, but we cannot forgive the insult to your Majesty.'
'But who? Who?' asked Frederick.
'The man whose whole family including himself, owes everything to your
Majesty's father. It is unheard of gratitude and daring--'
'Who? Who?' exclaimed Frederick,
'The Chamberlain Watzdorf.'
'Have you proofs?'
'I have a letter found in his rooms and several medals.'
'I don't wish to see them,' the Prince said extending his arm, 'nor him
either; away, away--'
'Shall we let him go unpunished?' Sulkowski asked. 'It cannot be. He
will carry his calumnies and spread them in other countries.'
'The Chamberlain Watzdorf? Watzdorf junior?' repeated Frederick. 'But
what do you propose?' Saying this he wiped the perspiration from his
forehead.
'Koenigstein,' said Sulkowski shortly.
There was a moment of silence. The Prince walked slowly, with bowed
head. It was the first offence that he was obliged to punish.
'Where is Bruehl?' he asked.
'Bruehl left it to me,' answered the Count.
'Watzdorf! Koenigstein!' repeated Frederick sighing. Then stopping he
turned to Sulkowski and said:--I don't wish to hear any more about it;
do what you please.'
Sulkowski turned to Guarini, who walked behind them, and signed to him
to approach, for he was the best man to amuse the Prince. The Padre ran
as quickly as he could, guessing that he was needed.
'I am in despair!' cried he, 'my goose _Angelo o l'amorosal_ is lost,
flew away, seeing that Bandissin did not care for it; I am sure it will
commit suicide in the forest. I rushed after it and was unfortunate to
take three ladies for my goose; they will never forgive me this.'
The Prince's gloomy face brightened up; his white teeth appeared from
beneath tightened lips. He looked at the Jesuit as if wishing to find
the necessary cheeriness in the bright smiling face, remembering the
Italian _puleinello_.
Guarini having guessed that something must have saddened the good lord,
did his best to counteract its bad influence.
And in proportion as the Italian's jokes came out, the Prince seemed to
forget all else and smiled. But the merry Father was obliged to renew
his efforts to disperse the returning cloud, and he did not stop his
joking until he heard the loud, hearty laughter, which announced that
the Prince had forgotten about the sorrows of this world.
The next day the Chamberlain Watzdorf disappeared; he was the first
victim of that reign. A few days later they began to whisper that
Watzdorf had been escorted to Koenigstein. The Prince never mentioned
his name; Sulkowski and Bruehl did not wish to know anything about the
affair.
Fear fell on the court and on the secret enemies of the two ministers.
In _The Historical Mercury_, a newspaper published in Paris, there
appeared the following paragraph:
'Those who were familiar with the playful and satirical mind of that
young nobleman, who was mixed up in certain affairs after the death of
Augustus the Strong, and who showed his cutting wit, will not be
astonished at the sad lot which befel him.'
Watzdorf never again appeared in this world. He died in Koenigstein
after fourteen years of seclusion, killed by longing and solitude.