The carnival promised to be brilliant that year. In Saxony everything
was satisfactory; the noblemen, who dared murmur, were sent to
Pleissenburg; in Poland quiet was assured by the last Sobieski.
Faustina always sang marvellously, and there was plenty of game in the
forests round Hubertsburg. Day after day, arranged in advance, passed
very pleasantly.
The blessed peacefulness was disturbed by the news that Sulkowski was
returning; it hastened the Queen's attack and sealed his sentence. It
was not expected that the favourite would be admitted to see the King.
Henniche and his accomplices gave orders that all roads were to be
watched; the guards were at the gates, private detectives watched
Sulkowski's palace.
The general-minister's carriage came. His wife had intended to go
towards Prague and meet him, but they were afraid of that, and the
Countess Kolowrath told her that the Queen desired her to be in
readiness in case she was called to the castle, and that she must not
leave Dresden. The Countess was obliged to obey.
On the first of February, 1738, the Count Sulkowski arrived at Pirma,
where he stopped to feed and water the horses before proceeding to
Dresden. In the inn a courier sent on ahead prepared everything for the
minister's reception. Nobody yet could even suspect his downfall. The
whole borough, the officials, burgomasters, in gala uniforms, were
awaiting, notwithstanding the intense cold, the man whom they thought
to be almighty and before whom all trembled.
The courier announced the arrival of his Excellency for four o'clock;
but as that day there was a heavy fall of snow, he did not arrive at
the appointed hour. While all eyes were looking down the road in the
direction of Prague, a cavalier wrapped in a mantle came from the
direction of Dresden and stopped his tired horse before the inn. The
owner of the inn called 'The Crown,' Jonas Hender, a very resolute man,
having perceived the stranger, who at any other time would have been
very welcome, rushed to tell him that there was no room for him.
'Excuse me, sir--we expect his Excellency the Count Sulkowski; I have
no room either for you or your horse; but at the 'Palm Branch,' an inn
kept by my brother-in-law, the accommodation is not bad.'
The stranger hardly listened to Jonas. He threw the reins on the
horse's neck and looked towards the inn. He was a middle-aged man, as
one could judge by the wrinkles round his eyes, for the rest of his
face--it must have been done on account of the cold--was wrapped in a
shawl and his cap was drawn over his eyes.
'Exactly,' he muttered, 'because his Excellency is going to stay here,
I must find a room, because I am sent to him.'
The innkeeper bowed and took hold of the horse.
'That alters the case,' he said, 'pray come in and warm yourself. Hot
wine with spices is ready, and there is nothing better than _gluekwein_
for the cold. The horse shall be taken to the stable.'
A groom took the tired grey horse. The innkeeper conducted the stranger
to a room; he looked at him in order to guess who he was, but he failed
to do so either by his dress, or his mien. The dress was an ordinary
one, the speech pure but not Saxon; his manner full of assurance
betrayed a courtier, but not one of great importance, since he came on
horseback without a servant and he wore jack-boots.
For such a great lord as Sulkowski, every room was engaged, as his
retinue was large; there remained only the innkeeper's room, into which
the stranger was shown.
The room was clean and bright and a good fire was burning in the
fireplace. Hender helped the stranger to take off his large mantle and
the shawl, from under which there appeared the thin, bony face of an
official. His eyes were piercing and his mouth twitched.
Hender looked at him, and as he was very shrewd at reading character,
he said to himself:
'He is a dangerous man.'
But it was necessary to be overwhelmingly polite to such a
dangerous-looking messenger from the capital. Therefore he placed a
chair near the fireplace and asked the stranger, who received all
civilities very indifferently, to sit down. Several times when the host
ventured some remark he received no answer. He brought a glass of hot
wine and handed it to the traveller, who accepted it, but did not even
thank him for it.
'This must be a man of some importance,' said Hender to himself.
He became even more civil, and told his two children to keep away; at
that moment a trumpet resounded, Sulkowski was coming. The innkeeper
rushed out to receive him.
The stranger remained motionless, deep in thought. The minister was
brought triumphantly to the room assigned to him; the servants brought
the boxes, Hender returned to his room and found the stranger sitting
before the fire and drinking the wine. He did not appear to hear the
host, who felt it his duty to say aloud:
'His Excellency has arrived!'
The guest made a grimace; he finished his wine, shook his head, took
his cap and went out.
Had Jonas Hender been acquainted with Dresden and had to do with higher
officials, he would have recognised in his guest, Ludovici.
The councillor slowly opened the door and entered the room in which
Sulkowski was resting.
The table was set, the servants were busy, a young aide-de-camp stood
in the window, Sulkowski was lying on the sofa.
When he perceived Ludovici, he sprang up, beaming with joy.
'It is you!' he exclaimed. 'How good of you to come to meet me! I am
very grateful to you, for I shall get some news; the last letters were
very insignificant. How are you?'
The councillor's face was not indicative of good news. He was silent
and looked askance at the aide-de-camp. Sulkowski passed to the other
room and nodded to Ludovici to follow him. He was surprised at the
councillor's long face. The Count was in an excellent humour. On the
Rhine and in Hungary he had been well received, thanks to letters of
introduction and to his position. He returned happy and still more
proud, with a greater supply of self-assurance than ever.
No sooner had they entered the room than the Count begun to ask
questions, to which the answers were scanty, Ludovici seeming to lack
courage to speak. He looked sadly at the Count's joy, which he was
about to destroy or perchance change into despair.
He let the Count speak, who laughing told him of his success, of the
honours with which he had been received, of the experience he had
gained. It seemed that he thought he would become as famous as Maurice
de Saxe.
Ludovici looked and shook his head.
'What is the matter with you?' asked Sulkowski. 'Are you cold? Why
don't you speak?'
Ludovici glanced round.
'I do not bring good news,' he said, 'that is why I do not hasten to
talk.'
'Is my wife well?'
'Yes, thank God.'
'Is the King well?'
'Yes, but--'
Ludovici looked at the Count and said sadly:
'But you will find him changed. A great many things are changed. I was
against your travelling.'
'What has happened?' said Sulkowski carelessly.
'The worst that could happen. Your enemies accused you; the Queen is at
their head, then Guarini, and the cunning Bruehl. We are lost.'
Sulkowski looked at him as at a madman, shrugged his shoulders and
laughed.
'You must be dreaming.'
'I should like to dream,' said Ludovici gloomily. 'There is no time for
illusions, we must try to save ourselves, if there is still time for
that. I came, risking my life, to warn you. The gates are guarded, the
houses are surrounded by spies: if you come to Dresden, so that they
recognise you at the gate, they will not admit you to the King; such
are the orders.'
'But it cannot be,' the Count cried passionately. 'It is a stupid hoax,
someone has told the King some nonsense, and you believed it. There is
no man in this world who could take the King's heart from me. It is
impossible, it is a lie! I laugh at it! They would dare not to admit me
to the King? Ludovici, you have lost your senses--'
Ludovici looked at the minister with a kind of commiseration.
Sulkowski walked to and fro, laughing to himself.
'Where did you get that stupid gossip from?' asked he.
'From the best source. I gave my word that I would not reveal the name
of the person who told me and ordered me to warn you. That which I say
is true.'
'But how could it come to that?' asked Sulkowski a little alarmed.
'The King is weak,' said Ludovici, 'the Queen is a stubborn woman,
Father Guarini is the most cunning of men, and Bruehl is master of the
art of using other people to achieve his aims. Your Excellency never
tried to hide his aversion to priests, and such is the result of their
work. Everything is arranged. They forced your dismissal upon the King.
You will be banished from the court with a small pension, so that you
will not hinder Bruehl from making millions. They are afraid of your
influence over the King and they will not permit you to see him.'
Sulkowski frowned.
'Are you sure of it?' he asked.
'Very sure! the guards at the gate have orders not to let you in; the
castle is also guarded.'
'And the King does not even wish to see me!' burst out Sulkowski.
'The King is a slave,' said Ludovici.
Sulkowski relapsed into thought.
'If you intend to go with all your retinue to Dresden,' Ludovici
continued, 'you will fall into their hands. If there is any means you
could use to see the King, don't hesitate to act. You have some
influence, take advantage of it, but it will be a fight for life or
death, with the Queen, confessor and Bruehl.'
Sulkowski paced to and fro, frowning, then he asked:
'Are you sure of what you say?'
'As I live.'
'Then be it so, but--I am not afraid of them; they cannot crush me as
they did Hoym and the rest. We shall see. Let us now have something to
eat. I shall leave my retinue here and we shall go to Dresden on
horseback. I should like to know who would dare to bar my access to the
King to-morrow. We shall see! Can we not reach town without being
recognised?
'We must!' answered Ludovici.
'Come then and let us eat well, that they may not guess anything here.'
Having said this he returned to the other room in which the meal was
ready. They spoke very little and only of extraneous matters as they
eat. Ludovici had a very good appetite, while Sulkowski seemed only to
be thirsty, he drank so much.
The Count said to his aide-de-camp:
'Count, you and the horses are tired; stay over night at Pirma. I wish
to take my wife by surprise and go to Dresden on horseback with the
Councillor Ludovici.'
The aide-de-camp seemed to be very much surprised, for Sulkowski was
fond of travelling in comfort, with much pomp and ceremony: such an
_incognito_ during bad weather, on the road covered with snow, in the
night, seemed very strange. Sulkowski noticing his astonishment said
with a smile:
'There is nothing extraordinary in my project, sometimes one must
satisfy a fancy although one is not very young.'
Having said this, he took his aide-de-camp aside and gave him secret
orders.
The aide-de-camp left the room at once.
Sulkowski stood silent and pensive.
Soon two saddled horses stood at the door of the inn; the minister was
advised at least to take a groom, but he refused. The journey for
Ludovici, who had already made it coming from Dresden and who was not
accustomed to riding on horseback, was more painful than for the Count;
but he did not wish to let him go alone.
Fortunately for both of them the weather improved, the snow ceased to
fall. The horses were accustomed to the road on which they travelled
often and followed the highway. The sun was setting, they pushed on at
a smart trot, the Count ahead, the councillor behind him, both silent.
They quickly passed villages, houses and inns. The night was quite dark
and the numerous lights in the distance presently announced that they
were approaching Dresden. Here the road was less lonely. Several
sledges passed, men on horseback and pedestrians. Against the bright
sky could be seen the dark towers of the churches.
Sulkowski slackened the speed of his horse until Ludovici came up with
him.
'If they guard the gate,' he said, 'we must use some precautions.'
'Your Excellency will wrap himself in the cloak and will follow me. It
is true that they guard the gates, but they look for the equipages and
retinue with which they expect you.'
'You said that they watch my house also?'
'Yes,' Ludovici answered.
'I must go there on foot and enter without being noticed.'
'I would not advise you to do that,' said Ludovici, 'in our times one
cannot be sure of the servants, some of them might betray us.'
Sulkowski laughed bitterly.
'It is very amusing,' he said, 'who could have told me this morning
that I should not be able to pass the night in safety in Dresden?'
He shrugged his shoulders.
'If my position is so dangerous,' he said proudly, after a while, 'then
I do not wish to expose any one else. Take care of the horses, and I
shall find a place to pass the night, and then do what I have to do.'
Thus saying he turned his horse, covered his face with the mantle, let
Ludovici pass in front, bent to the saddle, and having assumed the mien
of a groom, following his master, followed the councillor. They
approached the gate. In very truth the guards were there, but Ludovici
gave them some name and as they did not pay much attention to two men
on horseback they entered the town.
A soldier rushed after Ludovici.
'Do you come from Pirma?'
'Yes,' answered Ludovici.
'Did you hear anything of the Count Sulkowski, who is expected to-day?'
'The inn called the Crown,' said Ludovici, 'was engaged for his
Excellency, but a courier came to say that he would not be leaving
Prague for two days.'
The soldiers returned, glad that they would not be obliged to watch
very closely during the night and the Count with the councillor
proceeded.
In the town there was still much stir as was usual during the carnival.
Sulkowski dismounted near the post office, gave the horse to Ludovici,
and went towards his palace.
He no longer doubted that what Ludovici had lately told him was true,
and tried to enter his house unperceived. Even he hesitated whether it
would not be better to pass the night elsewhere; but his pride
prevented him from hiding like a culprit. The question was how to enter
unnoticed by servants whom he distrusted. Not being accustomed to
subterfuges he did not know how to act.
A strange feeling was aroused in him at the sight of the people, many
of whom he recognised, of passing carriages, of all that merry carnival
movement. Smaller officials passed him without recognition of the man
wrapped in the mantle; before whom, not long since, they almost
kneeled. His situation seemed to him like a dream, the danger a
nightmare. He was angry that he could have believed it. He measured the
position he occupied with the menace of downfall, and could not imagine
it possible.
Under the influence of these thoughts he went more boldly. At about the
distance of a furlong, he noticed several dark figures walking about
and apparently awaiting someone. Those figures, hiding stealthily in
corners, were the best proof that the house was watched. Sulkowski
entered a side street, uncertain what to do. At that moment he
recollected a man whom he could trust. It was Father Vogler, a Jesuit,
the King's former confessor, an old man, who apparently left the court
of his own will, giving way to Father Guarini.
He lived quietly, seldom showing himself in the court, and entirely
engrossed in his books. Formerly the King's favourite, now almost
forgotten, for he did not know how to amuse him. Father Vogler was a
silent retiring man. He was Sulkowski's chaplain and confessor and had
gained his esteem. Although Vogler apparently lived far from the
intrigues of the court, even Guarini seemed to fear him and was very
respectful towards him. Vogler did not hide his dislike of Bruehl and
although he said little, one could see that he disliked the court and
everything that was going on there. Sulkowski remembered that Vogler
had warned him before his departure that he should not stay away long,
that he should not be too confident of the King's favour, and should
not trust those who were apparently his best friends.
If anyone was well informed it was certainly Vogler. The Count, being
obliged to steal through the old market and a much populated street
leading to the castle in which the Jesuit lived, wrapped the cloak very
carefully around him and walked in the shadow of the houses in order
that he might not be recognised. Carriages were going towards the
castle and he recognised Bruehl's _post-chaise_ and smiled bitterly. The
street scene with Erell led by on a donkey recurred to his mind, and it
seemed to him that he had met with a similar fate to that of the
editor.
The house, in which Vogler lived, belonged to the castle, and the
entrance to it was from a small dark street. He knew that Vogler
occupied the second floor. He passed the dark stairs, and rang the bell
at the door which he found with difficulty in the darkness.
He waited long. A small boy with a candle in his hand opened the door.
'Is Father Vogler at home?'
The boy looked timidly at the stranger and hesitated as to what to
answer.
'I wish to see Father Vogler on urgent business,' he said.
The boy left the door open and disappeared into the room. He returned
shortly and showed the Count into a small room full of books and
bookshelves, and a large table on which was an abundant supply of
papers. A reading lamp was burning. From an old chair, upholstered with
leather, rose a tall, thin, bent, bald-headed man. He seemed to be
surprised at such a late call and turned his feeble eye on the visitor,
whose face was still half covered with the mantle. Only when the boy
closed the door, did Sulkowski uncover his face and head and come near
Father Vogler, who seizing him by the hand cried out with astonishment.
'Hsh!' cried Sulkowski.
Vogler embraced him and made him sit down on a chair, then he went to
the ante-room and gave some orders to the boy.
The Count leaned thoughtfully on the table.
'I see,' said the Jesuit, coming back, 'that you know all, although
nobody here knows yet. Has anybody seen you?'
'I came here straight from my journey,' answered the Count. 'In Pirma I
learned about the plot, and by your manner I see that it is true. Is it
true? Then they dread--'
Vogler shrugged his shoulders.
'Yes, your good friends await you with this surprise,' he said slowly,
'they will not admit you to the King.'
'It is I who will prepare a surprise for them and see the King
notwithstanding them all,' cried Sulkowski. 'They are mistaken; the
King under pressure would give in in my absence, but if I get half
an hour's conversation with him, I shall regain my influence and
then--Then,' cried Sulkowski rising and clenching his fist, 'it will
not be I that will be sent away, but those who dared to intrigue
against me.'
He became silent.
Vogler wrung his hands.
'The question is where I can pass the night and wait till to-morrow, so
that they may not know that I have arrived. I am sure that they will
not give orders that I am not to be admitted to the court; by my right
and my rank I have free access to the King at any hour. At eleven
o'clock the King is alone; Bruehl is not with him.'
The Jesuit listened attentively, not showing what he thought of the
Count's plan.
'You have nothing to lose, you must try to win,' he said.
'Will you have the courage to let me sleep here?' asked Sulkowski with
a smile of doubt.
'You are welcome; my humble dwelling is at your service. You are safe
here, for nobody calls on me.'
Sulkowski's eyes shone.
'If I am able to see the King, I am sure of winning--'
'May God help you,' whispered Vogler.
The next morning Bruehl heard through Henniche, that Sulkowski was not
expected to arrive for two more days. In the court the whole plot had
been kept in great secresy; the Countess Sulkowski, whom the Queen
always received very kindly had not the slightest suspicion. The King
was in an excellent humour.
Early in the morning Bruehl came to the King for his orders, and having
left Guarini with him, returned to his palace. Here he changed his
clothes, because the etiquette required him to do so several times
during the day, and ordered his _porte-chaise_ to carry him to the
Countess Moszynski. He now felt at home in her house, for her husband
had died a few months previously, and Bruehl was certain that she was
too much in love with him to marry anybody else. His relations of
tender friendship with the beautiful widow were no secret. Every day he
would take counsel with her, every morning the Countess Moszynski would
visit him. It was known that she did what she pleased with him. Very
often when they had something very urgent to communicate to the
minister, for he did nothing without her advice, they would go to the
Countess to find him there.
That day Bruehl also went to her house as though it were his own. The
Countess on seeing him said:
'Has Sulkowski arrived?'
'Not yet! I had news from Pinna; they do not expect him for two days.'
The Countess Moszynski shook her head with evident dissatisfaction.
'It is not natural,' she said, 'it is suspicious. His wife told me that
at the latest she expected him last night. Somebody must have warned
him.'
'Impossible! Nobody knows!'
The Countess laughed.
'Let us count up how many people know the secret,' she said, counting
on her fingers. 'The Queen, the Countess Kolowrath, the King, Guarini,
you, I, and to be sure, your wife. If she was not told she would guess:
let us add Henniche. Have you ever heard of a secret being kept by
eight persons?'
Bruehl shook his head carelessly.
'Even if he had learned, it would not help him at all. The Queen
wearied the King so much about Sulkowski, that for the sake of his
beloved peace he must give him up.'
The subject of conversation was soon changed. Bruehl, however,
notwithstanding his apparent calm, was thoughtful and gloomy. Towards
noon, just as he was about to take leave of the Countess, there was a
rap at the door, and Henniche rushed in.
His changed face and hurried entrance into the drawing-room announced
bad news. The Countess sprang from her seat. Bruehl ran to him.
Henniche could not speak.
'Henniche, what is the matter? Come to your senses!' exclaimed Bruehl.
'What is the matter with me? Sulkowski has been in town ever since last
night, at eleven o'clock he came to the castle, and asking no
permission, entered the King's room. Father Guarini, who was with the
King, said that his Majesty became white as marble. The Count, as if
not aware of anything wrong, greeted the King in most tender words and
kneeling he said that his first step was to fall at his Majesty's feet.
The King became tender and embraced him. The Count began to talk about
his travels and made the King laugh--and thus he resumed his former
duties. At this moment Sulkowski is with the King; everybody is alarmed
in the castle: the Queen weeps, Guarini is pale--everything is lost.'
Bruehl and the Countess looked at each other.
Bruehl did not appear to be frightened but very much annoyed.
'Henniche, listen!' he said, 'Sulkowski cannot remain with the King for
ever; I do not wish to meet him; let me know when he leaves the castle.
They watched well at the gates and fulfilled my orders nicely!' added
the minister drily.
He went to the Countess, kissed her hand, whispering a few words, and
went out with Henniche.
The scene described by Henniche was very interesting indeed. A ghost
would not have been more alarming in the castle than the sudden
appearance of Sulkowski. When he entered the King's room. Augustus III
was struck dumb with surprise, for the things he most disliked were
reproaches and quarrels. Father Guarini, notwithstanding his usual
self-composure, could not conceal his confusion. Sulkowski kneeling
greeted the King with apparent joy, telling him how happy he was to
look on his lord's face again. This calmed Augustus a little. Guarini
noticed, however, that he only smiled, but said not a word.
The Padre's first intention was to remain to the end of the interview,
but later on it occurred to his mind, that it was his duty to
communicate the incident to the Queen in order that some precautions
might be taken at once. In consequence, having listened to Sulkowski's
narration for about an hour, he was obliged to leave the room.
Sulkowski spoke merrily and quickly as though in a fever. Although he
did not, even by the slightest allusion, let it be known that he knew
what was going to happen to him, one could guess by his agitation and
daring that he was playing his last card. The King glanced round as if
he were afraid and grew more and more stiff: one moment his face grew
brighter, the next it became cold.
As long as Father Guarini was in the room, the Count confined his
conversation to his travels; when Guarini left the room he changed both
the tone and subject.
'Your Majesty,' he said, 'I was longing to see my liege: I had a sad
presentiment, although thank God, it is not realised, and your
Majesty's heart is the best guarantee that it could not be realised. I
have served my lord since childhood, I sacrificed my life to him, and I
am ready to sacrifice the rest of my days; I was able to gain my lord's
favour and confidence, my conscience does not reproach me with
anything; I am not afraid of the plots of my enemies, even if I had
any, and I do not believe I have them, for I have done no harm to
anybody.'
The King listened with forced dignity, which did not promise well.
Sulkowski asked to be permitted once more to kiss the King's hand;
Augustus gave it to him muttering, changing uneasily from one foot to
the other, but not saying one intelligible word. The Count's enthusiasm
increased and he spoke with growing fever.
'Sire, my lord, I believe in your heart as I believe in God. Only may
the intriguers not take it from me by their calumnies!'
'Oh! Oh!' interrupted Augustus, 'there are no intrigues here.'
'Into what court are they not able to penetrate? What dress must they
assume?' said Sulkowski laughing. 'Sire, I am a soldier and I speak
straight. There are bad people and those who are the sweetest, the most
humble, the most useful, they are the most dangerous. Sire, and my
lord, I do not wish to name the others--but Bruehl must be dismissed,
otherwise he will get all into his own power and deprive your Majesty
of his best friends, in order that he may rule absolutely.'
Thus saying he looked at the King's face, which became crimson and then
pale, his eyes assumed a wild expression, the result of suppressed
anger. Sulkowski, knowing well that it was necessary to conquer the
outburst in order to dominate the monarch, favoured peace above all
things; the anger never lasted long. Several times the King had wished
to break the chain of dependence, but every time he had shirked the
effort necessary to effect it. The Count had seen him several times in
that state of mind and became still bolder.
'Sire,' he said, following the King, who went to the window, 'your
Majesty respects the memory of his great father; may he serve as an
example! He never permitted anyone to domineer over him, neither the
Queen, nor favourites, nor ministers, nor priests. He ruled supreme.
Your Majesty has only to wish, to command, and those who murmur will
become silent; the chain shall be broken. One must have courage to live
and to rule, and for that one must break all chains.'
The King listened but grew more and more frightened; he stopped up both
his ears and instead of answering retreated further and further towards
the window.
Sulkowski having gone so far could not retreat, and determined to
strike the iron while it was hot.
'I know,' he said, that I attempt a great thing, but I do so out of
love for my lord, whom I wish to see as great and as happy as his
father was. Your Majesty wishes for a peaceful life, and it will come
as soon as your Majesty asserts his authority. Those tutors, Guarini
and Bruehl, must be sent away. The Queen is a saint, let her pray for us
and edify us by her virtues, and we, sire, shall go and conquer
Hungary, for the Emperor Karl VI will not live long. Your Majesty will
breathe more freely in the camp.'
Sulkowski laughed. The King looked sullenly about him: not a movement,
not a word betrayed his thoughts.
He was evidently tired.
Happily a movement in the corridor announced the dinner. Augustus made
a movement as if he wished to go. Sulkowski seized his hand and kissed
it. The King blushed. At that moment the Grand Marshall of the court
entered and perceived Sulkowski taking leave of the King in such a
tender way, that he did not doubt that the Count had returned to his
former favour.
Unfortunately the last part of that conversation was overheard by the
Queen and Guarini, who stood at the door.
Sulkowski went out, assured that he would be able to change everything
and that no danger threatened him. He greeted the courtiers and
officials whom he met in the castle with his former pride, and after a
short conversation with them, he ordered a _porte-chaise_ to be brought
for him and was borne home.
He was persuaded that all trouble was over and that he had conquered
all obstacles. He believed in the King's heart. He received his wife
with a serene face and told Ludovici to prepare all documents accusing
Bruehl of false accounts, showing his abuses, etc. Ludovici having
received these orders went out immediately to see that they were
fulfilled.
While this was going on, the King had no appetite at the commencement
of his meal. His attendants knew him well and immediately used the most
effectual remedy. Frosch and Horch were soon before him, looking at
each other challengingly. Frosch with his hands in his pockets did not
wish to look at Horch, while the latter having contorted his mouth, and
half-closed his eyes, pointed at his adversary with his finger and
slowly advanced towards him.
When he was near he gave him a ferocious kick. Frosch shrieked, the
King looked and his face brightened. Then the two fools began to abuse
each other.
'Traitor,' cried Frosch opposite Horch, 'you have not the courage to
challenge such a hero as I am, for you know that I could crush you! You
take me by treachery and you shall be punished for it.'
Horch pretended to be frightened, kneeled, clasped his hands and seemed
to beg for mercy. But Frosch rushed upon him, but it happened that he
passed over his adversary's head and found himself mounted on his
shoulders. Horch had risen and holding Frosch by his feet began to race
round the room with him. In the meantime Frosch pounded Horch on the
back with his fist and seized him by the ears and both then rolled on
the floor.
The King, having forgotten all his troubles, began to laugh; the
entertainment restored his appetite and he ate voraciously.
The Queen, although it did not amuse her at all, pretended to laugh
also.
In addition to this a few glasses of good wine improved the King's
humour so much that Josephine did not doubt that after dinner she would
be able to renew her attacks upon Sulkowski.
Bruehl and Guarini were waiting in the King's apartments. The minister
did not hesitate on his own responsibility to give orders that in the
event of Sulkowski appearing he was to be told that the King could not
receive him. The chamberlains were told to excuse themselves as best
they could, but not to admit the Count.
It was a serious fight in which it was difficult to foresee who could
win, because Sulkowski's speech would have made a great impression on
the King but for the fact that the Queen overheard some of the Count's
insinuations and his advice to the King to try and recover his
independence.
After dinner, Augustus as usual hastened to his apartment to smoke his
pipe and enjoy his _robe de chambre_; he was already taking leave of
the Queen, not having mentioned a word about Sulkowski, when she
stopped him: 'Augustus,' she said, 'I heard what Sulkowski was advising
you.'
'Where? How?'
'I was at the door,' answered the Queen, 'and I am glad I was there
though it was by an accident. You are as kind as an angel and a King
cannot be kind. That audacious fellow offended the King's majesty, he
has offended you and me; he dared to advise you to lead a bad life.
Augustus, if this man remains in the court, God's punishment will
descend upon us. How could you suffer--'
'Well? What?' said the King. 'It worries me. I need rest. Drive him
away then.'
'Give orders!'
Augustus nodded in the affirmative. But mistrusting him the Queen sent
for Guarini and told him to act immediately.
Apprehensive and confused Bruehl waited for the King. Seeing him
Augustus did not say a word and sat down in an arm-chair. Almost at the
same moment Guarini entered laughing.
'Sire, we have at last found what we lost. Sulkowski has come back;
evidently he must have come to the conclusion that it is useless to
hunt after happiness. _Chi sta bene, non si muove_. Evidently he was
not satisfied here, but he has come back just the same, for elsewhere
must have been worse.'
Augustus began to smoke and pointed at Bruehl with his pipe.
'He is at fault,' he said. 'Why did they let him in? The Queen
listened--he talked nonsense--phew!'
'Sire, I am not guilty, somebody betrayed our secret,' said Bruehl.
'Do what you please,' said the King with asperity. 'I do not wish to
know anything. Write a warrant, I will sign it--'
'There is no reason for your Majesty to be in a bad humour and spoil
your health,' Guarini said. 'Faustina is going to sing to-night with
Abbuzzi, they now love each other very tenderly.'
Augustus looked round and muttered:
'_Amor quel che piace!_'
It was the beginning of a song which he was nearly humming.
Guarini, taking great pains to disperse the king's gloomy feelings,
ordered a magnificent portrait painted by Giorgione, and recently
purchased in Venice, to be brought. The King on seeing it said
enthusiastically: '_A, che bello!_'
He again forgot about everything.
'What softness of the brush, what colouring, what life!' he exclaimed,
delighted with the picture, and his eyes smiled.
Half-an-hour later Faustina asked for an audience on important theatre
affairs, and it was granted.
All withdrew and she entertained the King for about half-an-hour with a
very animated conversation; when she left, Augustus was beaming with
delight as if there were neither ministers, nor state affairs, nor any
sorrows in this world. The clouds were entirely dispersed.
It was not so easy a matter to calm the anxiety of the Queen and her
accomplices in the plot. They knew how daring Sulkowski was, how he
loved the King, how many friends he had at the court, and how, as he
was familiar with the habits of the King, he could easily reach him.
Consequently guards were stationed all round the Count's palace, round
the opera, at the side door of the castle, at the entrance leading to
the King's apartments.
Guarini did not leave the King for a moment, the Queen was watchful;
Bruehl and the Countess Moszynski took counsel together: Henniche,
Globig, Loss, Hammer, and the whole crowd of officials employed by
Bruehl, scattered through the town and took up their appointed stations.
Their movements were a matter of the most perfect indifference to
Sulkowski, as, sure of his victory, he drew up a report with which he
proposed to overthrow his adversary. The Count was persuaded that his
speech had made a deep impression on the King, and that it would
counterbalance everything else.
His wife, less confident, went to pay a visit to the Queen. She was not
received. Alarmed by this she insisted on obtaining a short audience
and at length it was granted.
The Queen received her very coolly, but following Guarini's advice she
pretended not to know anything about the affairs of the court and that
she did not wish to be mixed up in anything.
The Countess Sulkowski, upon entering the room in which the Queen was
reading a pious book, did not know what to say.
With a smile, she told the Queen, that she came to share her happiness
with her beloved lady, that her husband had arrived. From that she
passed to the rumour, that her husband's enemies wished to injure him.
'My dear Countess,' said the Queen, 'pray, let us talk about something
else; I am occupied with my children, prayers and art, but I do not mix
in the affairs of the court and I do not wish to know anything about
them.'
Once more the Countess attempted to explain, but the Queen repeated:
'I know nothing. The King does not ask for my advice, I do not
interfere with his affairs--'
After a short conversation the subject of which was a newly converted
Israelite, and Lent prayers, the Countess took leave of the Queen.
It would be difficult to guess whether she believed in the Queen's
ignorance about the intrigues of the court. But accustomed to trust her
husband, she calmed herself and went home.
Ludovici appeared late in the evening but his manner indicated nothing
good. He came to tell the Count that he found insuperable difficulties
in finding documents, that the officials did not want to obey him, and
that consequently it was impossible to have the papers ready for the
next day.