Among other items of news that Zaklika gathered was this--that the next day another masquerade was going to be given in the old market square. There was not a day without either concert, opera or ballet, or some kind of entertainment. Musicians brought from Italy, singers, and composers, were so well selected that Dresden Theatre was the first in Europe. Lotti was the musical composer; Tartini gave concerts; Santa Stella was prima donna, Durastanti was called the princess of opera singers; Senesino and Berselli were famous tenors; Aldrovandini painted scenery; Bach was musical director.
Distractions were not lacking. The King himself, very often masked and disguised, took part in these entertainments, for he was fond of incident, and willingly bore the unpleasantness of such amusements. The King sent round numerous orders, for he wanted to see the square crowded. The preparations had commenced on the preceding night.
Zaklika arrived at Pillnitz at dawn, and found everybody sleeping; he entered his room unperceived, and waited there until his mistress should get up.
As soon as he noticed the windows of her chamber were open he began to walk under them until the Countess had seen him, and went out to talk with him.
Zaklika reported everything to her exactly, especially his conversation with Lehman. He suggested that the best way would be to carry the money and jewels to Dresden during the day, so as not to arouse any suspicions. The heavy boxes would have required two or three men to carry them; but Zaklika, being of extraordinary strength, could manage them alone.
The Countess consented to everything. Horses hired by Zaklika were to wait for them at dusk in the forest on the shore of the Elbe. He hoped her departure would not be noticed before he reached Dresden, and that they would be in Prussia before the pursuit commenced. Once on foreign soil, Zaklika expected they would not be molested. Zaklika was hopeful of accomplishing their escape, and he rejoiced at the thought, but when Cosel told him that she would stop in Dresden and glance at the masquerade, he turned pale.
"It cannot be," said he. "You would throw yourself into the lion's jaws! They would recognize you, and then--"
Cosel shook her head.
"I want to, and it must be done," said she. "I must see him--it is not a fancy, but a need, a medicine. I must look at them in order to shake off the longing from me, and learn to despise the man whom I loved."
"But you expose yourself--"
"I know it," interrupted Cosel. "They could seize me and shut me in Königstein or some other castle; they could kill me, but I must be there. To defend my life I shall carry a weapon--the rest you must leave to me."
Zaklika wrung his hands, but, knowing Cosel, said not a word more.
The Countess entered the house in order to pack what she wanted to give him; Zaklika went to Gottlieb to tell him to have a carriage ready to take different things to the Countess's children to Dresden. Happily the German did not suspect anything. Zaklika chose a groom who was stupid and not acquainted with Dresden. He himself put the boxes in the van, covered them carefully, and they went on.
On the road, for further safety, he made the groom drunk, so that when they came to the capital, he did not know by which streets they went. At Lehman's house he opened the gate with the key the Jew had given him, took down the boxes, and carried them into the banker's room. Not a soul noticed him. When he returned to the van, the groom was asleep; therefore he seized the reins and returned to Pillnitz.
In the meantime, Cosel was taking leave of Pillnitz, gathering her things, writing her letters, and everything she was obliged to do in such a way that none of the servants might see her doing it and betray her before the time. Dinner was served at the usual hour, when at that moment the Counts Friesen and Lagnasco came from Dresden, to make sure of what she was doing.
Cosel had so much strength that she received them with almost a merry mien and without betraying her secret. She pretended to be resigned to her fate, to be occupied with her garden and house, and perfectly indifferent to all that was going on in Dresden.
She played herrôleso well, that the two gentlemen were perfectly deceived. Count Friesen asked her to lend him quite a sum of money. Cosel, smiling, said to him,--
"My dear Count, I am poorer than you would imagine. It is the King's custom to take away that which he has given; at any moment I may lose everything I possess. I am sorry, but I cannot help you."
Friesen accepted the excuse without being angry.
The guests, chatting about Court, amusements, the King, remained till evening. Happily they were obliged to return for the masquerade, for the King would not forgive them their absence, and they took their leave and departed.
Dusk was beginning to fall, and the Countess, complaining of headache, announced to the servants that she would retire very early. Zaklika gave orders that everything should be quiet, and Cosel locked herself in her chamber.
When darkness had completely fallen on the earth, Zaklika, armed with pistols, rapped at the door leading into the garden. A figure dressed in black slipped out and seized Zaklika's arm. They went towards the Elbe, where they entered a boat together, and were soon flying down the stream. In about a quarter of an hour they landed, and found a carriage and four. In those adventurous times, no one was astonished at a woman escaping at night.
Zaklika, having put Cosel into the carriage, sat beside the driver, and they drove to Dresden, alighting at a certain hostelry where another carriage was ready for them. Zaklika tried once more to persuade the Countess to give up her plan of visiting the masquerade in the market place; but she did not want to listen. He was obliged to put on a mask and a domino and accompany her.
That day the streets were a scene of still greater animation. The houses in the street leading to the castle were ornamented with flags and tapestry and lighted with lanterns. The street was so crowded with people, carriages, and litters that it was difficult to move about.
When they came to the market square, they found it thronged with people. Music was playing in the galleries. Round the square stood booths, in which ladies dressed in oriental costumes were selling toys, drinks and dainties. Thousands of lamps threw their light on a kaleidoscopic crowd of masks and dominoes. Singing, music, bells, laughter, shouting--all contributed their quota to the general hubbub. In the windows of the houses one could see overdressed women, and here and there sombre figures of poor people, who were obliged to look on from their miserable dwellings at this luxury and listen to the wild outbursts of laughter.
At the end of the street, Cosel stopped--she had not strength to advance further. Zaklika seized the opportunity and begged her to return. Instead of answering, she moved forward, looking keenly around her.
A few steps in front of her stood anoble vénitien.
He wore a black hat with feathers, a black velvet dress, a small mask and a golden chain. Around him swarmed many masques.
Cosel recognized Augustus--Hercules and Apollo that he was, there was no mistaking him. She hesitated for a moment--then went up to him.
Although her dark domino disguised her well, it could not entirely conceal her identity from any one who knew her well. The King glanced at her and shivered, but did not wish to believe his own eyes.
Cosel passed him casually several times. Augustus drew towards her and made as if he would speak to her, but fear held him back. She challenged him with a look, and he went up to her.
The conversation began in French; the Countess changed her voice, which was trembling. Augustus did not take that trouble, and began to look at her attentively.
"Upon my honour," said he, "beautiful mask, I flatter myself that I know every one of you here, but--"
"You do not know me."
"And do you know who I am?"
"Yes, I know you."
"Who, then, am I?"
Her voice trembled, then the words flew straight to his ear,--
"An executioner."
The King drew himself up haughtily.
"A bad joke," said he.
"No, an honest truth!"
"If you know who I am," said he, "but dare to speak that way to me, then I would say that I too know who you are; but it cannot be."
"No, you do not know me," said Cosel, laughing.
"That is what I think. You cannot be the one whom I take you for, for that one would not dare to come here without my permission."
"A woman would not dare to come here?" said Cosel. "A woman would ask your permission?"
And she laughed.
The King shivered, as if he recognized the laugh; he seized her hand, but she withdrew it quickly.
"Beautiful mask," said Augustus, "you perplex me, and you pretend to know me."
"No, I do not know you," answered Cosel. "Some time ago I knew somebody who resembled you; but that one had a noble heart and the soul of a hero, while you--"
The King became angry.
"Mask," cried he, "this surpasses the limits of carnival freedom."
"The freedom is boundless."
"Then go on," said the King, "and I?"
"You?"
Cosel's voice failed her for a moment, then she proceeded,--
"If you are not an executioner, then you are a plaything in the hands of your executioners."
"Cosel!" cried Augustus, seizing her hand.
"No, no!" she cried, pulling away her hand and laughing ironically behind the mask. "How could she be here and suffer to look at her funeral banquet? I have seen the woman whose name you have pronounced. There is nothing in common between her and me. Cosel is killed and buried by her wicked enemies, while I am alive."
The King listened gloomily. Suddenly Cosel drew near to him and whispered a few words into his ear, and, before Augustus could overcome his surprise, she had disappeared.
The King wanted to follow her, but she, protected by Zaklika, vanished in the crowd and hurried behind the booths. Here she turned her black mantle, which was lined with red, and then went back into the square from another side. She went straight to where she expected to meet the Countess Denhoff.
There were three booths opposite the town hall. In one of them, ornamented in the Neapolitan aqua-fresca style, was sitting the Countess Pociej; beside her stood Count Friesen with a guitar, the Countess Bielinska, disguised as a Venetian lady, and the Countess Denhoff in a Neapolitan costume, glittering with precious stones. She was a little woman, with a withered face and painted cheeks. Her booth was surrounded by young men, among whom the most conspicuous was the French ambassador, Besenval, who was making her laugh with his witticisms.
Cosel succeeded in getting a good view of her. The Countess Denhoff, under the influence of her intent look, shivered. Cosel stretched out her beautiful hand for a glass of the lemonade which Denhoff was selling.
"Beautiful lady," said Cosel, "have pity on me, I am thirsty--I do not ask for alms, for I know that you ask to be paid well for everything."
She showed a gold piece of money.
Denhoff, as if she guessed a threat, handed her a glass of lemonade with trembling hand.
"One word more," said Cosel, drawing near. "Look at me!"
Having said this, she took off her mask in such a way that only Denhoff could see her.
"Look at me, and remember my face; it is the face of a foe whose curses will follow the inconstant coquette to the grave. Look at me; I am the same of whom you were afraid, whom you wanted to imprison, whom you robbed of the King's heart, who will curse you day and night. Remember that you shall meet a worse lot than I. I go away pure, innocent, betrayed; you will go from here soiled, without honour, an outcast of the outcasts. I wanted to see you and tell you that I know the blackness of your character."
Denhoff was frightened, and began to faint. There was a great disturbance round the booth; the King rushed to it; but Cosel escaped adroitly and disappeared with Zaklika up a side street.
They heard behind them a tumult of voices, the wave of crowding people shouting and soldiers calling. Zaklika had his pistols ready. Cosel walked swiftly in front of him. The noise grew fainter. Knowing the streets well, Zaklika was able to conduct Cosel safely to the gate of the city. Unhappily, before they reached it, there came an order to close it and not let any woman pass.
Having learned this, Zaklika led Cosel to Lehman's house. They found the banker at home, sitting quietly with his family. Both entered quietly, and Zaklika asked for men's clothes for Cosel. Lehman gave him a black mantle and an old hat, and, shivering with fear, he let them out by the back door. In the street they met a detachment of soldiers. The officers were dismounted, and walking in the street. Zaklika took the Countess's arm and led her along the middle of the street. Cosel dropped her head, and covered her face with the brim of her hat.
When they came near the soldiers, some of them looked at them attentively, but did not stop them. They overheard the conversation of the officers, who said,--
"Has somebody stolen the most precious jewel?"
"Ha! ha! ha! They seek Cosel, who avenged herself on the King."
"Cosel! but she does not exist now."
"They are still afraid of her."
"When Teschen fell into disgrace, nobody thought of her any more, but Cosel still rules, for they shiver at the mere mention of her name."
The others laughed.
An hour later a carriage rolled towards the Prussian frontier. Cosel was thinking of her last adventures, while Zaklika, sitting beside the driver, listened to hear if they were being pursued; but they were looking for Cosel in Dresden and Pillnitz.
At the beginning of the eighteenth century Berlin was a small city. It had only been recently built, and its principal characteristic was cloister-like order and tranquility. It was full of soldiers. Everything was prescribed, the business transactions as well as the pleasures. No other city could be more melancholy, after gay Dresden, than was Berlin. In the larger streets there were rows of houses, built there by order. The city was quiet and empty, although it already had five districts and large poor suburbs. Here and there stood palaces built in a pretentious but tasteless style. In Spandau shone the Queen's Montbijou; in Stralause, the King's Belvidere.
Here everything was new, like the state itself: the oldest buildings were thirty years old. A few statues were erected in this desert; a couple of large squares were waiting for animation.
One bridge had been built across the Spree--it was called "New Bridge," and instead of Henry IV., they put on it the Elector Friedrich Wilhelm. They began to build the King's castle, and its architect, Schluter, ornamented it with so many garlands, that its walls could not be seen beneath them.
Berlin had then the beginnings of a great city; it wanted only life and people. A theatre, library, and museum were hurriedly built, and filled as they could with what they could. In the meantime they did not spend their gold in manufacturing porcelain; they purchased soldiers instead, paying their weight in gold for them. And, in fact, the most interesting thing in Berlin was the army--drilled like a machine, regular as a watch, moving like one man.
Here one could see the battalion of the biggest and tallest grenadiers--the most famous in the world--composed of men of every nationality, and an example of the perfection that the mechanics of militarism can reach. Those big grenadiers were well paid, although the strictest economy was applied to other things.
Berlin, after Dresden, looked like a monastery after a theatre. When Cosel's carriage entered the streets of the capital, and the beautiful Countess glanced at those dusty and empty thoroughfares, her heart was ready to break; but she expected to find peace here: here she wanted to wait for the change of her lot.
A servant sent ahead had already rented a house, which, after the palaces she was used to, appeared poor to her, although it was only cold and uninhabited.
The next day Zaklika arranged it as comfortably as he could, while Cosel sat in a corner and dreamed of her brilliant past.
But in Berlin nobody could remain incognito. The third day Zaklika announced to her the visit of Marshal Wartesleben, the governor of Berlin; and another marshal, Natymer, commandant of the gendarmes, often passed through the street and looked at the house.
It was known in high circles that the dweller in that house was the Countess Cosel, and her arrival was agreeable, for they knew also that a considerable amount of money came for her to the banker Liebmann. Notwithstanding the good relations existing between Dresden and Berlin, Cosel would not expect still to be persecuted here. Only here, in that silent solitude, amid the city that slept at dusk, did her misfortune appear in its full size.
Her heart was filled with bitterness. She spent the days sitting motionless, looking at the wall and thinking about her past.
She was asking herself whether it was possible that one could forget true love, and pay for happy moments with ingratitude. The King's character seemed to be a monstrous conundrum. She recollected his tenderness, the proofs of his attachment to her, his oaths--and she could not understand how he could change.
She had doubts about the man, who seemed to her to be a wild animal. She could not understand how he could go back on the past, and contradict his former conduct towards her. She asked herself whether she had done anything so bad that she might look upon her present downfall as a penance for her sins.
A few days later Zaklika entered her room, although she had not called him. Cosel looked at his sad face, and asked,--
"Some bad news?"
"It seems that there is no good news for you in this world," answered he. "Spies already surround the house, and I wanted to tell you to be careful. If I am not mistaken, sooner or later somebody will come and offer you his friendship; you must be careful what you say."
The Countess frowned.
"You ought to know me by this time, I cannot lie even by silence. I had the courage to tell him the truth to his face; I shall have it now, and shall tell the truth to any one who is willing to listen."
"What benefit will it be to you to make them angry?" said he sadly.
The stubborn woman said not a word more, and Zaklika left the room.
Three days after this an elegant young man asked to be announced to the Countess.
It was the Baron von Sinen.
The Countess knew him well in Dresden, and she told the servant to show him in.
He said he was very much surprised, while visiting Berlin, to hear the Countess was there.
Cosel looked ironically into his eyes and asked,--
"And where were you when I was leaving Saxony?"
"I was in Dresden the very evening that you made that poor thing Denhoff faint; but then I could not inquire what had become of you."
"I am glad you could forget me," said Cosel, "as I do not wish for anything but to be forgotten."
"I think," said Von Sinen, "that they would be glad also to be certain that you have forgotten the wrongs they did to you."
There was silence for a moment, then Von Sinen whispered,--
"I could tell you much interesting news."
It seemed that he wanted to gain Cosel's confidence.
"I am not curious," said Cosel, smiling sadly. "I have no interest in anything now."
"We enjoy ourselves immensely," continued Von Sinen, as if he had heard nothing. "It is nothing new to you, who participated in so many splendid feasts; but--" Evidently he wanted to make her speak. Cosel was silent.
"The place is very well known to you," continued the Baron, "for in Laubegast--"
"I lived there happily," whispered Cosel.
"Flemming gave a great feast to the King and Denhoff--on the plain near Laubegast, opposite Pillnitz."
"Ah!" exclaimed Cosel.
"In the first place six regiments went there," continued the visitor. "On the hills they placed cannon, and disposed the army in such a way that the Court might see the imitation of a battle. Everything succeeded admirably. The regiments advanced firing, and although, with the exception of a few who were trampled on, nobody was killed, one could have sworn the battle was a real one. The King was looking at the spectacle, Denhoff was beside him, he was surrounded by a splendid Court."
Cosel smiled ironically.
"Not far off they put up magnificent tents. Under one of them the King dined with the Countess Denhoff, Pociej, Bielinska, and the cream of the Court."
"Were you there?" asked Cosel sneeringly.
The Baron blushed.
"No, I was in another tent," replied he; "but I saw everything very well. Several bands of music played during the dinner, and every toast was announced by a salvo of cannon."
"How charming!" interrupted Cosel. "And that is the end of it?"
"No, it is only the beginning. When the dinner was over they did not clear the tables, as Flemming wanted to give the rest to the soldiers; but as there was not enough bread for them, he ordered a silver thaler to be put in every small piece of bread. Then they sounded the bugle for the attack. The soldiers marched in military order towards the tables, but the first ranks were broken by the following, the second by the third, and so on. The tables were upset, heaps of soldiers were sprawling on the ground. The spectacle was magnificent; we split our sides with laughter. Then the retreat was sounded.
"When evening came, dancing began, and lasted till seven o'clock in the morning. During the whole time Flemming was going from guest to guest with a bumper, praying them to drink. He himself was drunk first, and when the King started to go, he threw his arms round his neck and exclaimed, 'Brother, dear brother, if you leave me now, our friendship is gone,' and to our great surprise the King was not offended at such familiarity."
"For he did not want to spoil his amusement," said Cosel, laughing sarcastically. "But when he is tired of a man he only nods, the man disappears and the comedy is over."
She began to walk to and fro. The Baron said,--
"I do not wonder at your bitterness."
"Yes," she broke in, "if I had no heart--if I did not feel the wrong, but tried to make a bargain of it, I could talk differently. But I did not profit by the example left for me by Haugwitz, Aurora, Esterle and Teschen, who went hand in hand at Leipzig fair."
She laughed spasmodically.
"No, I am different. I thought there were hearts, souls, consciences; that love was not lechery, that promises ought to be kept, that the King's words were holy. All that was only my illusion. Consequently, while the other women are happy, I am dying of humiliation, longing, and shame."
The Baron von Sinen was moved and confused by the complaints of that still beautiful woman. Cosel noticed it.
"Listen," said she, "I know that you came here neither from curiosity nor in sympathy, but by order."
"Madam!" exclaimed he.
"Do not interrupt me, but listen! I forgive you, for every one of you cares more for a career than to be men. Repeat to them what you have heard from me; let them know what I think of them; and if you wish to be well rewarded, tell the King that you have heard from Anna Cosel's own lips that she will do as she told him, she will shoot him for his treachery and unfaithfulness. In one, two, ten years, the first time I meet Augustus, I shall fire at him. I always have a pistol with me, and shall not discard it until I have accomplished my vengeance."
The Baron was mortally pale.
"Countess," he exclaimed, "you force an honest man to be a traitor. I am a nobleman, and I am in the King's service. I shall be obliged to repeat what I have heard from you. It is my duty!"
"That is what I wanted you to do," said Cosel.
"But it would give to your numerous foes a new weapon."
"One less or more does not amount to anything. They use lies, calumny, treachery. The villains feel in me a being that cannot suffer their villainies; my honesty is a continual reproach to them. How can they forgive a woman who did not wish to be as soiled as they are?"
She laughed bitterly, while the Baron felt very uneasy. During that conversation her eyes were in turn wet with tears and burning with fire. Cosel possessed all the characteristics of Medea--everything that an ideal turns into reality. When she became silent, the chamberlain still stared at her as if he were mesmerized.
"I am very sorry indeed," said he at last, "that you force me to contribute to your misfortune." And he was sincere there.
"No one can make my misfortune greater," said she. "You are mistaken if you think that I regret the loss of palaces and luxury. No! I suffer because I have lost my faith in a human heart. Give me back his heart, and I will give up for it the crown of the world. I loved him! My whole life was bound up in him--he was my hero; he was my god; but the hero turned clown, his godhead is smirched."
The Baron tried to tranquilize her, but she cried,--
"O my golden dreams, where are you?"
Von Sinen could hold no longer. Pity was stronger within him than any other consideration.
"I implore you," said he, "to go away from here! I can say no more."
"What!" said Cosel. "Is it possible that even here I am threatened? Would the King of Prussia surrender a woman as Augustus surrendered Patkul?"
Von Sinen stood silent; it was evident he could not say any more.
"Where is there to go?" she murmured to herself. "I could not live too far from him; my heart still longs for him. Let them do with me what they please. I am disgusted with life. They have taken away my children--they have left me only bitterness."
The chamberlain had seized his hat.
"I pity you," said he; "but as long as you do not change your sentiments your friends can do nothing for you."
"My friends?" said she, ironically.
"You have more than you think," said the visitor. "I am the first."
"What! You my friend! I could find three or four such as you are. They are willing to console the widow and share her riches!"
Von Sinen was so confused that he could not answer. He bowed distantly, and, pursued by Cosel's scornful looks, left the room.
Cosel's enemies tried every means to excite the King against her. He did not wish to mention her, but it was no use. The deadly grudges were taking various disguises, mostly fear for the King's safety. They tried to represent the unfortunate woman as being very dangerous: she was free and still very rich; she might become very threatening.
Flemming, Löwendahl, Watzdorf, Lagnasco, without asking the King's permission, sent spies, and planned how they could seize her riches as they did those of Beichling.
Some of them acted under the influence of vengeance, others of cupidity. Cosel had not wronged any of them during her influence, and many of them were beholden to her for their freedom and elevation.
When Von Sinen returned from Berlin he did not appear immediately at court, for he was still under the spell of pity for the unfortunate woman, but Löwendahl spied him out and went to see him.
"How did you find Cosel?" asked he. "Does she still speak about the promise of marriage? Does she still threaten?"
Von Sinen answered sadly,--
"The fact is that she is very unhappy."
"Unhappy! It's her own fault! But speak precisely--tell me what you have seen and heard," pressed Löwendahl.
"Frankly speaking, my heart bleeds at the thought of what I have seen and heard. She is still angry, and never will forgive. But in her misfortune she arouses respect. She is marvellous and grand."
"Consequently dangerous!" said Löwendahl; "but she must have lost much of her beauty?"
"She is more beautiful than ever--she is beaming with beauty."
"So much the worse!" said Löwendahl. "The King might see her, and, being tired of Denhoff's withered face, she would capture him again."
"There is no doubt about that," said Von Sinen.
Little by little Löwendahl learned what he wanted to know in order to repeat it to the Countess Denhoff. The very same day he went to pay her a visit, and during the conversation he mentioned that there was news from Cosel.
"Where is she?" asked the Countess.
"She is in Berlin, and uses her liberty to blacken our King and his company," said Löwendahl. "But the worst thing is that she threatens to kill our lord."
Denhoff screamed and rushed from the sofa.
"But that is dreadful! We must warn the King," she said.
"Yes, we must try to deprive her of her freedom."
The Countess did not answer, for it entered her mind that the same fate might be hers too.
Löwendahl guessed her thoughts, for he added,--
"The King was never severe towards those whom he loved; the best proof of it is those ladies whom you have met here; but there are some cases--"
Here the Countess Bielinska, the mother, entered, and having learned what the question was, she became indignant.
"Truly, the King is too good for that mad woman! She challenges him! We must put an end to her daring!"
They agreed that Denhoff should warn the King; but, upon reflection, the mother said that she could do it better.
Löwendahl, having entrusted his vengeance to such hands, went out.
In the evening of the same day, there was an entertainment in the garden of the Hesperides, as they then called the garden surrounding Zwinger, now the famous picture gallery. The garden was laid out in accordance with the taste of those times; the flower-beds were surrounded by trimmed box trees; there were many fountains, grottoes and mythological statues. During the evening the lighted Japanese lanterns made it still prettier than it was during the day. On the balconies surrounding Zwinger, bands played lively melodies, which were carried afar on the sweet breezes. In the middle of the garden was an enormous tent, destined for dancing.
The King came dressed in blue, silver and white lace; he was looking quite young. The Countess Denhoff also wore a pale blue and white dress which was very becoming to her. Forcing herself to be merry, she greeted the King with some jests. Her sister, the Countess Pociej, helped her to entertain the King, who, as he grew older, was more difficult to amuse.
Augustus was gloomy and looked tired.
By a preconcerted arrangement, the Countess Pociej suggested that formerly he amused himself better with Cosel, and that perchance he regretted her.
The gallant King replied that in the presence of such charming ladies he did not remember and did not regret anything.
Countess Denhoff seized the opportunity of saying something about Cosel; but, as usual, she did it awkwardly, and her mother, waiting for the opportunity, came to her help. Then both began to lament on the theme of Cosel.
The King did not like that, for he was quite silent. At that moment both women were frightened, but at last the King said,--
"Dear Countess, pray be easy about me. I am watched by many guardians, some asked and some not asked; and nothing will happen to me. I do not like to talk about these matters. Better let us go and look at the dancing."
Thus the project of an attack was not carried out at that moment: but it was repeated in the evening by Flemming and Löwendahl, as they drank with the King. The King let them talk and he listened.
"Löwendahl, listen," said the King sneeringly, "it is a fact that you give me a great proof of your attachment to my person, warning me of the Countess, who is your relation, and to whom you should be thankful for all that I have done for you. I ought to reward you for it; but I cannot help telling you that it seems very strange to me."
Löwendahl became silent, and the intriguers had learnt that they must use some other means.
* * * * *
Although Cosel wanted to lead a quiet life in Berlin, her beauty, her wit, and her fame were too much known for her company not to be sought.
She knew many people in the court of Frederick since his visit to Dresden. The officers were so much bored by continual military reviews and quiet evenings in the palace of the Queen, that they were glad to have some other distraction. The King himself spent most of his time in Potsdam and Wurterhausen, rather than in the capital, but he never failed to be present at the change of guard at ten o'clock in the morning, to give audience to his ministers and to take a walk. About noon he took a modest meal with the Queen; in the afternoon he worked hard and did not appear until the evening. In the company of a few ladies and officers they played picquet, ombre and trictrac--they smoked, and thus passed the time until eleven o'clock; at that hour everything was officially ended.
This monotony of life was varied only by receptions given by some dignitaries. Life here was quite different from what it was in Dresden, at which they quietly laughed here, especially at Augustus' military amusements, which nobody took seriously in Berlin. The gorgeously dressed Saxon soldiers could not be compared with those of Prussia, clad in their modest blue uniforms. Instead of fanciful flags, here was used only a white one, with the proud motto, over a flying eagle,Nec soli cedit. In these times the motto seemed too bold; the future justified it.
There were no two characters more opposite than those of Frederick of Prussia and Frederick Augustus of Saxony. Since Fraulein von Pannevitz slapped the Prussian King's face for the kiss he tried to steal from her, he had not looked at any woman, and was the most faithful husband. He and the whole of his family led such a thrifty life, that they not only rose from his table sober, but even hungry.
The order in the country and the army was pedantic; the customs were Spartan. Before each repast prayer was recited; the cooking was bourgeois; no one thought about the court balls. They used to eat from earthenware, and only when there was a dinner in honour of somebody did they take out the heavy silver, which was locked up again the same evening.
The King had some fancies, but they were quiet--different from those of Augustus. When the Queen left the company after a meagre supper, the men gathered in the smoking-room, where the King treated them to pipes. During the smoking it was allowed to criticize some one. In the centre of the room there stood a simple table, round which sat ministers, generals, sometimes a guest. Every one received a Dutch pipe and a mug of beer. To make somebody drunk was a great point with the King. To sneer at savants, the aristocracy, officials, was the greatest pleasure. The jokes were sometimes interspersed with quarrels in which mugs were freely thrown about--many were hurt in these encounters, but nobody was ever killed.
At times a debate would be arranged--on the theme that savants were ignorant. Morgenstern would address the house; dressed in a long, blue robe trimmed with red and embroidered with hares; and wearing a red vest, a big wig and a fox's brush instead of a sword.
Such were the entertainments of the Prussian court. In Dresden they laughed at Berlin; in Berlin they laughed at Dresden, considering it the ante-chamber of hell, for Frederick Augustus of Saxony did not believe in anything, while Frederick of Prussia was pious after his own fashion.
Once when a new butler was reading a prayer before supper and came to the words, "May God bless thee," he thought it would be more decent to change it into, "May God bless your Majesty." The King did not like it and said, "You rascal, read it as it is written; for in God's face I am as good, rascal, as you are."
No wonder, then, that after meagre suppers, after entertainments in the smoking-room, there was a longing for different society, for better jests, for more elegant conversation. Cosel's acquaintances began to visit her; the wearied woman opened her door to a few of them, and a small circle of people gathered quietly in the evenings, for in Berlin no noise was permitted.
King Frederick, although he was well aware of this fact, for he knew well what was going on in his capital, said nothing at first. It encouraged a few officers and courtiers. They used to come towards seven o'clock, and as Cosel could not sleep, they usually chatted till midnight and after. They would bring gossip, and the Countess did not conceal her rancour towards Augustus. Many things said here were passed to the smoking-room, where they were repeated to the King. Then Frederick smiled, but he shook his head, and seemed to be surprised that Cosel was so daring.
One evening, as the usual young guests were gathered in Cosel's house, there came an old general, who was an habitué of the smoking-room. His presence made the young men careful in their conversation, but did not stop Cosel from bitterly criticizing Augustus.
The old general shook his head and listened; he seemed to wonder and not to believe his own ears. He remained until every one had left the house. Cosel was surprised.
The old man, who had spoken very little, said respectfully to her as he took his leave,--
"Countess, permit me to make a remark to you. Time flies pleasantly in your house; but although the doors and windows are shut, a great many things get out. Any breeze can carry gossip to the banks of Elbe; our neighbour may frown on our King, because such things are said here against our good neighbour and ally. The King would be very sorry--"
Cosel frowned.
"Then even in my own house," said she, "I cannot say what I please?"
"Yes, you can," said the General, "but one can also go where one does not wish to go."
"Even I?"
"Dear Countess," said the General, sighing, "it might happen even to you. A military order prevails in our country. I would advise you to play trictrac; it amuses, and is less dangerous."
Cosel dropped her head sadly.
"You may think," continued the General, "that I am grumbling, as old people do. Well, then, I will tell you that somebody advised me to warn you."
Having said this, he quietly left the room, and the Countess threw herself on the sofa and laughed bitterly.
But she did not listen to the warning, and when her guests gathered again, her words were many and loud, in utter defiance of the severity with which she was threatened.
One morning the Governor-general of Berlin came to Cosel's house. He saluted her civilly, smiled, twisted his moustache, and then asked her,--
"Is it true that you wish to change your residence and go to live in the quiet city of Halle?"
"I, in Halle?" exclaimed Cosel. "And what should I do there?"
"The air is very healthy there, the views are lovely, and it is quiet and secluded. There is no more agreeable place to live in than Halle."
At first Cosel did not know what to answer. Then she said,--
"But I never intended to go to Halle."
"It is rather strange," said the Governor-general, "somebody spoke about it to his Majesty, and the King ordered that every comfort should be assured you. The King's orders cannot be disobeyed; the best way, then, will be to go to Halle."
Cosel wrung her hands, and the tears began to flow down her cheeks.
"Then it is an order," she said, finally, "it is a new exile--why is it?"
"The King thinks you will be more comfortable there. You know that in Berlin every word echoes far. There in Halle, no one will hear anything. There is more freedom."
He had risen.
"You may go there to-morrow, in the morning," he added. "The weather is lovely; but as the roads are not always safe, His Majesty offers you a few men to escort you. It is great gallantry on his part; you should be thankful to him for that."
General Wartesleben bowed very elegantly and went out, leaving the Countess as one turned to stone.
The blow came from Dresden--there can be no doubt about that. They wanted to force her to be silent--to accept her fate. Her unbending spirit rose in indignation; every such blow made her more energetic.
She ordered her trunks to be packed and the horses to be hired, and the faithful but gloomy Zaklika worked hard without saying a word.
When Cosel was ready to enter the carriage, a small group of curious men gathered round the house; but seeing that woman clad in black going majestically to the carriage surrounded by dragoons, they were frightened and scattered, for they thought that a victim was being conducted to the scaffold.