CHAPTER XXII.
From the moment Cosel passed into the hands of the Saxon authorities imprisonment was likely at any time. She passed the night in Leipzig.
In the morning an official, wearing a little sword and a big wig, silently executing the orders he had received from his superiors, entered the room in which she had spent a sleepless night, crying. He brought the King's order, instructing him to examine all her things, and to take them away.
She looked at him contemptuously, and did not say a word. He sealed all her boxes, and took the papers and jewels; he searched in her trunks, but could not find that for which he was looking. This humiliating inquisition lasted a couple of hours.
Hardly had she been permitted to rest a moment after such moral torture, than she was ordered to again enter the carriage--not being told where they were going to conduct her.
A detachment of cavalry surrounded the carriage--they rode till the evening. Against the sky, burning with the setting sun, there appeared the walls and towers of a castle, and the carriage, passing through a narrow gateway, entered the courtyard.
The place was entirely unknown to her. The castle was empty and had been uninhabited for some time. A few men were standing at the door. They were obliged to conduct the weakened lady up the stairs leading to a room on the first floor. It was an old habitation, with small windows, enormous fireplaces, thick walls, without any comforts, and sparsely furnished with the barest necessities.
Cosel, thoroughly tired, threw herself on the bed.
She passed a sleepless night, tormented by horrid thoughts aroused by her imprisonment. The dawn was breaking, the sky was growing red-gold in the east, the servants still slept; only the guard pacing in the corridor broke the silence when Cosel rose and went to the window.
The view from it did not remind her of anything. In front of her there was a vast plain, stretching towards the blue of a far forest. Here and there rose clumps of trees; a few roofs could be seen, and from behind the green columns of smoke were rising.
The castle stood on an eminence, which descended sharply towards a village. On the right hand there was a highway bordered with willows. The road was deserted.
She did not know the country.
From the room she went softly to another, which was larger, in the middle of it stood an oak table, and against the walls a few benches and chairs. Over the fireplace there was a battered coat-of-arms, cut in the stone, of which there remained only the shield and helmet. Behind this room, and like it, vaulted, was a small round room in the tower, on the other side of the castle. From here one could see forests, hills, and villages, and here and there in the distance the towers of some knightly castle, built like an eagle's nest on a crag. Still the country was unknown to her.
In the room in the tower there was some furniture; an empty wardrobe stood against the wall, and on one of its shelves was an old Bible, worm-eaten and covered with dust. Cosel seized it, but the book slipped from her hands, and the yellow leaves scattered on the floor.
In that room there was an iron door, leading somewhere into the mysterious rooms of the castle, in which no living human voice was heard.
The day was breaking. The swallows flew round the windows. Cosel returned to her rooms. The women servants that accompanied her woke up and offered to serve her. She dismissed them. Having stayed her hunger with some warm milk, she went again to the window; she sat on the stone bench and began to look on God's world, although she had nobody in it. She turned her eyes on the road, where she noticed some vans, men, and herds--clouds of dust. But she soon tired of them and sat at a distance from the window.
The hours were long. At noon they brought her luncheon. One of the servants persuaded her to eat. Cosel went to the table, and, looking at the modest meal, began to cry. The luncheons at which she entertained the King were different!
Then again she went to the window and looked on to the road, not willing to avow to herself that she hoped to see some one there. She believed that Zaklika would seek her out.
But neither on that nor the following day did she see anything except shepherds, herds, and vans. No one looked at the castle. She wandered from window to window; but all round the country was quiet and deserted. Towards evening she perceived a small peasant boy picking flowers near the wall, and she threw him a piece of money that she found in her pocket, and, leaning out, she asked him the name of the castle. The boy muttered, "Nossen," and ran away frightened.
She did not know even the name, but she remembered to have heard it, and guessed she was in the vicinity of Meissen and Dresden. She again thought of Zaklika, but what could he do alone against walls, guards, and the King?
The third day she was looking on the road when towards noon she noticed a horseman. He was riding slowly from the direction of Dresden.
He dropped his reins and looked curiously round the country; he had raised his head towards the castle. He seemed to be looking for something. He wore a grey mantle, and she thought it was her faithful servant. She shivered, and began to wave her handkerchief.
The cavalier had also taken out his handkerchief, and, apparently wiping his forehead, made signs with it. It was indeed Zaklika. His mien and his movements were easily recognized, even from a distance. Her heart began to throb. He at least did not forget her; he could save her.
Riding slowly and looking at the castle, he disappeared behind the hill.
Zaklika had remained a few days in Halle and watched. He wanted to follow the Countess, but the Prussians ordered him to leave the country. He made his way to Dresden, where he went directly to Lehman.
The banker received him with evident fear; he locked the doors, and first asked him whether anybody had seen him. Being assured that Zaklika had not met any one in Dresden, Lehman breathed more easily. But he could not speak for quite a while, and when he began to speak, he seemed afraid of his own words.
"It is difficult to know," said he, "what was the cause of that, but now there will be no measure to her misfortune. The King is angry, and the King's anger is cold like ice. When some one offends him, he is inexorable. Cosel is lost."
Zaklika listened.
"Yes, she is lost!" continued Lehman. "When the King wrongs some one, he persecutes him, and will not let him appear in his presence. Cosel has refused to return to him that promise of marriage, and he will never forget that. They have confiscated her all. Löwendahl received orders to search for her money and jewels. Pillnitz is taken by the Treasury, and the other estate also."
Here Lehman approached Zaklika.
"They have taken everything from me too. The King sent for it. The books showed I had it; I could not refuse," he added.
"What! everything? But not that secret sum that the Countess told me to take from you?"
He took a paper that was sewn in his sleeve. The banker took it with trembling hands.
"And do you know," said he, "what would become of both of us if they seized that paper? They would send us to Königstein, and my children would become beggars. Flemming and Löwendahl would seize the pretext to look into my safe." And he trembled.
"Then you have given them that sum also?" said Zaklika, wringing his hands in despair.
Lehman looked at him for a long time; he seemed to be wrestling with himself.
"Listen," said he. "Swear to me upon that which you hold most sacred, that you will not betray me even should they threaten you with death--"
Here the Jew took from a drawer a diamond cross pawned by the Princess Teschen.
"Swear to me upon that," said he.
Zaklika took the cross, and, raising his hand, said quietly,--
"I swear!"
Then he added,--
"It was not necessary to ask me for an oath: my word as nobleman would be enough. Zaklika has never betrayed any one, and never will."
Lehman looked at him, and he was as white as a sheet.
"Suppose they should catch you and find money upon you?"
"In the first place the money might be mine; then the Countess may have made me a present of it."
"But they take everything that used to belong to her."
"They know that I never had anything, and they will not search me. You will give that money."
Lehman still hesitated.
"I may have misfortunes on account of you, but it must not be said that I did not help some one in misfortune."
He opened the safe, took out a bag, and began to count money on the table. Zaklika breathed again and wiped the perspiration from his forehead; then he sat thoughtful, leant on his elbows, and fell asleep from fatigue.
When Lehman had finished counting, he turned to him, and perceived that he had fallen asleep; only then did he understand what the silent man had suffered if at that moment he could sleep so soundly.
He went quietly to another room, and there he waited till Zaklika should awaken. He wished him to do so as soon as possible; for notwithstanding the pity he had for the man, he was afraid to have him in the house.
Zaklika, who had fallen asleep from fatigue, but in whom the soul was vigilant, woke up soon, and, almost frightened, jumped from his place. He rubbed his eyes; he was ashamed to appear so feeble.
He glanced at the money, put it in his money belt, and buckled it under his dress.
Lehman was waiting, and when Zaklika took his leave he came to him, and, placing his hand on his shoulder, said,--
"Only God knows whether we shall see one another again. I pity you, but I cannot stop you from an honest deed. You have noticed my hesitation, but you must remember that I live for my children. Now, listen to me. I had in my possession a great deal of money belonging to the Countess, and in our hands money increases rapidly. Our account is closed; I have paid everything; but in the case of such misfortune a man should reckon differently; therefore, take this with you, and may God lead you."
He took a bag, and, handing it to Zaklika, said,--
"From this moment you do not know me. I do not know you either."
"It is for her," said Zaklika, shaking hands with him.
"Go through the garden," said the Israelite.
Zaklika was too well known in the city to show himself. He had left his horse in a suburb, at the house of his friend, a Wend. During his wanderings he had been struck by the similarity of the language to his own, as he listened to these Slavs talking. Speaking a similar language, he soon struck up acquaintances among them. The name of the fisherman with whom Zaklika became acquainted was Hawlik. He had a piece of land reaching to the bank of the river, but as the soil was not very good, Hawlik was not a farmer, but gained his living by fishing. Year in year out he lived his life in poverty and sorrow.
Zaklika often used to visit him, and they both chatted of their misery. The Wend remembered better times. "All around us used to belong to our people," said he, "but the Germans squeezed us out by different tricks, and now it is dangerous even to speak our own tongue. They do not give us any chance in the cities; it is enough to be a Wend to be pushed out. Our number decreases, but there is no help for it. It seems to be God's will."
Every time that Zaklika wanted not to be seen in Dresden he went to Hawlik, where he put up his horse and slept in the attic, and where he was always welcome to partake of the modest repast. They were glad to see him now also. They never asked him any questions--what was he doing or what had he come for.
Zaklika went to them to spend that night, much troubled whether it would be safe for him to show himself in the city and get some news; he was afraid of being arrested. Early in the morning, having wrapped himself up carefully in his mantle, he went across the bridge to Narrenhaus. He expected to meet Fröhlich as he went to the castle, and learn something from him. In order to be sure of not missing him, he sat on the steps of the fool's house and waited. Fröhlich, dressed in his pointed hat and adorned with silver key, coming out of his house, noticed a man sitting, and, not recognizing Zaklika, exclaimed,--
"Hey! Do you take my house for a hostelry?"
Zaklika turned; the fool recognized him.
"What is the matter with you?" he exclaimed. "You look as if you were married."
"I have returned from a journey."
"You are a Catholic, then you must have been in purgatory?"
"I wandered through the world," answered Zaklika. "But tell me what is going on here?"
"You wish me to be a historiographer," laughed the fool. "You had better ask what is not going on."
"Do you know what has become of my former mistress?" asked Zaklika.
"I do not know who was your mistress."
"The Countess Cosel."
Fröhlich looked round and put his fingers on his lips.
"Who pronounces that name?" said he. "There is nothing to laugh at, and you know that I live by laughter."
"But you can tell me at least what has become of her?"
"Then you do not know? Where have you been?"
"Far."
"I think that even afar they talk about that. That woman in whose slavery our lord was, it seems, is now imprisoned by him, and her captivity will last longer than her domination."
"And where is she?" asked Zaklika.
"They say that she is in Nossen Castle, but to be sure they will build something finer for her," laughed the fool by habit, but sadly. "No! I would not like to be a woman. Speaking frankly, it is not much comfort to be a man either. If I had my choice, I would like to be a donkey. Nobody eats donkey's meat, his skin is thick, and when long-ears begins to sing, everybody runs away and leaves him alone. If one adds that he has always a good appetite, and that he can live on old broom, one sees that there is no happier being in the world."
"Nossen! Nossen!" repeated Zaklika thoughtfully, having forgotten about the fool.
"I am talking about an ass, and you about Nossen! Do not prattle about sad things, and good-bye!"
Fröhlich, having put the official smile on his lips, went away. Zaklika returned to Hawlik, from whom he learned where the castle was; and he started in its direction the same day.
He was very glad that Cosel had noticed him coming, for he knew that he would bring her some consolation.
He went to the inn in the village, where he assumed the rôle of a buyer of skins, and thus, while apparently going round on business, had plenty of time to learn all about the castle. The building was old, and Cosel's guard was composed of a few old men. They did not let any one in, but they did not watch her very strictly. The windows were very high, and nobody thought that an escape could be accomplished through them; consequently there were no sentries. The soldiers spent their time smoking pipes in the courtyard, and at Cosel's door.
In the rear of the castle one could approach the windows very easily.
In order to have a good pretext for longer sojourn at the inn, Zaklika simulated being unwell. The innkeeper was glad of it, for he had to feed the horse as well as take care of the man.
At supper he learned that they had brought to the castle the lady who attempted the King's life, as well as how many soldiers guarded her. Two women servants, a cook, and a boy composed the whole court of this lady who formerly was surrounded by a crowd of servants dressed in cloth of gold.
They were telling wonders about the prisoner.
Zaklika remained a couple of days without raising any suspicion, and as he gave a couple of thalers to the innkeeper on account of skins, he felt more assured, and one day he went out towards noon to look at the castle. He convinced himself that from one side, where was the forest, he could steal through the undergrowth near to the walls; but he could not find out whether there were any windows from Cosel's room on this side. He proposed to see that later.
Towards evening he returned to the inn, drank the bears'-fat recommended to him by the innkeeper, and went to bed, thinking how he could deceive the German and remain longer in the inn without exciting suspicion.