CHAPTER XI. THE BALL AT COUNT BRUHL’S.
Count Bruhl, first minister to the King of Saxony, gave to-day a magnificent fete in his palace, in honor of his wife, whose birthday it was. The feast was to be honored by the presence of the King of Poland, the Prince Elector of Saxony, Augustus III., and Maria Josephine, his wife. This was a favor which the proud queen granted to her favorite for the first time. For she who had instituted there the stern Spanish etiquette to which she had been accustomed at the court of her father, Joseph I., had never taken a meal at the table of one of her subjects; so holy did she consider her royal person, that the ambassadors of foreign powers were not permitted to sit at the same table with her. Therefore, at every feast at the court of Dresden, there was a small table set apart for the royal family, and only the prime minister, Count Bruhl, was deserving of the honor to eat with the king and queen. This was a custom which pleased no one so well as the count himself, for it insured him from the danger that some one might approach the royal pair, and inform them of some occurrence of which the count wished them to remain in ignorance.
There were many slanderers in this wretched kingdom—many who were envious of the count’s high position—many who dared to believe that the minister employed the king’s favor for his own good, and not for that of his country. They said that he alone lived luxuriously in this miserable land, while the people hungered; that he spent every year over a million of thalers. They declared that he had not less than five millions now lying in the banks of Rotterdam, Venice, and Marseilles; others said that he had funds to the amount of seven millions. One of these calumniators might possibly approach the king’s table and whisper into the royal ear his wicked slanders; one of these evil-doers might even have the audacity to make his unrighteous complaints to the queen. This it was that caused Count Bruhl to tremble; this it was that robbed him of sleep at night, of peace by day, this fear of a possible disgrace.
He was well acquainted with the history of Count Lerma, minister to King Philip IV. of Spain. Lerma was also the ruler of a king, and reigned over Spain, as Bruhl over Saxony. All had succumbed to his power and influence, even the royal family trembled when he frowned, and felt themselves honored by his smile. What was it that caused the ruin of this all-powerful, irreproachable favorite? A little note which King Philip found between his napkin one day, upon which was this address: “To Philip IV., once King of Spain, and Master of both the Indies, but now in the service of Count Lerma!” This it was that caused the count’s ruin; Philip was enraged by this note, and the powerful favorite fell into disgrace.
Count Bruhl knew this history, and was on his guard. He knew that even the air which he breathed was poisoned by the malice of his enemies; that those who paused in the streets to greet him reverentially when he passed in his gilded carriage, cursed him in their inmost hearts; that those friends who pressed his hand and sung songs in his praise, would become his bitterest enemies so soon as he ceased paying for their friendship with position, with pensions, with honors, and with orders. He spent hundreds of thousands yearly to gain friends and admirers, but still he was in constant fear that some enemy would undermine him. This had indeed once happened. During the time that the king’s favor was shared equally with Count Bruhl, Count Sulkovsky, and Count Hennicke, whilst playing cards, a piece of gold was given to the king, upon which was represented the crown of Poland, resting upon the shoulders of three men, with the following inscription: “There are three of us, two pages and one lackey!” The King of Poland was as much enraged by this satirical piece of gold as was the King of Spain by his satirical note. But Count Bruhl succeeded in turning the king’s anger upon the two other shoulder-bearers of his crown. Counts Sulkovsky and Hennicke fell into disgrace, and were banished from the court; Count Bruhl remained, and reigned as absolute master over Poland and Saxony!
But reigning, he still trembled, and therefore he favored the queen’s fancy for the strictest etiquette; therefore, no one but Count Bruhl was to eat at the royal table; he himself took their napkins from their plates and handed them to the royal couple; no one was to approach the sovereigns who was not introduced by the prime minister, who was at once master of ceremonies, field-marshal, and grand chamberlain, and received for each of these different posts a truly royal salary. Etiquette and the fears of the powerful favorite kept the royal pair almost prisoners.
But for to-day etiquette was to be done away with; the crowned heads were to be gracious, so as to lend a new glory to their favorite’s house. To-day the count was fearless, for there was no danger of a traitor being among his guests. His wife and himself had drawn up the list of invitations. But still, as there might possibly be those among them who hated the count, and would very gladly injure him, he had ordered some of the best paid of his friends to watch all suspicious characters, not to leave them alone for a moment, and not to overlook a single word of theirs. Of course, it was understood that the count and his wife must remain continually at the side of the king and queen, that all who wished to speak to them must first be introduced by the host or hostess.
The count was perfectly secure to-day, and therefore gay and happy. He had been looking at the different arrangements for this feast, and he saw with delight that they were such as to do honor to his house. It was, to be a summer festival: the entire palace had been turned into a greenhouse, that served only for an entrance to the actual scene of festivities. This was the immense garden. In the midst of the rarest and most beautiful groups of flowers, immense tents were raised; they were of rich, heavy silk, and were festooned at the sides with golden cords and tassels. Apart from these was a smaller one, which outshone them all in magnificence. The roof of this tent rested upon eight pillars of gold; it was composed of a dark-red velvet, over which a slight gauze, worked with gold and silver stars, was gracefully arranged. Upon the table below this canopy, which rested upon a rich Turkish carpet, there was a heavy service of gold, and the most exquisite Venetian glass; the immense pyramid in the middle of the table was a master-work of Benevenuto Cellini, for which the count had paid in Rome one hundred thousand thalers. There were but seven seats, for no one was to eat at this table but the royal pair, the prince-elector and his wife, the Prince Xavier, and the Count and Countess Bruhl. This was a new triumph that the count had prepared for himself; he wished his guests to see the exclusive royal position he occupied. And no one could remain in ignorance of this triumph, for from every part of the garden the royal tent could be seen, being erected upon a slight eminence. It was like a scene from fairyland. There were rushing cascades, beautiful marble statues, arbors and bowers, in which were birds of every color from every clime. Behind a group of trees was a lofty structure of the purest marble, a shell, borne aloft by gigantic Tritons and mermaids, in which there was room for fifty musicians, who were to fill the air with sweet sounds, and never to become so loud as to weary the ear or disturb conversation. If the tents, the rushing cascades, the rare flowers, the many colored birds, were a beautiful sight by daylight, how much more entrancing it would be at night, when illuminated by thousands of brilliant lamps!
The count, having taken a last look at the arrangements and seen that they were perfect, now retired to his rooms, and there, with the aid of his twelve valets, he commenced his toilet. The countess had already been in the hands of her Parisian coiffeur for some hours.
The count wore a suit of blue velvet. The price of embroidery in silver and pearls on his coat would have furnished hundreds of wretched, starving families with bread. His diamond shoe-buckles would almost have sufficed to pay the army, which had gone unpaid for months. When his toilet was finished, he entered his study to devote a few moments, at least, to his public duties, and to read those letters which to-day’s post had brought him from all parts of the world, and which his secretary was accustomed to place in his study at this hour. He took a letter, broke the seal hastily, and skimming over it quickly, threw it aside and opened another, to read anew the complaints, the prayers, the flatteries, the assurances of love, of his correspondents. But none of them were calculated to compel the minister’s attention. He had long ago hardened his heart against prayers and complaints; as for flattery, he well knew that he had to pay for it with pensions, with position, with titles, with orders, etc., etc. But it seemed as if the letters were not all of the usual sort, for the expression of indifference which had rested upon his countenance while reading the others, had vanished and given place to one of a very different character. This letter was from Flemming, the Saxon ambassador in Berlin, and contained strange, wild rumors. The King of Prussia, it seemed, had left Berlin the day before, with all the princes and his staff officers, and no one knew exactly where he was going! Rumor said, though, that he and his army were marching toward Saxony! After reading this, Count Bruhl broke out into a loud laugh.
“Well,” said he, “it must be granted that this little poet-king, Frederick, has the art of telling the most delightful fairy-tales to his subjects, and of investing every action of his with the greatest importance. Ah, Margrave of Brandenburg! we will soon be in a condition to take your usurped crown from your head. Parade as much as you like—make the world believe in you and your absurd manoeuvres—the day will soon come when she will but see in you a poor knight with naught but his title of marquis.” With a triumphant smile he threw down the letter and grasped the next. “Another from Flemming?” said he. “Why, truly, the good count is becoming fond of writing. Ah,” said he, after reading it carelessly, “more warnings! He declares that the King of Prussia intends attacking Saxony—that he is now already at our borders. He then adds, that the king is aware of the contract which we and our friends have signed, swearing to attack Prussia simultaneously. Well, my good Flemming, there is not much wisdom needed to tell me that if the king knows of our contract, he will be all the more on his guard, and will make preparations to defend himself; for he would not be so foolhardy as to attempt to attack our three united armies. No, no. Our regiments can remain quietly in Poland, the seventeen thousand men here will answer all purposes.”
“There is but one more of these begging letters,” said he, opening it, but throwing it aside without reading it. Out of it fell a folded piece of paper. “Why,” said the count, taking it up, “there are verses. Has Flemming’s fear of the Prussian king made a poet of him?” He opened it and read aloud:
“‘A piece of poetry which a friend, Baron Pollnitz, gave me yesterday. The author is the King of Prussia.’”
“Well,” said the count, laughing, “a piece of poetry about me—the king does me great honor. Let us see; perhaps these verses can be read at the table to-day, and cause some amusement. ‘Ode to Count Bruhl,’ with this inscription: ‘il ne faut pas s’inquieter de l’avsnir.’ That is a wise philosophical sentence, which nevertheless did not spring from the brain of his Prussian majesty. And now for the verses.” And straightening the paper before him, he commenced.
“Esclave malheureux de la haute fortune,
D’un roi trop indolent souverain absolu,
Surcharge de travaux dont le soin L’importune.
Bruhl, quitte des grandeurs L’embarras superflu.
Au sein de ton opulence
Je vois le Dieu des ennuis,
Et dans ta magnificence
Le repos fait tes units.
“Descend de ce palais dont le superbe faite
Domine sur la Saxe, s’elevent aux cieux.
D’ou ton esprit craintif conjure la tempete
Que souleve ala cour un peuple d’envieux:
Vois cette grandeur fragile
Et cesse enfin d’admirer
L’eclat pompeux d’une ville
Ou tout feint de t’adorer.”
The count’s voice had at first been loud, pathetic, and slightly ironical, but it became gradually lower, and sank at last almost to a whisper. A deep, angry red suffused his face, as he read on. Again his voice became louder as he read the last two verses:
“Connaissez la Fortune inconstante et legere;
La perfide se plait aux plus cruels revers,
On la voit, abuber le sage, le vulgaire,
Jouer insolemment tout ce faible univers;
Aujourd’hui c’est sur ma tete
Qu’elle repand des faveurs,
Des demain elle s’apprete
A les emporter ailleurs.”
“Fixe-t-elle sur moi sa bizarre inconstance,
Mon concur lui saura gre’ du bien qu’elle me fait
Veut’elle en d’autres lieux marquer sa bienvellance,
Je lui remets ses dons sans chagrin, sans regret.
Plein d’une vertu plus forte
J’epouse la pauvrete’
Si pour dot elle m’apporte
L’honneur et la probite’”
[Footnote: ODE TO COUNT BRUHL. Inscription.—“It is not necessary to make ourselves uneasy about the future.”
“High Destiny’s unhappy slave,
Absolute lord of too indolent a king,
Oppressed with work whose care importunes him—
Bruhl, leave the useless perplexities of grandeur.
In the bosom of thine opulence
I see the God of the wearied ones,
And in thy magnificence
Repose makes thy nights.”
“Descend from this palace, whose haughty dome
Towering o’er Saxony, rises to the skies;
In which thy fearful mind confines the tempest.
Which agitates at the court, a nation of enviers.
Look at this fragile grandeur,
And cease at last to admire
The pompous shining of a city
Where all feign to adore thee.”
“Know that Fortune is light and inconstant;
A deceiver who delights
in cruel reverses;
She is seen to abuse the wise man, the vulgar
Insolently playing with all this weak universe.
To-day it is on my head
That she lets her favors fall,
By to-morrow she will be prepared
To carry them elsewhere.”
“Does she fix on me her wayward fickleness,
My heart will be grateful for the good she does me;
Does she wish to show elsewhere her benevolence,
I give her back her gifts without pain—without regret.
Filled with strongest virtue,
I will espouse Poverty,
If for dower she brings me
Honor and probity.”]
The paper fell from the count’s hand and he looked at it thoughtfully. An expression of deep emotion rested upon his countenance, which, in spite of his fifty years, could still be called handsome—as he repeated in a low, trembling voice:
“J’epouse la pauvrete, Si pour dot elle m’apporte L’honneur et la probite.”
The sun coming through the window rested upon his tall form, causing the many jewels upon his garments to sparkle like stars on the blue background, enveloping him in a sort of glory. He had repeated for the third time, “J’epouse la pauvrete,” when the door leading to his wife’s apartments was opened, and the countess entered in the full splendor of her queenly toilet, sparkling with jewels. The count was startled by her entrance, but he now broke out into a loud, mocking laugh.
“Truly, countess,” said he, “you could not have found a better moment to interrupt me. For the last half hour my thoughts have been given up to sentiment. Wonderful dreams have been chasing each other through my brain. But you have again shown yourself my good angel, Antonia, by dissipating these painful thoughts.” He pressed a fervent kiss upon her hand, then looking at her with a beaming countenance, he said:
“How beautiful you are, Antonia; you must have found that mysterious river which, if bathed in, insures perpetual youth and beauty.”
“Ah!” said the countess, smiling, “all know that no one can flatter so exquisitely as Count Bruhl.”
“But I am not always paid with the same coin, Antonia,” said the count, earnestly. “Look at this poem, that the King of Prussia has written of me. Truly, there is no flattery in it.”
While reading, the countess’s countenance was perfectly clear; not the slightest cloud was to be seen upon her brow.
“Do you not think it a good poem?” said she, indifferently.
“Well,” said he, “I must acknowledge that there was a certain fire in it that touched my heart.”
“I find it stupid,” said she, sternly. “There is but one thing in it that pleases me, and that is the title-’il ne faut pas s’inquieter de l’avenir.’ The little King of Prussia has done well to choose this for his motto, for without it, it strikes me, his peace would be forever gone, for his future will surely be a humiliating one.”
The count laughed.
“How true that is!” said he “and a just answer to his stupid poem. Speak of something else.”
He tore the paper into small pieces, which, with a graceful bow, he laid at the feet of the countess.
“A small sacrifice,” said he, “which I bring to my goddess. Tread upon it, and destroy the king’s words with your fairy foot.” The countess obeyed him, laughingly.
“But now, count,” said she, “we will, for a moment, speak of graver things. I have received letters from Loudon-from our son. Poor Henry is in despair, and he has requested me to intercede for him. You were always very stern with him, my friend, therefore he fears your anger, now that he has been a little imprudent.”
“Well, what is it?” said the count; “I hope it is no duel, for that would make me extremely angry.”
“It is nothing of that kind. His imprudence is of another sort, He is in want of money.”
“Money!” said the count, in amazement; “why, barely a month ago, I sent him six hundred thousand thalers. That, and what he took with him, three months ago, is quite a large sum, for it amounts to more than a million of thalers.”
“But, my dear husband, in England every thing is so dear! and there, to move amongst and impress those rich lords, he must really have more. It seems that our Charles Joseph has fallen in love with a lady whom all Loudon worships for her surpassing beauty. But she, having a cold heart, will listen to no one. She laughs at those who flatter her, and will receive no presents. She seemed an invincible fortress, but our son, thanks to stratagem, has taken it.”
“I am curious to know how,” said the count, laughing.
“He played a game of ecarte with her. He played for notes to the amount of ten pounds, and, at first, Charles won, much to the displeasure of the proud lady, who did not relish being beaten, even in a game of cards. Charles, perceiving this, played badly. The lady won from him eighty thousand pounds.”
“Eighty thousand pounds,” cried the count, “why, that is a half a million of thalers!”
“And do you mean to say,” said the countess, angrily, “that that is too much to gain the favor of a beautiful lady?”
“No! it is not too much; but it is certainly enough. I hope, at least, it was not in vain.”
“No, no! and Loudon is now raving about the intellectual, genial and generous son of Count Bruhl. I trust, count, that you instantly sent him a check.”
“Yes,” said the count, shrugging his shoulders. “But, countess, if the king were to hear this story, it would cause much evil; for you know that he believes in economy; luckily for me, he believes me to be an economical man. Those enemies who would not dare to accuse us, would have no fears of saying evil of our son; he will certainly hear this eighty-thousand-pound story.”
“We will tell him ourselves, but say that the story is much exaggerated.”
“What a wonderful woman you are, Antonia!” said her husband; “your counsel is wise; we will follow it.”
At this moment a slight knocking was heard at the door, and the secretary entered with a sealed letter.
“A courier from Torgau just arrived with this from the commandant.” The count’s brow became clouded.
“Business! forever business!” said he. “How dared you annoy me with this, upon the birthday of my wife?”
“Pardon, your excellency; but the courier brought with this packet such strange news, that I ventured to disturb you, to communicate—”
The beating of drums and the thunder of cannon interrupted him.
“The king and queen are now entering their carriage,” cried the count. “No more business to-day, my friend. It will keep till tomorrow. Come, Antonia, we must welcome their majesties.” And taking his wife’s hand, he passed out of the study.