Читать книгу Count Brühl - Józef Ignacy Kraszewski - Страница 4

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The pages of Augustus II had rooms in the King's castle, where they awaited their orders during the time they were on duty. Their horses were always in readiness in case they might be sent on some errand. They relieved each other by turns at the door and attended the King in the antechamber, and often, when no other messenger was at hand, were sent to carry orders and despatches. Brühl always performed this arduous service with great zeal when his turn came, and even willingly took the place of others, so that the King, seeing him frequently, grew accustomed to his face and services.

'Brühl, you are again here,' he would say smiling.

'At your Majesty's command.'

'Are you not tired?'

'My greatest happiness is to look at your Majesty.' And the boy would bow, and the King would clap him on the shoulder.

Never was anything either impossible or too difficult for him; he ran immediately and fulfilled his orders at once.

They were waiting one day for the courier. In those days the post was often late; a horse would die on the road, or a river overflow, or a postillion become sick, and in consequence there was no fixed hour for the arrival of the post. Ever since the morning the military councillor Pauli, who used to write the King's letters, had been waiting for his orders.

Pauli, whom we saw drunk in Hubertsburg, slept during the night, rose in the morning, dressed himself and felt quite well except that he was still very thirsty.

He was aware that nature had provided water for him to drink, but he despised the simple beverage and used to say God created it for geese and not for men. Consequently he quenched his thirst with wine; he felt better and more lively.

He remembered that Brühl had come to his assistance in that awful moment of drunkenness, and from that moment a friendship sprang up between old Pauli and the young page.

Brühl, who did not despise anybody's favour, became attached to the councillor. Pauli was an elderly man, prematurely aged by his intemperate habits: he was very fat and could hardly walk, and, after dinner, would even dose standing up. Pauli's face was red, verging to purple, and his whole body seemed to be swollen.

But when he dressed in his best for the court, when he buttoned up, pulled himself together and assumed his official demeanour, one really could take him for a respectable person. He was so accustomed to the King and the King to him, that from one word, or even a look from Augustus, he could spin out whole letters, guessing the thought, grasping the style, and the King never needed to make any corrections. For this reason he was fond of Pauli, and requisitioned his services continually; for this reason too, he forgave him when he got drunk and was incapacitated from fulfilling his duties.

Then the lackeys were obliged to wake him up and the councillor would open his eyes, and murmur, 'Wait a minute! I am ready!' though he did not rise till he became sober. Then he would rise, wash himself with cold water, drink a big glass of strong wine, and go to the King.

Such things used to happen in those days, not to Pauli alone; the King's friend Fleming used to get drunk and many others too. People merely laughed at a drunken man for having so weak a head.

That day when they were waiting for the courier Pauli was sitting in the marshals' room, yawning. He selected a comfortable chair, stretched his legs, drooped his head a little and fell a-thinking. He could not dose. Who could travel with Morpheus into the country of dreams, not being prepared with good food for the journey?

The pictures that hung in the room were too familiar to his gaze to interest him. He could not look at them, so he yawned again, this time so outrageously that his jaws cracked. It was a heartrending sight to see such a respectable councillor yawn because he had nothing to eat.

The clock struck ten, then eleven, and still Pauli sat yawning and trembling on account of the emptiness of his stomach. At that moment he felt the most miserable of men.

At eleven o'clock Brühl, who was waiting for the hour of his service, entered. He was lovely in his page's dress, worn with great elegance; nobody could rival him in the freshness of the lace on his cuffs, the cut of his dress, and his exquisitely combed wig. As usual, he smiled sweetly. Everyone was conquered by his smiles, his words, and the grace of all his movements. Pauli, catching sight of him, put out his hand without rising.

Brühl ran to him and said:

'How happy I am to see you!' And he bowed humbly.

'Brühl, you alone can save me!' said Pauli. 'Just imagine, I have not yet had my breakfast! When will that courier arrive?'

The page looked at the clock and shrugged his shoulders.

'Chi lo sa?' he answered in that language which with French, was then used at court, for Italians were then quite numerous in Dresden.

'Eleven! and I have not had my breakfast! I shall die of starvation!' Having said this, Pauli yawned once more and shivered.

Brühl stood thoughtful, then he whispered in Pauli's ear:

'Est modus in rebus! Why do you sit here as though you were on a public road? There is a room with a door opening on the corridor leading to the kitchen; there I could manage to get you served with something.'

The councillor's eyes brightened, and he tried to rise, always a difficulty with him. He was obliged to put both hands on the arms of the chair, and leaning heavily on his elbows, at length succeeded.

'My dear boy,' he exclaimed, 'help me then, if you can.'

Brühl nodded and they disappeared through the door of the next room. Here, as though Pauli had been expected, some enchanted force had prepared a table. There stood a large chair, as if made for him, and on the snow-white table a soup tureen, a covered dish and a large bottle of golden wine.

Pauli, having perceived this, hastened to occupy the chair, as if afraid that someone else might step in before him, seized the napkin and stretched his arm towards the soup tureen; suddenly he remembered Brühl and said:

'And you?'

The page shook his head.

'It's for you, my dear sir.'

'May the gods reward you for this!' exclaimed Pauli enthusiastically. 'May Venus give you the prettiest girl in Dresden; may Hygiea give you a stomach with which you can digest stones; may Bacchus give you everlasting thirst and the means to quench it with Hungarian wine; may--'

But the tempting dishes did not permit him to finish. Brühl stood smiling at the councillor. Pauli poured out the first glass of wine. He expected an ordinary, light Hungarian wine, which they usually served at the court, but when he tasted it, his face brightened, his eyes shone, and having drunk he leaned back in his chair and smiled.

'Divine drink! My dear boy, you are working miracles! Where did you get it from? I know that wine, it's King's Tokay; smell it, taste it--it's ambrosia, nectar!'

'You must show your favour to the bottle, and not leave its contents to the profane, who would drink it without proper appreciation.'

'That would certainly be a profanation,' exclaimed the councillor, pouring out another large glass. 'To your health, to your success. Brühl--I shall be thankful to you till the day of my death--you saved my life. An hour longer and I should have been a dead man; I felt that my life was slipping away.'

'I am very glad,' said Brühl, 'that I have been able to be of service to you, sir. But pray, drink!'

Pauli drank another glass, smacked his lips, and said:

'What a wine! What a wine! Every glass tastes better than the last. It's like a good friend whom the more we know the better we love. But, Brühl, when the post comes, and his Majesty calls me, if it should be necessary for me to write a letter to Berlin or Vienna--'

In the meanwhile he poured out the third glass.

'Such a small bottle for you is nothing; it is only a stimulans.'

'Brühl, you are right. I have drunk more than that in my life.' He laughed. 'The worst thing is to mix the drinks. Who knows in what relation they stand to each other? There might meet two bitter foes, for instance, the French with German wine; they begin to fight in the stomach and head, and the man suffers. But when one drinks an honest, intelligent, matured wine, then there is no danger, it does no harm.'

Speaking thus the councillor ate the meat, drank the Tokay and smiled again. Brühl stood, looked, and when the glass was empty, he filled it once more.

At length the food having all disappeared, there remained only the wine.

Pauli sighed and mumbled:

'But the letters!'

'Would you be afraid?'

'You are right, if I were afraid, I should be a coward, and that is a despicable thing. Fill up! To your health! You shall get on! It's brighter in my head! It seems that the sun has come out from beneath the clouds, for everything looks brighter. I feel as if I could write more fluently than ever!'

Brühl filled the glass constantly.

The councillor looked at the bottle, and observing that it was larger at the bottom, promised himself that the wine would last still for some time.

'I have nothing to be afraid of,' said Pauli as though wishing to reassure himself. 'I don't know whether you remember or not. I remember once on a very warm day, when his Majesty was writing to that unfortunate Cosel, I drank some treacherous wine. It tasted as good as this Tokay, but it was treacherous. When I went out into the street my head swam. It was too bad, for I was obliged to write the letters. Two courtiers seized my arms--it seemed to me that I was flying; they put me at the table, they put a pen in my hand the paper before me; the King said a few words and I wrote an excellent letter. But if you killed me I could not remember what I wrote then. Suffice it that the letter was good, and the King, laughing, gave me a magnificent ring as a souvenir of that day.'

The wine was poured from the bottle to the glass, from the glass into the throat. The councillor smiled.

'Hard service,' he said quietly, 'but the wine is excellent.'

During the conversation the bottle was emptied. The last glass was a little clouded; Brühl wished to push it aside.

'Tyrant!' cried the councillor. 'What are you doing? It is the nature of the wine to have dregs, they are not to be wasted, but exist to hide the virtue which is in it,--the elixir, the essence.'

While Pauli was emptying the last glass, Brühl bent forward and took from under the table another bottle. Seeing it, the councillor wished to rise, but the sight rivetted him to his chair.

'What do I see?' he cried.

'It's another volume,' said the page quietly, 'of the work. It contains its conclusion, its quintessence. As you are fond of literature--'

Pauli bent his head.

'Who would not be fond of such literature?' sighed he.

'--I have been trying to get you a complete work,' continued the boy. 'I could not get both volumes of the same edition. The second volume is editio princips.'

'Ah!' exclaimed Pauli approaching the glass. 'Pour me only one page of that respectable volume.'

'But it will spoil. You must finish the bottle.'

'That's true! But the letters! The letters!' said Pauli.

'There will be none to-day.'

'Would that that were true,' Pauli sighed.

Brühl poured out another glass; Pauli drank it.

'This wine the King alone drinks when he doesn't feel well,' whispered Brühl.

'Panaceum universale! The lips of a woman are not sweeter.'

'Oh! oh!' exclaimed the youth.

'It is quite different for you,' said the councillor, 'but for me they have lost all sweetness. But the wine! wine is a nectar which, never loses its charm. Were it not for these letters!'

'You are still thinking of them?'

'Well, let the deuce take them.'

The councillor drank, but the wine was beginning to take effect. He grew heavier, he smiled, and then closed his eyes.

'Now a short nap,' said he.

'But you must finish the bottle,' said the page.

'Yes, it is the duty of an honest man to finish that which he began,' said Pauli.

Having poured out the last glass, Brühl brought forward a pipe and tobacco.

'Will you not smoke?' he said.

'You are an angel!' exclaimed Pauli opening his eyes. 'You remembered about that also. But suppose this herb intoxicates me further? What do you say?'

'It will make you sober,' said Brühl handing him the pipe.

'How can I resist such a tempting offer! Come what may, give it to me. Perchance the postillion will break his neck, and will not come. I don't wish him evil, but I would prefer that he stayed away.'

They both laughed. The councillor smoked assiduously.

'Very strong tobacco!'

'The King smokes it,' said the page,

'But he is stronger than I am.'

The tobacco evidently made him more intoxicated for he began to mumble. He smoked for a little while longer, then the pipe slipped from his hand, his head dropped, and he began to snore.

Brühl looked at him, smiled, went quietly to the door, and disappeared behind it. Then he ran straight to the King's ante-room.

A young, well-dressed boy, of lordly mien, also in page's costume, stopped him.

It was the Count Anthony Moszynski. He was distinguished among the other pages of the King, by his pale face, black hair, expressive although not beautiful features, eyes full of fire, but above all by his aristocratic bearing and stiff manners. He was with Sulkowski at the Prince's court, then he passed, to that of Augustus II, who, it was said, liked his liveliness and intelligence, and a brilliant career was prophesied for him.

'Brühl,' said he. 'Where have you been?'

The page hesitated to answer.

'In the marshals' room.'

'It is your hour now.'

'I know it, but I am not too late,' he answered, glancing at the clock.

'I thought,' said Moszynski laughing, 'that I should have to take your place.'

Something like anger flashed across Brühl's face, but it became serene again immediately.

'My dear Count,' said he sweetly, 'you favourites are permitted not to be punctual, but it would be unpardonable in me. I have often acted as a substitute for others, but no one has yet been substituted for me.'

'You wish to imply that no one is able to act as substitute for you,' said Moszynski.

'You are good-humouredly joking at my simplicity. I try to learn that in which you lords are masters.'

Moszynski put out his hand.

'It's dangerous to fight you with words. I would prefer swords.'

Brühl assumed a humble mien.

'I do not think I am superior in anything,' he said quietly.

'Well, I wish you good luck during your service,' said Moszynski. 'Good-bye!'

He left the room.

Brühl breathed more freely. He went slowly to the window, and stood there seemingly looking with indifference into a courtyard paved with stones. Beneath him swarmed a numerous company of busy courtiers. Soldiers in magnificent uniforms, chamberlains in dresses richly embroidered with gold, many lackeys and other servants moved quickly about; several post-chaises stood near the steps and yellow-dressed carriers waited for their masters; further there were carriages with German and Polish harness, hayduks in scarlet, kozaks, all constituting a variegated and picturesque whole. A chamberlain came out from the King.

'The post has not yet come?' he asked Brühl.

'Not yet.'

'As soon as it comes, bring the letters at once. Where is Pauli?'

'In the marshal's room.'

'Very well, he must wait.'

Brühl bowed and returned to the window, looking through it impatiently until he perceived, galloping in on a foaming horse, a postillion with a trumpet slung across his shoulder, and a leathern bag on his chest.

The page flew downstairs as fast as he could, and before the servants had noticed the postillion, he seized hold of the letters. A silver tray was in readiness in the ante-room; Brühl placed the letters on it, and entered the King's apartment.

Augustus was walking to and fro with the Count Hoym. Seeing the page, tray, and letters, he put out his hand and took the letters and broke the seals.

Brühl waited, while the King and Hoym read the letters.

'Ah!' exclaimed Augustus. 'Be quick, and call Pauli.'

Brühl did not move.

'Go and call Pauli to me,' repeated the King impatiently.

The page bowed, rushed out of the room and looked into the marshal's room. Pauli was sleeping like a log. Brühl returned to the King.

'Your Majesty!' stammered Brühl. 'Councillor Pauli--'

'Is he here?'

'Yes, your Majesty.'

'Then why doesn't he come?'

'The councillor,' said the page, dropping his eyes, 'is not well.'

'Were he dying, you must bring him here,' cried the King. 'Let him fulfil his duties, then he can die if he wishes to do so.'

Brühl ran out again, and entering the room, looked at the sleeping man, then returned to the King. Augustus' eyes burned with increasing anger, he began to grow pale, which was the worst sign; when he became white people trembled.

Brühl stopped at the door, silent.

'Pauli!' cried the King, rapping the floor with his foot.

'The councillor is--'

'Drunk?' Augustus guessed. 'Ah, the dirty old pig! Why could he not abstain for these few hours? Pour water on him! Conduct him to the fountain! Let the doctor give him some medicine and make him sober if but for one hour. Then the beast might die!'

Brühl promptly obeyed. He tried to wake up the councillor, but he was lying like a log; the only doctor who could bring him to his senses was time. Brühl, coming back slowly, seemed to hesitate, as though pondering something in his mind. He entered the King's room as noiselessly as he could.

The King stood in the centre holding the papers in his hand; his brows were contracted.

'Pauli!'

'It is impossible to awaken him.'

'I wish he would die! But the letters! Who will write them? Do you hear?'

'Your Majesty,' said Brühl humbly, 'my daring is great, almost criminal, but my love for your Majesty must be my excuse. One word from your Majesty--a small indication--and I will try to write the letters--'

'You, youngster?'

Brühl blushed.

'Your Majesty shall punish me--'

Augustus looked at him penetratingly.

'Come,' said he going to the window. 'There is the letter; read it, and give a negative answer, but you must hint that the answer is not definite. Let them think that there is some hope, but do not actually show it. Do you understand?'

Brühl bowed and wished to go out with the letter.

'Where are you going?' cried the King. 'Sit at this table and write at once.'

The page bowed again and sat on the edge of the chair which was upholstered in silk; he turned up his lace cuffs, bent over the paper and wrote with a rapidity that astonished the King.

Augustus II looked attentively, as though at a curious phenomenon, at the good-looking boy, who assumed the gravity of a chancellor and wrote the diplomatic letter as easily as he would have written a love-letter.

One might have thought, that the page, in accomplishing a task so important to his future, had forgotten about his pose.

Apparently he sat negligently and thoughtlessly, but the fact was, that as he bent gracefully to his work, the position of his legs, arms and head, was all carefully studied. His composure did not leave him for a moment though the work was apparently done in feverish haste. The King watched him closely and seemed to guess his intention. The page without thinking or losing time, wrote as if by dictation, he did not erase a single word, he did not stop for a moment. The pen stopped only when the letter was finished. Then he read it through and rose.

The King evidently curious and wishing to be indulgent came nearer.

'Read!' said he.

Brühl's voice trembled and was faint. Who would have thought that that fear was simulated? The King encouraging the boy, said kindly:

'Slowly, distinctly, aloud!'

The young page then began to read and his voice, which was at first faint, became sonorous. The face of Augustus depicted by turn surprise, joy, hilarity, and bewilderment.

When Brühl finished he did not dare to raise his eyes.

'Once more from the beginning,' said the King.

This time Brühl read more distinctly and more boldly.

The King's face became radiant; he clapped his hands.

'Excellent!' cried he. 'Pauli could not do better, not even so well. Copy it.'

Brühl bowing humbly presented the letter to the King, which was so well written that it was not necessary to copy it.

Augustus clapped him on the shoulder.

'From to-day, you are my secretary. I will have no more to do with Pauli; may the deuce take him! Let him drink and die!'

The King rang the bell, a chamberlain entered.

'Count,' said Augustus, 'give orders that Pauli is to be carried home; when he becomes sober express to him my great displeasure. I never wish to see him again! Brühl is my secretary from to-day. Discharge him from his duties as a page.'

The chamberlain smiled at the boy standing modestly aside.

'He saved me from a great trouble,' said the King. 'I know Pauli, he will be drunk till to-morrow, and it was necessary to send the letter at once.'

The King went to the table to sign the letter.

'Make a copy of it,' said he.

'I will copy it from memory,' said Brühl quietly.

'What a keen secretary I have now!' exclaimed Augustus. 'Pray give orders that he is to be paid the three hundred thalers.'

When Brühl approached to thank him, the King put out his hand to be kissed, an especial sign of favour.

A moment later a courier, having taken the sealed letter, conveyed it away at a gallop, blowing his trumpet. Brühl slipped out into the ante-room. Here the story of the letter and his unexpected promotion, told by the chamberlain Frisen, aroused curiosity and envy. When Brühl appeared all eyes turned to him, but in the new favourite of the King, one could see no trace of pride--on the contrary, he was as humble as if he were ashamed of his deed.

Moszynski rushed to him.

'What do I hear?' he exclaimed. 'Brühl his Majesty's amanuensis? When? How?'

'Let me come to myself from fear and astonishment,' said Brühl quietly. 'I do not know how it happened. Providence watched over me, un pauvre cadet de famille. My love for the King worked a miracle. I am dazed.'

Moszynski looked at him.

'If your good luck continues, you will soon be ahead of us all. We must recommend ourselves to your favour.'

'Count, be merciful, and do not mock a poor boy like me.'

Saying this, Brühl, as if he were tired, wiped the perspiration from his forehead and sat on the nearest chair.

'One would think,' said Moszynski, 'that he had met with the greatest misfortune.'

This was lost on Brühl, for he was deep in thought. All in the room dropped their voices to a whisper as they told the story of the lucky boy to those who came in. The news spread in the town and when in the evening Brühl appeared in the theatre among the pages, Sulkowski, who attended the Prince, came to congratulate him.

Brühl seemed to be very grateful and could not find words to thank him for his kindness.

'Do you see, Brühl,' whispered Sulkowski, looking upon him protectingly, 'I told you that they would appreciate you at your right value. I was not mistaken in thinking that our lord's eagle eye had singled you out in the crowd.'

They applauded the singer; Sulkowski also clapped his hands, but turning to his friend he said:

'I applaud you.'

The page bowed humbly, blushing.

After the end of the play he had a chance of disappearing, and the friends who looked for him in the castle and in his rooms could not find him. They thought it was his modesty; it was nice of him not to boast of his good fortune. On enquiry his servant told them that he had gone out.

The fact was, that after the opera Brühl stole into the Castle street and from it he went towards Taschenberg, where Cosel formerly lived, and which was now occupied by a daughter of the Emperor of Austria, Josepha.

Those who met him might have suspected that he was going to deposit his laurels at the feet of some goddess. It was very probable. He was twenty years of age, he was very good-looking, and the women, spoiled by Augustus, were very coquettish. It was evident that he was anxious not to be seen or recognised, for his face was wrapped in his mantle and every time he heard steps he hastened his own.

He entered the house next to the princess's palace, ran up the stairs, and knocked three times at the door.

There was no answer. Having waited a little while, he knocked again in the same way.

Slow steps were heard within, the door opened a little, and the head of an old man appeared. Brühl slipped in quickly.

The room into which he entered, lighted by one candle held by the servant standing at the door, was full of bookshelves and somewhat gloomy. The old servant, questioned in whispers, pointed to the door in lieu of an answer. Brühl threw off his cloak and going on tip-toe approached the door at which he knocked softly.

'Favorisca!'

The large room into which the page now entered was lighted by two candles under green shades. There were several tables loaded with books, between two windows there was a large crucifix, on the sofa a guitar was lying.

At the table leaning on one hand, stood an elderly, slightly bent man: his face was yellowish, bony; he wore a long beard; his eyes were black. By his features it was easy to recognise an Italian. There was something enigmatical about his thin, pale lips, but the whole face was rather jovial than mysterious. There was something ironical as well as kindly in it. A large hooked nose almost covered his lower lip.

On his closely-shaven hair he wore a black silk cap; his dress was long and dark; it indicated a priest.

He welcomed Brühl with outstretched arms.

'Ah! it's you, my dear boy! How glad I am to see you.'

The youth bent humbly and kissed his hand.

The host seated himself on the sofa, at the same time pointing to a chair for Brühl, who sat down, still holding his hat.

'Ecco! Ecco!' whispered the old man. 'You think you bring me news, but I already know about it. I am truly delighted. You see Providence rewards, God helps those who worship Him.'