Count Bruhl Part 31

'They say that the most able minister is going to marry the most beautiful young lady in the court.'

There was so much pa.s.sion in his voice, that it struck Bruhl suddenly that Watzdorf might be the man whom the beautiful Frances loved. It was only a supposition, or rather a presentiment. Bruhl trembled. 'If that is so, then the author of the medal and the beloved of my future wife must be put in a safe place,' he thought.

But nothing was yet proved. They looked at each other smiling, but with hatred in their hearts. The more Bruhl hated anyone the more sweet he was towards him: it was not in vain that he had been brought up in the school of Augustus the Strong.

'Your Excellency neglects the Prince,' said Watzdorf. 'The Count Sulkowski is too busy, and Frosch and Horch and Padre Guarini do not suffice for him.'

Bruhl smiled as sweetly as he could.

'You are right, I should like to compete even with Frosch and Horch to amuse our gracious Prince, but I have no time, for I must try to conquer the heart of the young lady of whom you have just made mention.'

'That is not necessary,' said Watzdorf, 'the one who shall have her hand, and the rest--does not need her heart. It might be left to someone else. Your Excellency has an excellent example of this in the Count Moszynski, who does not care for his wife's heart.'

Bruhl blushed; he stopped, still smiling, but he was out of patience with this preaching man.

'My dear sir,' he said, 'let us speak frankly: have I done you any wrong that you should p.r.i.c.k me, or is it only a habit of yours to bite everybody?'

'Both,' answered Watzdorf, 'but I did not expect that such a giant as your Excellency would feel the p.r.i.c.king of such a small fly as I am.'

'I feel no pain,' said Bruhl, 'but it tickles me. Would is not be better to make a friend of me?'

Watzdorf laughed.

'Ministers have no friends,' he said, 'it is written in the most elementary catechism of politicians.'

Here Watzdorf saluted and turned into a side street.

It was something like a declaration of war. Bruhl was struck dumb with astonishment.

'He declares war? He must be crazy! Why such a dislike towards me? I must find out!'

He went swiftly homeward. As soon as he entered his house, he went to Henniche's office. Henniche was a little surprised at seeing him.

'Give orders that Chamberlain Watzdorf is to be watched,' said Bruhl.

'But as Watzdorf is very cunning you must choose a man more cunning than he. Bribe Watzdorf's servants and search his papers.'

'Watzdorf?' repeated Henniche surprised. 'Have you any reason to suspect him?'

'Yes.'

'Must he be sacrificed?'

Bruhl was thoughtful for a while.

'We shall see,' he said, 'I don't like to make enemies, but if it is necessary--'

'Is he in the way?'

'I don't like him.'

'One can always find something against him.'

'Yes, find it then, and have it in store,' muttered Bruhl. 'I always tried to be amiable. I must show now that I can be threatening.'

Henniche looked at him ironically--Bruhl left the room without having noticed it.

Watzdorf, who at the turn of the road separated from Bruhl, walked swiftly at first, then slowly, wandering without any aim. His face was gloomy, for he felt that in satisfying his own irritation he had committed a grave mistake which he would redeem very dearly. He was too angry with Bruhl to be able to control himself.

Watzdorf although brought up at the court and accustomed to look at its perversity, which might corrupt him also, was a man to be feared for his honesty and integrity. All who surrounded him shocked him. The air which he breathed seemed to him infected and he was disgusted with it.

His love for Frances Kolowrath also contributed to make him hate the world, which had corrupted the beautiful girl. He saw all her faults: coquettishness, levity, pride, egotism and lack of heart, but notwithstanding that, he loved her madly, weeping over her and himself.

All her drawbacks he attributed to her education, to the court and its customs, the air which she breathed.

He was in despair.---All noticed lately that Watzdorf had grown gloomy and irritable to a degree. If he could he would avenge her on somebody, and as Bruhl was Frances's fiance, on him he concentrated his whole anger.

The courtiers, his former friends, avoided Watzdorf: some of them spoke frankly, that he was smelling like a corpse.

Having nothing else to do he went almost mechanically towards Faustina's house. The first part of the mourning was over and there were already whispers of an opera. Sulkowski and Bruhl knowing how fond the Prince was of music and of Faustina, were inclined to persuade him to have a performance.

Although Ha.s.se was the husband of the diva they did not live together.

_Il divino Sa.s.sone_, as the Italians called him, occupied a separate house. Faustina's house was luxuriously furnished. She gave the orders for each performance, and received those who applied for appointments at the theatre.

Watzdorf asked the lackey if his mistress was at home, and received an answer in the affirmative. When announced, and entering the drawing-room, he found the beautiful Italian standing in the centre of the room; while Padre Guarini, dressed in civilian's clothes was walking to and fro. His face was smiling while Faustina was red with anger.

Guarini, seeing Watzdorf, said to him, pointing to the singer:

'Look what this woman is doing with me, the most peaceful man in the world. _Furioso diavolo! Furioso!_ If she was singing instead of shrieking--'

Faustina turned to Watzdorf.

'Be my witness,' she shrieked, 'he wishes to make a puppet of me that I may not have my own will. To-morrow his protege would ruin my theatre.

No, he must be dismissed!'

'Why?' said Guarini quietly. 'Because the beautiful youth does not admire you? Because he prefers the blue eyes of the Frenchwoman to yours?'

Faustina clapped her hands.

'Do you hear him, that abominable _prete?_' cried she. 'Do I need his homage? Have I not enough of that? I am disgusted with it!'

'Yes, as if woman had ever enough of it,' laughed Guarini.

'But about whom, is this question?' asked Watzdorf.

'_Un poverino!_' the Jesuit answered, 'whom that pitiless woman wished to drive from the theatre.'

'_Un a.s.sa.s.sino! Un traditore! Una spia!_' cried Faustina.

Watzdorf, although feeling sad, was amused by this quarrel between a priest and an actress.