Count Bruhl Part 45

'Be a.s.sured, I shall overthrow him, and when I choose, you also--'

Suddenly she became silent, she put a handkerchief to her eyes, and went slowly to her chamber. She locked the door behind her; Bruhl remained alone.

CHAPTER XVI

In a narrow street near the wall of the old city, not far from the river Elbe, stood a small house in a garden surrounded with a wall. One could easily see that it had been recently erected, and care had been taken to make it handsomer than the other houses. On the walls the architect had suspended stone flowers, round the windows were placed ornaments, graceful curves took the place of straight lines, thus making the building very fantastic.

On the gate stood two vases brought from Italy in order to remind one of that country. On one side of the house a verandah also reminded one of the Italian _pergole_. The front of the house turned towards the river Elbe. Young trees already gave some shadow, and two old linden trees, which remained from byegone times, spread their branches widely.

One autumn evening a woman was sitting on the balcony. She was the personification of wistful longing. She was young, beautiful, but sad as night; her black eyebrows were contracted, in her dark eyes shone tears; she put her elbows on her knees, leaned her head on her hands, and looked into the distance.

It was easy to recognise in her an Italian, for such a beautiful form nature grants only to her elect children, growing in air filled with the scent of orange blossoms. On the half-open red lips, between which could be seen her white teeth, there lingered a song. Her thoughts interrupted it, the voice stopped, and after a while flowed on again like a dream, then died away in silence, changing into a sigh.

She was alone, her thoughts concentrated on herself, turned into stone by longing, wearied of life. The song flowed from habit, the tears flowed from the heart.

Dressed as if she were in her own country, she could dream about the warm Italian autumn, for the day was warm. She wore a light dress, slipping from her shoulders, her black hair was loose, her arms were bare. It was difficult to guess her age--the first years of youth had hardly pa.s.sed and it was followed by those in which one longs after youth and looks forward to the future, though fearing the latter in the meanwhile. Her eyes were already familiar with tears and the mouth seemed no more to yearn after kisses, for she was already familiar with their sweetness. Her body was near the dreary river Elbe under the sky of the North, but her thoughts were far beyond the mountains and seas.

To the left the sun was setting in an orange-yellow sky and she turned her eyes in that direction. Just then steps were heard in the narrow street. The dreamy woman heard them and awoke from her dreams. She became frightened and listened. Someone knocked at the gate. Afraid, she wrapped herself in her gown, gathered up her dishevelled hair and disappeared into the house.

Another knock was heard at the gate. An old grey-haired man, wearing only a shirt and a cotton cape opened the door and looked out. At the gate stood a good-looking man, who, without asking permission, walked through. The old man muttered something, closed the door and followed him.

The new-comer asked the old man in Italian whether Teresa was at home and received from him an answer in the affirmative. He went quickly towards the house, the door of which stood open. The entrance hall was empty; he went upstairs and knocked at the door; an old, poorly dressed woman opened it and let him in.

The guest entered and found only the stool upon which the Italian was sitting a short time ago. The door leading to the balcony was open. The view from here was so charming that he stopped, looked at it and grew meditative.

The rustling of a dress was heard behind him, and the same woman whom we saw on the balcony advanced slowly. She now wore a voluminous black dress and her hair was negligently tied. Her face bore the same expression of weariness.

She nodded as her guest turned to greet her. They spoke in Italian.

'What is the matter with you?' the stranger asked.

'I am not well! I am dying from longing,' answered the Italian sadly.

'I cannot live here!'

'Where does such despair come from?'

'From the air!' the woman cried, throwing herself on a sofa.

The man sat opposite her on a chair.

'From the air!' she repeated, 'I cannot breathe here! I cannot live here! I must die here!'

'But what is the matter?'

'You see----'

'Then again that longing?'

'It has never left me.'

'I am sure Faustina has done something again,' said the visitor. It was Bruhl, as one could guess.

'Faustina?' she said looking at him angrily. 'You think and talk only of her!'

'Why do you not eclipse Faustina? Why do you not try to please the King? She is older----'

'She is a witch as old as the world--' interrupted Teresa. 'An abominable comedian. But with that King----'

'Pray, speak with respect about him!'

Teresa's mouth twitched.

'I will give you some advice,' said Bruhl, 'when you sing, always turn towards the King, look at him, smile to him, be coquettish. If he applaud you, you are first.'

'But in the meanwhile that old Faustina is first. The King is ruled by habit, and has no taste. She has a coa.r.s.e voice and grey hair. But it does not matter, she is a _diva_, and we _compars!_'

'Teresa, listen,' said Bruhl, 'do not despair, it shall be changed, Faustina shall return home, you shall remain.'

'I would prefer the contrary,' Teresa muttered.

'I have not time to-day to talk that matter over with you,' said Bruhl.

'At any minute I expect Padre Guarini to rap at the door. Tell old Beppo to let him in. I could not see him elsewhere and I told him to come here. Give him something sweet, but not your lips which are the sweetest, and leave us alone.'

Teresa listened with indifference; then as though forced to obey, she rose and moved slowly towards the door calling her old woman, to whom she whispered a few words. Bruhl paced up and down the room.

Teresa turned, looked at him and went to the sofa, but a m.u.f.fled knock at the door forced her to rise again to welcome the Jesuit.

A swift step was heard on the stairs and the long face of the Padre, smiling kindly, appeared in the doorway. He noticed Teresa as she put in order the things scattered about the room.

'Let that be,' he exclaimed. 'I am not a guest, but one of the family.

I feel so happy to be with my countrymen.'

Bruhl came over to Guarini.

'What news?' he asked. 'Is he going away?'

'Yes,' said the Padre laughing. 'The King himself told him to go and rest after working so hard. Do you understand? Very cleverly done. I never expected the Queen to be so cunning. She said to the King, "I know that you will be longing after Sulkowski, that we shall not be able to find a subst.i.tute for him, but he is killing himself with hard work. He is made for the active life of a soldier, let him go and smell some powder, and return refreshed." The King kissed her hand, thanking her for her sympathy for his favourite, and he said: "I shall tell Sulkowski to-day to go and travel, and pay his expenses." We must not stint the money! Let him go! Let him go!' exclaimed Guarini.

Bruhl accompanied him.

'Let him go!'

'He shall stay a few months,' the Padre continued, 'we shall have plenty of time in which to prepare the King's mind to dismiss him.'

Bruhl's face brightened.