The Countess Cosel Part 1

The Countess Cosel.

by Joseph J. Kraszewski.

INTRODUCTION

Joseph J. Kraszewski was born in Russian Poland in 1812. He came of a n.o.ble and once wealthy family. His parents quitting their estates during the war between France and Russia, the boy was left in the care of his grandparents on his mother's side. From these he first acquired a taste for literature and art. In his eleventh year, Kraszewski was sent to the College at Biala, where he remained until 1826. He then entered the College at Lublin, and in 1829 he proceeded to the University of Wilno, where he gave his attention princ.i.p.ally to the study of languages, especially of Old Slavonic, Russian, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and Arabic. He spent much of his time in reading old doc.u.ments and ma.n.u.scripts, and the materials thus gathered he subsequently utilized in his historical romances and monographs.

The novel had at this period begun to be the most popular form of literary expression in Western Europe. Kraszewski read and admired the works of Le Sage, Voltaire, Jean Paul, Hoffmann, and even Washington Irving. His first literary efforts were in close imitation of his own countryman, Count Skarbek, and of Laurence Sterne. He began to write in 1829, and at this early period of his life he produced several noteworthy novels.

In 1831 he was arrested by the Russian Government for his connection with the revolutionary movement; but through the influence of his aunt--an intimate friend of Prince Dologoruky, the Governor-General of Wilno--he was subjected only to arrest at home, instead of being deported to Siberia. Complete freedom of movement was not restored to him until 1833. In this year he became the leader of a considerable literary movement in Wilno. He edited there a weekly newspaper, and from his pen flowed poetry, dramas, novels, and historical studies. His literary activity was indeed amazing.

In 1836 Kraszewski left Wilno, and took unto himself a wife. He retired to his estates in the country, where he endeavoured to reconcile the life of a country gentleman with that of a _litterateur_. In 1855 he came to Warsaw, and established in the Polish capital two periodicals, a monthly and a daily. At this time the Marquis Wielopski was, on the Czar's instructions, endeavouring to find a _modus vivendi_ between Russia and Poland, but his policy was fiercely attacked by Kraszewski in his daily newspaper; and when the insurrection against Russian rule broke out in 1861, he was obliged to fly from Poland. He settled in Dresden, where he pa.s.sed the remainder of his life in continuous literary effort, enriching Polish literature with an astonishing number of works in all branches of _belles-lettres_. In 1879 the Polish nation celebrated at Cracow, in a solemn and imposing fashion, the fiftieth anniversary of Joseph Kraszewski's literary _debut_. After his death he was laid to rest in the Pantheon set aside by the Poles for the sepulture of their literary celebrities. As an instance of the importance of Kraszewski's personality, it is related that Bismarck signalled him out as the man through whom he might best strike a blow at the Polish members of the German Reichstag. He was tried for "Attempted Treason," and, on the very slightest evidence, was sentenced to four and a half years' imprisonment in the fortress of Magdebourg.

As a mighty reformer of Polish literature, Kraszewski deserves the highest esteem of his countrymen: as a diligent worker and social reformer he stands an example for any nation. He has left us a gallery of pictures, of historical episodes, and characteristic studies of interesting historical personages. During his long residence in Dresden, he devoted himself specially to a study of men and manners at the Courts of Augustus the Second ("the Strong") and Augustus the Third. In "The Countess Cosel" he gives us views of Augustus the Second and his courtiers which are almost unique as pictures of Court life.

The story of the Countess has all the air of a dramatic romance carefully planned by an ingenious novelist; yet it is a faithful narrative of events, illumined by the light of Kraszewski's genius.

S. C. De Soissons.

THE COUNTESS COSEL

CHAPTER I.

All was silent, dark, and sad in the King's castle, in the capital of Saxony. It was an autumn night, but at the end of September, the leaves are only beginning to turn yellow, cold winds are very rarely felt, the days are usually bright, and the nights warm.

But on this evening the wind was blowing from the north; long black clouds followed each other in quick succession, and if a star made its appearance for a moment in the lead-coloured sky, it was quickly covered by the thick clouds. Before the gates of the castle of Georgenthor, and in the court-yards, silent sentries were pacing to and fro. The windows of the King's apartments, usually so brilliantly lighted, were dark. This was a most unusual event during the reign of Augustus, surnamed the Strong, because he was wont to break horse-shoes, men, sadness, and ill-fortune--but nothing could break him. Throughout the whole of Germany, indeed, throughout the whole of Europe, he was famed for the brilliancy of his court. There were none who could surpa.s.s him in magnificence, refinement of taste, and lordly prodigality.

This year, however, Augustus had been defeated. The Swedes had taken from him the electoral crown of Poland, and the almost dethroned King, chased from the kingdom, had returned to the Kurfursten-neste, to weep over the millions he had spent in vain, and the fearful ingrat.i.tude of the Poles. The Saxons could not understand how anyone could fail to admire such a good and n.o.ble lord, or how anyone could be unwilling to die for his sake.

Augustus understood this still less than they did. The word "ingrat.i.tude" now accompanied every mention he made of Poland, and at length his courtiers avoided talking about it, about the King of Sweden, and about those things that Augustus the Strong had promised himself to set right.

When Augustus returned to Dresden, that city made every possible effort to distract its lord, and it was only on this evening that everything was quiet within the castle. But why? The King had not gone to any of his other castles; the Leipsic fair had not yet begun; and besides, it had even been rumoured in the court, and throughout the city, that Augustus intended to order a series of b.a.l.l.s, and carousals, to spite the Swedish monarch, and to prove to that august personage that he cared nothing for the temporary defeat he had sustained.

The few pa.s.sers-by who wended their way along the streets surrounding the castle, gazed at the windows in astonishment, wondering why, at this early hour, everything should be so quiet in the King's apartments. But anyone who penetrated further, and pa.s.sing through the first large gate, crossed the courtyard, would have discovered that it was only on one side of the castle that silence reigned supreme, and that the interior of the building was seething with life and animation.

Despite the keen north wind that was blowing, the windows on the first floor were wide open, and through the curtains poured forth streams of light, reflected from many mirrors; whilst from time to time there issued from the depths of the hall, peals of boisterous laughter, which, ringing through the s.p.a.cious courtyard, startled the watchful sentries, and echoing against the grey walls, gradually died away in the distance.

This laughter was accompanied by more or less noise, which alternately increased, subsided into murmurs, or died away into silence. At times there was loud clapping of hands as though after a speech, and then again was heard deep, sonorous, full-toned, king-like laughter, the laughter of a person not afraid of being heard, or of being answered in shouts of derision. At each fresh outburst of merriment, the guard pacing, halberd in hand, beneath the castle windows, paused in his walk, raised his eyes, and then with a deep sigh looked down on the ground.

There was something awful in this midnight feast, held while the wind was blowing fiercely, and the capital lay wrapt in sleep.

Here the King was making merry.

Since his return from Poland, such evening debauches, with a few intimate courtiers, had been more frequent. Augustus the Strong, defeated by Charles XII., was ashamed to appear at great feasts; but as he needed some distraction from the sad thoughts that oppressed him, he gathered round him a few courtiers to whom he was attached. For these he ordered his servants to bring out the golden wine that was yearly imported from Hungary for the King's private use, and of this they drank until daybreak, by which time every one had fallen from their seats. Then Hoffman came, and conducted the King, still laughing heartily, to bed.

To these select a.s.semblies of the priests of Bacchus only a few persons were admitted, only those, in fact, in whom Augustus had entire confidence; for it was said that after drinking a few b.u.mpers the King was dangerous. His strength was the strength of Hercules, and his anger the anger of Jove. If he were made angry in the morning, he said nothing, but his face grew crimson, his eyes glittered, and his lips trembled. He would turn away, and would not look at the person who had offended him. But after a few draughts of wine it was a different matter; at such times he had thrown many a one through the window, who had fallen on the pavement to rise no more.

His anger was rare, but it was terrible as a thunderbolt. In ordinary life there could not be found a more affable or benevolent lord. It has even been remarked that the more he disliked a man, the more sweetly he smiled on him; and the day before they were imprisoned in Konigstein, where his favourites had sometimes had to remain for several years, Augustus would embrace them as though they were his dearest friends; so n.o.ble was his nature, so wishful was he to soften the hard lot of his people.

As it was necessary for the lord to have some amus.e.m.e.nt, it was nothing remarkable that two bears should sometimes be brought to the castle, or two enemies made drunk, and then induced to fight. This was a sport in which the King especially delighted, and when two drunken Vitzthums, Friesens or Hoyms, began to quarrel, he used to split his sides with laughing. This was such an innocent recreation.

The King could make them quarrel very easily, for he knew everything--he knew who was in love, and with whom; which man hated the other; how much money they had taken from his treasury without his permission; he even knew what each of his courtiers was thinking, and if he did not know, he guessed. Who the spies were who betrayed them, the courtiers could by no means discover; and the result of this was that each one suspected his neighbour; brother was afraid of brother; the husband distrusted the wife; the father had no confidence in his son; and King Augustus the Strong looked on, and laughed at the mob!

Yes, from his exalted position he looked down on the comedy of life, not disdaining to play in it the role of Jove, Hercules, and Apollo--and in the evening the role of Bacchus.

On the evening in question, being very sad and weary, the King determined to make all his ministers and favourites drunk, and then make them confess for his amus.e.m.e.nt.

The select companions of the King's feast were seated in a brilliantly lighted room, one side of which was occupied by an enormous sideboard, bright with silver and cut gla.s.s. Amongst those present were: Count Taparel Lagnasco, who had just arrived from Rome; Count Wackerbarth, from Vienna, Watzdorf, called the peasant of Mansfeld; Furstenberg, Imhoff, Friesen, Vitzthum, and Hoym; and last, but not least, Friedrich Wilhelm, Baron Kyan, famous for his wit, who made every one else laugh, whilst he remained perfectly serious.

The King, with dress and vest unfastened, sat leaning on one elbow--he was very sad. His handsome face, usually so bright, was veiled in a mist of sorrow. Several empty bottles bore witness to the fact that drinking had already continued for some time, yet on the King's face no results of the goodly wine were visible. The golden liquid had not been able to make his gloomy thoughts more bright.

The courtiers jested with each other, endeavouring to make their lord laugh, but without avail. Augustus sat silent and thoughtful, as though he heard not a word that was spoken. This was most unusual; the King was so seldom sad, indeed he was ever eager for mirth and distraction.

His companions grew uneasy and looked at him askance.

At the opposite end of the table sat Kyan, gloomy, and una.s.suming. As though to mock the King, he also leaned on one elbow, stretched out his legs, and looked up at the ceiling with a deep sigh.

His melancholy air gave him an absurd appearance.

"Hark you," whispered Furstenberg, nudging Wackerbarth with his elbow--they were both tipsy by this time--"do you see our lord? Nothing makes him smile--and it is already eleven o'clock--he ought to be in a good humour by now. This is our fault."

"I am here as a guest," replied Wackerbarth, shrugging his shoulders.

"It is none of my business; as you know him better than I do, you should find the proper way to amuse him."

"He is tired of Lubomirska--that is clear," added Taparel.

"And then it is difficult to digest those Swedes," whispered Wackerbarth. "I do not wonder at him."

"Eh! Eh! We have forgotten all about the Swedes; some one else will defeat them for us, we can be sure of that, and then we will go and gather the fruits," said Furstenberg. "He is not bothered about the Swedes, but he has had enough of Lubomirska--we must find him some other woman."

"Is that such a difficult matter?" whispered Wackerbarth.

Then they began to whisper together, but so low that they could not be overheard, for, as though suddenly awakened from slumber, the King was looking round on his companions. His glance wandered from one to another, until it rested at length on the tragic pose of Baron Kyan, and on seeing this the monarch burst into a hearty laugh.

This was quite sufficient to make every one else laugh.

"Kyan," cried the King, "what is the matter with you? Has your sweetheart betrayed you? Have you no money? You look just like Prometheus, with an invisible eagle devouring your liver."

Kyan turned slowly round, much after the fashion of a wooden doll, and drew a deep sigh; so deep was it that it extinguished a six-light candelabra that was standing near him.

"Kyan, what is the matter with you?" repeated the King.