It was the beginning of January 1733. In the morning Prince Frederick returned from hunting at Hubertsburg. Sulkowski was with him. In the evening the incomparable Faustina was going to sing in the opera. The Prince was as great an admirer of her voice and beauty as his father. The singer would tyrannise over her competitors, would persecute those who had not the good fortune to please her, and when she deigned to sing there was quiet in the hall as in a church; if anyone dared to sneeze he might be sure that she would become his bitterest foe. The opera called 'Cleophia' was announced and Prince Frederick enjoyed the prospect.

In the afternoon, the Prince, dressed in a splendid robe de chambre, was sitting in an armchair, digesting with that pleasant feeling produced by a strong stomach and excellent cooking.

Sulkowski stood opposite him. From time to time the Prince would look at his friend, smile, and smoke on in silence.

The friend and servant looked with pleasure on his happy master, sharing his happiness silently.

The Prince's face beamed, but it was his habit, when in a happy mood, to speak very little and to think. Nobody knew what about. Sometimes he would raise his drooping head, look at Sulkowski and say:

'H'm! Sulkowski?'

'I am here.'

Then he would nod and that was the end of it. A quarter of an hour would elapse and the Prince would call him again by his Christian name, or caressingly in the Italian language. The Count would reply as before that he was there and the eloquent silence would follow.

The Prince spoke but little and only when obliged to do so. He disliked anything unexpected. His life must flow quietly, monotonously. The afternoon hours, when he only received his most familiar friends, were those he enjoyed best. In the forenoon he was obliged to give audience, to listen, to talk, to sign papers. After such efforts the afternoon siesta was delightful to him. When there was no opera he would go to Princess Josepha, listen to some music, and the day would end with a supper.

Never before did the courtiers have a lord more easy to entertain. He was satisfied though one day resembled another as two drops of water.

That day the afternoon siesta had just begun; the Prince was smoking a second pipe, when Sulkowski, noticing something through the window, hesitated a moment and then went towards the door. The Prince's eyes followed him.

'Sulkowski!' he said softly.

'I return at once,' answered the Count, opening the door and disappearing through it. In the anteroom two pages and some servants were waiting.

'Don't let anybody in without my special permission,' said Sulkowski.

All heads bowed.

Sulkowski went out, rushed down the stairs, and stopped in the doorway petrified.

'BrÜhl? You here?'

Wrapped in a fur cloak covered with snow, cold, tired, pale and troubled, there stood the favourite of Augustus II. In the courtyard one might have seen a carriage with two tired horses; the postillions had already dismounted and were also so tired that they could hardly keep on their feet.

BrÜhl did not answer: he made him understand by his look that he wished to enter and to rest. This sudden arrival had something so mysterious about it, that Sulkowski, being very much troubled about it, led the way to a room situated on the ground floor. The servants recognised BrÜhl, and pressed forward, but he dismissed them with a wave of the hand and entered the room with Sulkowski. BrÜhl quickly divested himself of his furs. The Count stood waiting.

'For Heaven's sake, BrÜhl, what news do you bring?'

BrÜhl sat down on a chair as though not having heard the question, and leaned his sorrowful head on his hand. The favourite of the Prince, uneasy and impatient, stood before him, but pride prevented him from insisting.---He waited.

BrÜhl rose and sighed, looked around, wrung his hands and cried:

'My most gracious lord, the King, is dead!'

Over Sulkowski's face there passed like lightning an expression difficult to define--fear and joy mixed. He moved as though about to run, but stopped.

'Nobody come before me from Warsaw?' asked BrÜhl.

'Nobody.'

'Then the Prince knows nothing?'

'No, he does not even suspect anything,' said Sulkowski. 'The Prince must be notified at once,' continued the Count. 'But tell me, how was it? The King was in good health.'

BrÜhl sighed pitifully.

'On the sixteenth we came to Warsaw,' he said quietly. 'The road was most abominable: in some places snow drifts, in others mud. The King was tired and impatient, but catching sight of Warsaw, his face brightened up. We sent couriers ahead; the reception was splendid notwithstanding the wretched weather, the cannons boomed, the regiment of musketeers was splendid. The carriage stopped at the door of the Saxon Palace. As the King alighted he knocked his foot against the step, in the place which has troubled him continually since Weiss amputated his big toe. We noticed that he grew pale and leaned on his stick. Two pages ran to help him, and leaning on them he entered the palace, where the clergy, the lords and the ladies awaited him in large numbers. The King was obliged to sit down immediately and he told the Grand Marshal to shorten the reception as he did not feel well. As soon as he entered the chamber he ordered Dr Weiss to be called, complaining that he felt his foot hot and wet. They cut the boot; it was full of blood. Weiss grew pale: the foot was already swollen and discoloured; yet notwithstanding that--'

'Cut it short,' cried Sulkowski. 'Someone might tell the Prince that you have arrived.'

BrÜhl came near to him.

'Count,' said he, 'I--we should come to some understanding before we venture to do anything. The Prince loved his father dearly, the shock he will receive--will it not be necessary to prepare him for the news?'

'Yes, but how?'

'My advice is,' said BrÜhl, 'that we should do nothing without first consulting Padre Guarini and the Princess.'

Sulkowski looked at him with ill-disguised discontent.

'But it seems to me,' said he, 'that the Prince needs neither the Princess's help nor the spiritual consolation of his confessor.'

'I should think--' said BrÜhl, and suddenly confused he looked towards the door which opened and Padre Guarini appeared. It was difficult to guess how he could have learned so quickly of BrÜhl's arrival. He walked straight to him; his face was sad although it was difficult for him to change its naturally cheerful expression; he opened his arms as though he would like to embrace him. BrÜhl would probably have kissed his hand had there not been a witness. Therefore he only advanced and drooping his head said:

'The King is dead.'

'Eviva il re!' answered the Jesuit quietly, raising his eyes. 'God's designs are impenetrable. Does the Prince know it?'

'Not yet,' said Sulkowski drily, looking at the Jesuit askance.

Guarini purposely averted his gaze.

'My wish,' said BrÜhl, 'is to spare the Prince's feelings and take the advice of the Princess.'

Guarini nodded and Sulkowski shrugged his shoulders and looked at BrÜhl with discontent.

'Then let us all go to the Princess,' he said, 'for there is not a moment to be lost.'

BrÜhl glanced at his travelling clothes.

'I can't go as I am,' said he. 'You both go to the Princess; I shall order my clothes to be brought here and dress first.'

Sulkowski agreed in silence to the proposition, Guarini nodded in the affirmative, and they turned towards the door. BrÜhl threw himself into a chair, as though unable to stand on his feet.

Sulkowski followed the Jesuit quite unwillingly, leaving BrÜhl who leaned his head on his hand and became thoughtful.

This resting and thinking did not last very long; as soon as the two disappeared in the dark corridor of the castle, BrÜhl rose quickly, hurried to the door, opened it, and looked into the ante-room.

There stood a lackey as if waiting for orders.

'Send page Berlepsch at once to me.'

The servant went off and five minutes later a boy, wearing the uniform of the King's pages, rushed in out of breath.

BrÜhl, standing near the door, put his hand on the boy's shoulder.

'Berlepsch, I hope you have confidence in me; don't ask any questions but go to the Prince's apartments, and on your own responsibility, understand, on your own responsibility tell the Prince that I have arrived. Listen! If anything prevented you all would be useless.'

The intelligent boy looked into BrÜhl's eyes, did not say a word, and went out. BrÜhl again sat at the table and covered his face with his hands.

It was quiet about him, but he trembled at the slightest noise. There was some stir and bustle on the upper floor, and on the stairs one could hear someone rushing down; a good-looking man, with an ironical smile, appeared in the doorway, and said:

'His Royal Highness, the Prince, having learned by an accident about your arrival, commands you at once to bring him the dispatches.'

BrÜhl pretended to be embarrassed.

'I am not dressed.'

'Come as you are.'

'Such is the order?'

'Word for word.'

BrÜhl rose as if he were forced, but he was satisfied inwardly.

They both went silently upstairs.

The door opened, BrÜhl entered slowly with such a sorrowful expression on his face, that the Prince dropped his pipe and rose.

The door closed and BrÜhl fell on his knees.

'I bring to Your Majesty the saddest news, but first bow down at the feet of the new King. Our most gracious lord, the King, is dead.'

Frederick stood for a while as if turned into a block of stone; he covered his face. There was a moment of silence; at length Frederick gave BrÜhl his hand to be kissed and made a sign to him to rise.

'BrÜhl, how and when did it happen?'

'On the first day of February, the King Augustus the Great died in my arms and entrusted me with his last will, with the jewels of the Crown and secret papers. I, myself, brought the jewels and the papers and I deposit them at the feet of your Majesty.'

Frederick again gave him his hand to be kissed; BrÜhl bent very low and pretended to be crying; covering his eyes with a handkerchief, he sobbed. The new King also took out a handkerchief and began to weep for his father, whom he loved and respected.

'BrÜhl, tell me, how did this misfortune occur?' he said quietly.

In a muffled voice, trying to master his emotion, BrÜhl narrated the circumstances of the illness, its course, and told of the King's patience and peace at the moment of death. At length he took out a letter and handed it to Frederick, who impatiently tore open the envelope. After having read it, he kissed it.

The letter contained the blessing and recommendation of his most faithful and best servant, the messenger of his last will. Frederick looked at BrÜhl and sighed.

'I will do as my father advises and commands me.'

The letter was still lying on Frederick's knees, when the door leading to the Princess's rooms opened, and there entered Josepha dressed in black, Sulkowski and Guarini.

How surprised they were at seeing Frederick crying, BrÜhl in his travelling clothes standing at the door, and the opened letter!

Frederick, still sobbing, threw himself into his wife's arms; she began to cry also, according to the Spanish etiquette prescribed to rulers and their courtiers as the form of sorrow and expression of grief.

Sulkowski looked at BrÜhl with disapproval and whispered to him:

'You told me, you would wait for me.'

'Someone betrayed the secret of my arrival; they called me; I was obliged to obey.'

'Who did that?'

'Watzdorf.'

Sulkowski seemed to be trying to remember the name.

The five people gathered in that room made an interesting group. Frederick alone was really sorrowful. Accustomed to respect and love his father, overwhelmed by grief and the fear of the burden that now fell on his shoulders, Frederick's face was very much changed. Usually serene and quiet, it was now twisted with grief which he could not conceal. Josepha's sorrow was more simulated than true; she never forgot for a moment her dignity and etiquette. Sulkowski was thoughtful and gloomy, as a man who, coming into power, calculates how to begin. His great self-esteem never left him even in the presence of the lady, to whom his respect was due.

Padre Guarini bent his head, closed his eyes, and twitched his face with an expression well assumed for the moment. BrÜhl while not forgetting that he should appear to be overwhelmed by sorrow, could not abstain from glancing from time to time at those present, especially at Sulkowski. He seemed to see an adversary.

While the Princess tried to comfort her husband, Sulkowski mustered up courage and coming nearer proposed that he should call the dignitaries for a council and announce to the capital and the country, by ordering the bells to be rung, that Augustus II was dead.

Josepha looked at the intruding adviser with some aversion, whispered something to her husband, and majestically directed her steps towards the same door through which she had entered a short time before, Guarini following her.

Those who remained were silent for a time. BrÜhl waited for orders which the new King did not dare to give; Sulkowski gave BrÜhl to understand that he had better leave them.

BrÜhl hesitated, and then he left the room. Frederick did not notice him go out. They remained alone, till suddenly Frederick took the handkerchief from his eyes and said:

'Where is BrÜhl?'

'He went out.'

'He must not leave me. Pray command him to stay here.'

Sulkowski wished to protest, but then he opened the door, whispered through it and returned.

'One must bear God's will as a man and king,' said he familiarly. 'The King has no time for sorrow.'

Frederick only made a gesture.

'The council shall be called at once.'

'Then go and preside at it; I can't,' said the King. 'Call BrÜhl here.'

'But why is BrÜhl necessary?' said Sulkowski in a tone of reproach.

'He? In his arms my father died. Father recommended him to me, I wish to have him, let him come.'

'They have sent for him,' Sulkowski said shrugging his shoulders impatiently.

'Joseph, don't be angry,' said Frederick in a plaintive tone.

As he said this the bells began to ring mournfully in the churches of the capital of Saxony. Frederick kneeled and prayed. Sulkowski followed his example. One after the other the bells rang out, the solemn sounds forming a gloomy choir, accompanied by the whispering of the people, whispering to each other the sad news.