Count Bruhl knew this history, and was on his guard. He knew that
even the air which he breathed was poisoned by the malice of his
enemies; that those who paused in the streets to greet him
reverentially when he passed in his gilded carriage, cursed him in
their inmost hearts; that those friends who pressed his hand and
sung songs in his praise, would become his bitterest enemies so soon
as he ceased paying for their friendship with position, with
pensions, with honors, and with orders. He spent hundreds of
thousands yearly to gain friends and admirers, but still he was in
constant fear that some enemy would undermine him. This had indeed
once happened. During the time that the king's favor was shared
equally with Count Bruhl, Count Sulkovsky, and Count Hennicke,
whilst playing cards, a piece of gold was given to the king, upon
which was represented the crown of Poland, resting upon the
shoulders of three men, with the following inscription: "There are
three of us, two pages and one lackey!" The King of Poland was as
much enraged by this satirical piece of gold as was the King of
Spain by his satirical note. But Count Bruhl succeeded in turning
the king's anger upon the two other shoulder-bearers of his crown.
Counts Sulkovsky and Hennicke fell into disgrace, and were banished
from the court; Count Bruhl remained, and reigned as absolute master
over Poland and Saxony!

But reigning, he still trembled, and therefore he favored the
queen's fancy for the strictest etiquette; therefore, no one but
Count Bruhl was to eat at the royal table; he himself took their
napkins from their plates and handed them to the royal couple; no
one was to approach the sovereigns who was not introduced by the
prime minister, who was at once master of ceremonies, field-marshal,
and grand chamberlain, and received for each of these different