CXXI. DEATH OF THE ELECTOR OF BAVARIA…

CXXI. DEATH OF THE ELECTOR OF BAVARIA

A large and brilliant assemblage thronged the state apartments of the imperial palace at Vienna. The aristocracy not only of the capital, but of all Austria, had gathered there to congratulate the emperor upon his safe return.

It was the first of January, 1778, and as New Year's day was the only festival which Joseph's new ordinance allowed, the court took occasion to celebrate it with all the pomp of embroidery, orders, stars, and blazing jewels.

The empress had never thrown off her mourning, so that her dark gray dress with its long train was in striking contrast with the rich, elegant costumes, the flowers and diamonds of the other ladies present. Still, there was something in this tall, noble form which distinguished it above the rest, and spoke to all beholders of the sovereign will that resided there. Maria Theresa was still the majestic empress--but she was now an old woman.

Time as well as disease had marred her beauty, and the cares, anxieties, and afflictions of sixty years had written their inexorable record upon the tablet of her once fair brow. Not only these, but accident also had destroyed the last lingering traces of Maria Theresa's youthful comeliness. Returning from Presburg, she had been thrown from her carriage, and dashed with such force against the stones on the road, that she had been taken up bloody, and, to all appearances, lifeless. Her face had suffered severely, and to her death she bore the deep-red scars which had been left by her wounds. Her figure, too, had lost its grace, and was now so corpulent that she moved slowly and heavily through the rooms, where, in former years, she had stood by the side of her "Francis," the most beautiful woman of her own or of any European court.

Her magnificent eyes, however, had defied time, they were large, flashing, expressive as ever--as quick to interpret anger, enthusiasm, or tenderness as in the days of her youth.

On the evening of which we speak, the empress was at the card-table. But those great, glowing eyes were roving from one side of the room to the other in restless anxiety. Sometimes, for a moment, they rested upon the emperor who was standing near the table in conversation with some provincial nobleman. The cheerful and unconcerned demeanor of her son seemed to reassure the empress, who turned to her cards, and tried to become interested in the game. Not far off, the archduchesses, too, were at cards, and the hum of conversation subsided almost to a whisper, that the imperial party might not be disturbed. Gradually the empress became absorbed in her cards, so that she was unobservant of the entrance of one of the emperor's lords in waiting who whispered something in Joseph's ear, whereupon the latter left the room in haste.

Not very long after the emperor returned pale and excited, and approached the card-tables. Maria Theresa, at that moment, had just requested Count Dietrichstein to deal for her, and she was leaning back in her chair, awaiting the end of the deal.

The emperor bent over and whispered something in her ear, when she started, and the cards, which she was just gathering, fell from her hands. With unusual agility she rose, and taking the emperor's arm, turned away without a word of apology, and left the room.

The archduchesses had not yet perceived their mother's absence, when Count Dietrichstein, on the part of the emperor, came forward, and whispered a few words to each one of them. Precisely as their mother had done the princesses rose, and without apology retired together.

The company started, and whispered and wondered what could have happened to discompose the imperial family; but no one present was competent to solve the mystery.

Meanwhile Maria Theresa had retired to her cabinet, where she met Prince Kaunitz, furred like a polar bear, by way of protection from the temperature of the palace, which was always many degrees below zero, as indicated by the thermometer of his thin, bloodless veins. The minister was shaking with cold, although he had buried his face in a muff large enough to have been one of his own cubs. The empress returned his greeting with an agitated wave of her hand, and seated herself in an arm-chair at the large round table that always stood there.

Exhausted by the unusual haste with which she had walked as well as by the excitement, which, in her old age, she was physically inadequate to bear, she leaned back to recover her breath. Opposite stood the emperor, who, with a wave of his hand, motioned to Kaunitz to enter also.

Maria Theresa's large eyes were fixed upon him at once.

"Is it true." said she. "that the Elector of Bavaria is dead?"

"Yes, your majesty," said Kaunitz. "Maximilian reigns no longer in Bavaria. Here are the dispatches from our ambassador at Munich."

He held them out, but the empress put them back, saying:

"I am not sufficiently composed to read them. Give them to my son, and have the goodness to communicate their contents to me verbally."

The face of Kaunitz grew pale, as he turned with the dispatches to the emperor. The latter at once comprehended the prince's agitation, and smiled.

"I beg of your majesty," said he, "to excuse the prince, and to allow me to read to you the particulars of Maximilian's demise. His highness must be fatigued, and, doubtless, your majesty will allow him to retire within the embrasure of yonder window, until I have concluded the perusal of the dispatches."

Kaunitz brightened at once as the empress gave her consent, and he gladly withdrew to the window which was far enough from the table to be out of reach of the emperor's voice.

Joseph could not restrain another smile as he watched the tall, stiff form of the old prince, and saw how carefully he drew the window curtains around him, lest a word of what was going on should reach his ears.

"Pardon me, your majesty," said Joseph, in a low voice, "but you know what a horror Kaunitz has of death and the small-pox. As both these words form the subject of our dispatches, I was glad to relieve the prince from the necessity of repeating their contents."

"That you should have remembered his weakness does honor to your heart, my son," replied Maria Theresa. "In my agitation I had forgotten it. Maximilian, then, must have died of small-pox."

"He did, your majesty, like his sister, my unhappy wife."

"Strange!" said Maria Theresa, thoughtfully. "Josepha has often spoken to me of the presentiment which her brother had that he would die of the small-pox."

"It proves to us that man cannot fly from his destiny. The elector foresaw that he would die of small-pox, and took every precaution to avert his fate. Nevertheless, it overtook him."

The empress sighed and slowly shook her head. "Where did he take the infection'?" asked she.

"From the daughter of the marshal of his household, who lived at the palace, and took the small-pox there. Every attempt was made to conceal the fact from the elector, and indeed he remained in total ignorance of it. One day while he was playing billiards, the marshal, who had just left his daughter's bedside, entered the room. The elector, shuddering, laid down his cue, and turning deathly pale, murmured these words: 'Some one here has the small-pox. I feel it.' He then fell insensible on the floor. He recovered his consciousness, but died a few days afterward. [Footnote: Wraxall, "Memoirs of the Courts of Berlin, Vienna, etc.," vol. i., p. 306.] This is the substance of the dispatches. Shall I now read them?"

"No, no, my son," said the empress, gloomily. "Enough that the son of my enemy is dead, and his house without an heir."

"Yes; he is dead," replied Joseph, sternly. "The brother of my enemy--of that wife with whom for two years I lived the martyrdom of an abhorred union! He has gone to his sister, gone to his father, both our bitter, bitter foes. I hated Josepha for the humiliation I endured as the husband of such a repulsive woman; but to-day I forgive her, for 'tis she who from the grave holds out to me the rich inheritance which is the fruit of our marriage."

The empress raised her eyes with an expression of alarm.

"What!" exclaimed she, "another robbery! Lies not the weight of one injustice upon my conscience, that you would seek to burden my soul with another! Think you that I have forgotten Poland!--No! The remembrance of our common crime will follow me to the bitter end, and it shall not be aggravated by repetition. I am empress of Austria, and while I live, Joseph, you must restrain your ambition within the bounds of justice and princely honor."

The emperor bowed. "Your majesty must confess that I have never struggled against your imperial will. I have bowed before it, sorely though it has humiliated me. But as there is no longer any question of death before us, allow me to recall Prince Kaunitz, that he may take part in our discussion."

Maria Theresa bowed in silence, and the emperor drew the minister from his retreat behind the curtains.

"Come, your highness," whispered Joseph. "Come and convince the empress that Bavaria must be ours. We are about to have a struggle."

"But I shall come out victor," replied Kaunitz, as he rose and returned to the table.

Maria Theresa surveyed them both with looks of disapprobation and apprehension. "I see," said she, in a tremulous voice, "that you are two against one. I do not think it honorable in Kaunitz to uphold my son against his sovereign. Tell me, prince, do you come hither to break your faith, and overthrow your empress?"

"There lives not man or woman in the world who can accuse Kaunitz of bad faith," replied the prince. "I swore years ago to dedicate myself to Austria, and I shall keep my word until your majesty releases me."

"I suppose that is one of your numerous threats to resign," said the empress, with irritation. "If there is difference of opinion between us, I must yield, or you will not remain my minister. But be sure that to the last day of my life I shall retain my sovereignty, nor share it with son or minister; and this conceded, we may confer together. Let the emperor sit by my side, and you, prince, be opposite to us, for I wish to look into your face that I may judge how far your tongue expresses the convictions of your conscience. And now I desire the emperor to explain his words, and tell me how it is that the succession of Bavaria concerns the house of Hapsburg."

"Frankly, then," cried Joseph, with some asperity, "I mean that our troops must be marched into Bavaria at once; for by the extinction of the finale line of Wittelsbach, the electorate is open to us as an imperial thief, and--"

"Austria, then, has pretensions to the electorate of Bavaria," interrupted Maria Theresa, with constrained calmness.

The emperor in his turn looked at his mother with astonishment. "Has your majesty, then, not read the documents which were drawn up for your inspection by the court historiographer?"

"I have seen them all," replied the empress, sadly. "I have read all the documents by which you have sought to prove that Austria has claims upon Lower Bavaria, because, in 1410, the Emperor Sigismund enfeoffed his son-in-law, Albert of Austria, with this province. I have read further that in 1614 the Emperor Matthias gave to the archducal house the reversion of the Suabian estate of Mindelheim, which subsequently, in 1706, when the Elector of Bavaria fell under the ban of the empire, was actually claimed by the Emperor of Austria. I have also learned that the Upper Palatinate, with all its counties, by the extinction of the Wittelsbach dynasty, becomes an open feoff, to which the Emperor of Austria thinks that he may assert his claims."

"And your majesty is not convinced of the validity of my claims?" exclaimed the emperor.

Maria Theresa shook her head. "I cannot believe that we are justifies in annexing to Austria an electorate which, not being ours by indisputable right of inheritance, may be the cause of involving us in a bloody war."

"But which, nevertheless, is the finest province in all Germany," cried Joseph impatiently; "and its acquisition the first step toward consolidation of all the German principalities into one great empire. When the Palatinate, Suabia, and Lower Bavaria are ours, the Danube will flow through Austrian territory alone; the trade of the Levant becomes ours; our ships cover the Black Sea, and finally Constantinople will be compelled to open its harbor to Austrian shipping and become a mart for the disposal of Austrian merchandise. Once possessed of Bavaria, South Germany, too, lies open to Austria, which like a magnet will draw toward one centre all its petty provinces and counties. After that, we approach Prussia, and ask whether she alone will stand apart from the great federation, or whether she has patriotism and magnanimity enough to merge her name and nationality in ours. Oh, your majesty, I implore you do not hesitate to pluck the golden fruit, for it is ours! Think, too, how anxiously the Bavarians look to us for protection against the pretensions of Charles Theodore, the only heir of the deceased elector.

"The people of Bavaria well know what is to be their fate if they fall into the hands of the elector palatine. Surrounded by mistresses with swarms of natural children, his sole object in life will be to plunder his subjects that he may enrich a progeny to whom he can lave neither name nor crown. Oh, your majesty, be generous, and rescue the Bavarians from a war of succession; for the elector palatine has no heir, and his death will be the signal for new strife."

"Nay, it seems to me that the Duke of Zweibrucken [Footnote: Called in English history, Duke of Deux-ponts.--Trans.] is the natural heir of Charles Theodore, and I suppose he will be found as willing to possess his inheritance as you or I, or any other pretender, replied Maria Theresa. "But if, as you say, the Bavarians are sighing to become Austrian subjects, it seems to me that they might have character enough to give us some indication of their predilections; for I declare to you both that I will not imitate the treachery of Frederick. I will not bring up mouldy documents from our imperial archives to prove that I have a right to lands which for hundreds of years have been the property of another race; nor will I, for mad ambition's sake, spill one drop of honest Austrian blood."

"And so will Austria lose her birthright," returned Joseph angrily. "And so shall I be doomed to idle insignificance, while history ignores the only man who really loves Germany, and who has spirit to defy the malice of his contemporaries, and in the face of their disapproval, to do that which is best for Germany's welfare. Is it possible that your majesty will put upon me this new humiliation? Do you really bid me renounce the brightest dream of my life?"

"My dear son," said the empress, "I cannot view this undertaking with your eyes; I am old and timid, and I shudder with apprehension of the demon that follows in the wake of ambition. I would not descend to my grave amid the wails and curses of my people--I would not be depicted in history as an ambitious and unscrupulous sovereign. Let me go to my Franz blessed by the tears and regrets of my subjects--let me appear before posterity as an upright and peace-loving empress. But I have said that I am old--so old that I mistrust my own judgment. It may be that I mistake pusillanimity for disinterestedness. Speak, Kaunitz--so far you have been silent. What says your conscience to this claim? Is it consistent with justice and honor?"

"Your majesty knows that I will speak my honest convictions even though they might be unacceptable to the ear of my sovereign," replied Kaunitz.

"I understand," said the empress, disconsolately. "You are of one mind with the emperor."

"Yes," replied Kaunitz, "I am. It is the duty of Austria to assert her right to an inheritance which her ancestors foresaw, hundreds of years ago, would be indispensable to her future stability. Not only your majesty's forefathers, but the force of circumstances signify to us that the acquisition is natural and easy. It would be a great political error to overlook it; and believe me that in no science is an error so fatal to him who commits it as in the science of government. Bavaria is necessary to Austria, and your majesty may become its ruler without so much as one stroke of the sword."

"Without a stroke of the sword!" exclaimed Maria Theresa, impetuously. "Does your highness suppose that such a stupendous acquisition as that, is not to provoke the opposition of our enemies?"

"Who is to oppose us?" asked Kaunitz. "Not France, certainly; she is too closely our relative and ally."

"I do not rely much upon the friendship of France," interrupted the empress. Marie Antoinette is mistress of the king's affections; but his ministers guide his policy, and they would gladly see our friendly relations ruptured."

"But France is not in a condition to oppose us," continued Kaunitz. "Her finances are disordered, and at this very moment she is equipping an army to aid the American rebellion. We have nothing to fear from Russia, provided we overlook her doings in Turkey, and look away while she absorbs the little that remains of Poland. England is too far away to be interested in the matter, and Frederick knows by dear-bought experience that her alliance, in case of war, is perfectly worthless. Besides, George has quite enough on his hands with his troubles in North America. Who, then, is to prevent us from marching to Bavaria and taking peaceable possession of our lawful inheritance?"

"Who?" exclaimed the empress. "Our greatest and bitterest enemy--the wicked and unprincipled parvenu who has cost me so many tears, my people so many lives, and who has robbed me of one of the fairest jewels in my imperial crown."

Kaunitz shrugged his shoulders. "Your majesty is very magnanimous to speak of the Margrave of Brandenburg as a dangerous foe."

"And if he were a dangerous foe," cried Joseph vehemently, "so much the more glory to me if I vanquish him in battle and pluck the laurels from his bead!"

Kaunitz looked at the emperor and slightly raised his finger by way of warning. "The King of Prussia," said he, "is no longer the hero that he was in years gone by; he dare not risk his fame by giving battle to the emperor. He rests upon his laurels, plays on the flute, writes bad verses, and listens to the adulation of his fawning philosophical friends. Then why should he molest us in Bavaria. We have documents to prove that the heritage is ours, and if we recognize his right to Bayreuth and Anspach, he will admit ours to whatever we choose to claim."

Maria Theresa was unconvinced. "You make light of Frederick, prince; but he is as dangerous as ever, and after all I think it much safer to fear our enemies than to despise them."

"Frederick of Prussia is a hero, a philosopher, and a legislator," cried Joseph. "Let me give him battle, your majesty, that I may win honor by vanquishing the victor."

"Never will I give my consent to such measures, unless we are forced to adopt them in defence of right."

"Our right here is indisputable," interposed Kaunitz. "Copies of our documents have already been circulated throughout Germany; and I have received from Herr von Ritter, the commissioner of Charles Theodore, the assurance that the latter is ready to resign his pretensions in consideration of the advantages we offer."

"What are these advantages?" asked Maria Theresa.

"We offer him our provinces in the Netherlands, and the privilege of establishing a kingdom in Burgundy," replied Joseph. "We also bestow upon his multitudinous children titles, orders, and a million of florins."

"And shame all virtue and decency!" cried the empress, coloring violently.

"The elector loves his progeny, and cares little or nothing for Bavaria," continued Joseph. "We shall win him over, and Bavaria will certainly be ours."

"Without the shedding of one drop of blood," added Kaunitz, drawing from his coat-pocket a paper which he unfolded and laid upon the table.

"Here is a map of Bavaria, your majesty," said Kaunitz, "and here is that portion of the electorate which we claim, through its cession to Albert of Austria by the Emperor Sigismund."

"We must take possession of it at once," cried Joseph; "at once, before any other claimant has time to interpose."

The empress heaved a sigh. "Yes," said she, as if communing with herself, "it all looks smooth and fair on paper. It is very easy to draw boundary lines with your finger, prince. You have traced out mountains and rivers, but you have not won the hearts of the Bavarians; and without their hearts it is worse than useless to occupy their country."

"We shall win their hearts by kindness," exclaimed the emperor. "True, we take their insignificant fatherland, but we give them instead, the rich inheritance of our own nationality; and future history will record it to their honor that theirs was the initiatory step which subsequently made one nation of all the little nationalities of Germany."

The empress answered with another sigh, and looked absently at the outspread map, across which Kaunitz was drawing his finger in another direction.

"Here," said he, "are the estates which the extinct house held in fief from the German emperor."

"And which I, as Emperor of Germany, have a right to reannex to my empire," cried Joseph.

"And here, finally," pursued Kaunitz, still tracing with his finger, "here is the lordship of Mindelheim, of which the reversion was not only ceded to Austria by the Emperor Matthias, but actually fell to us and was relinquished to the Elector of Bavaria by the too great magnanimity of an Austrian sovereign. Surely, your majesty is not willing to abandon your inheritance to the first comer?"

Maria Theresa's head was bent so low that it rested upon the map whereon her minister had been drawing lines of such significance to Austria. Close by, stood the emperor in breathless anxiety; while opposite sat Kaunitz, impassable as ever.

Again a deep sigh betokened the anguish that was rending the honest heart of the empress; and she raised her head.

"Alas for me and my declining energies!" said she, bitterly. "Two against one, and that one a woman advanced in years! I am not convinced, but my spirit is unequal to strife. Should we fail, we will be made to feel the odium of our proceedings; should we triumph, I suppose that the justice of our pretensions will never be questioned. Perhaps, as the world has never blamed Frederick for the robbery of Silesia, it may forgive us the acquisition of Bavaria. In the name of God, then, do both of you what you deem it right to do; but in mercy, take nothing that is not ours. We shall be involved in war; I feel it, and I would so gladly have ended my life in the calm, moon-like radiance of gentle peace." [Footnote: The empress's own sentiments. Wraxall, i, p. 311.]

"Your majesty shall end your life in peace and prosperity; but far in the future be the day of your departure!" cried Joseph, kissing the hand of the empress. "May you live to see Austria expand into a great empire, and Germany rescued from the misrule of its legions of feeble princes! The first impulse has been given to-day. Bavaria is rescued from its miserable fate, and becomes an integral portion of one of the most powerful nations in Europe."

"May God be merciful, and bless the union!" sighed the empress. "I shall be wretched until I know how it is to terminate, and day and night I shall pray to the Lord that He preserve my people from the horrors of war."

"Meanwhile Kaunitz and I will seek a blessing on our enterprise by taking earthly precautions to secure its success. You, prince, will use the quill of diplomacy, and I shall make ready to defend my right with a hundred thousand trusty Austrians to back me. To-night I march a portion of my men into Lower Bavaria."

"Oh," murmured the unhappy empress, "there will be war and bloodshed!"

"Before your majesty marches to Bavaria," said Kaunitz inclining his bead, "her majesty, the empress, must sign the edict which shall apprise her subjects and the world of the step we meditate. I haves drawn it up, and it awaits her majesty's approbation and signature."

The prince then drew from his muff a paper, which he presented to the empress. Maria Theresa perused it with sorrowful eyes.

"It is nothing but a resume of our just claims to Bavaria," said Joseph, hastily.

"It is very easy to prove the justice of a thing on paper," replied Maria Theresa; "may God grant that it prove to be so in deed as well as in word. I will do your bidding, and sign your edict, but upon your head be all the blood that follows my act!"

She wrote her name, and Joseph, in an outburst of triumph, shouted, "Bavaria is ours!"

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CXXII. A PAGE FROM HISTORY

Maria Theresa's worst apprehensions were realized, and the marching of the Austrian troops into Bavaria was the signal for war. While all the petty sovereigns of Germany clamored over the usurpation of Austria, pamphlet upon pamphlet issued from the hands of Austrian jurists to justify the act. These were replied to by the advocates of every other German state, who proved conclusively that Austria was rapacious and unscrupulous, and had not a shadow of right to the Bavarian succession. A terrible paper war ensued, during which three hundred books were launched by the belligerents at each other's heads. [Footnote: Schlosser's History of the Eighteenth Century, vol. iv., p. 363.] This strife was productive of one good result; it warmed up the frozen patriotism of all the German races. Bavarians, Hessians, Wurtembergers, and Hanoveriana, forgot their bickerings to join the outcry against Austria; and the Church, to which Joseph was such an implacable enemy, encouraged them in their resistance to the "innovator," as he was called by his enemies.

Of all the malcontents, the noisiest were the Bavarians. The elector palatine, whose advent all had dreaded, was greeted upon his entrance into Munich with glowing enthusiasm; and the people forgot his extravagance and profligacy to remember that upon him devolved the preservation of their independence as a nation.

But Charles Theodore was very little edified by the sentiments which were attributed to him by the Bavarians. He longed for nothing better than to relieve himself of Bavaria and the weight of Austrian displeasure, to return to the palatinate, and come into possession of the flesh-pots that awaited his children in the form of titles, orders, and florins. He lent a willing ear to Joseph's propositions, and a few days after his triumphant entrance into Munich, he signed a contract relinquishing in favor of Austria two-thirds of his Bavarian inheritance. Maria Theresa, in the joy of her heart, bestowed upon him the order of the Golden Fleece, and on January 3, 1778, entered into possession of her newly acquired territory.

Meanwhile, in Bavaria, arose a voice which, with the fire of genuine patriotism, protested against the cowardly compliance of the elector palatine. It was that of the Duchess Clemens, of Bavaria. She hastened to give information of his pusillanimity to the next heir, the Dune of Zweibrucken, and dispatched a courier to Berlin asking succor and protection from the crown of Prussia.

The energy of this Bavarian patriot decided the fate of the Austrian claim. The Duke of Zweibrucken protested against the cession of the smallest portion of his future inheritance, and declared that he would never relinquish it to any power on earth. Frederick pronounced himself ready to sustain the duke, and threatened a declaration of war unless the Austrian troops were removed. In vain Maria Theresa sought to indemnify the duke by offers of orders, florins, and titles, which had been so successful with Charles Theodore--in vain she offered to make him King of Burgundy--he remained incorruptible. He coveted nothing she could bestow, but was firm in his purpose, to preserve the integrity of Bavaria, and called loudly for Frederick to come to the rescue.

Frederick responded: "He was ready to defend the rights of the elector palatine against the unjust pretensions of the court of Vienna," [Footnote: Dohm's Memoirs, vol. i.] and removed his troops from Upper Silesia to the confines of Bohemia and Saxony. This was the signal for the advance of the Austrian army; and despite her repugnance to the act, Maria Theresa was compelled to suffer it. She was also forced to allow Joseph to take command in person. This time her representations and entreaties had been vain; Joseph was thirsting for military glory, and he bounded like a war-horse to the trumpet's call. The empress felt that her hands were now powerless to restrain him, and she was so much the feebler, that Kaunitz openly espoused the side of the ambitious emperor.

With convulsive weeping Maria Theresa saw her son assume his command, and when Joseph bade her farewell, she sank insensible from his arms to the floor.

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CXXIII. THE EMPEROR AS COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF

The Emperor Joseph was pacing the floor of his cabinet. Sometimes he paused before a window, and with absent looks surveyed the plain where his troops were encamped, and their stacked arms glistened to the sun; then he returned to the table where Field-Marshal Lacy was deep in plans and charts.

Occasionally the silence was broken by the blast of a trumpet or the shouts of the soldiery who were arriving at headquarters.

"Lacy," said the emperor, after a long, dreary pause, "put by your charts, and give me a word of consolation."

The field-marshal laid aside his papers and rose from the table. "Your majesty had ordered me to specify upon the chart the exact spot which Frederick occupies by Welsdorf, and Prince Henry by Nienberg."

"I know, I know," answered Joseph impatiently. "But what avails their encampment to-day, when to-morrow they are sure to advance?"

"Your majesty thinks that he will make an attack?"

"I am sure of it."

"And I doubt it. It is my opinion that he will avoid a collision."

"Why then should he have commenced hostilities?" cried Joseph angrily. "Have you forgotten that although the elector palatine is ready to renounce Bavaria, Frederick opposes our claims in the name of Germany and of the next heir?"

"No, sire; but Frederick has spies in Vienna, who have taken care to inform him that Maria Theresa is disinclined to war. He has, therefore, declared against us, because he hopes that the blast of his coming will suffice to scatter the armies of Austria to the winds."

"The time has gone by when the terror of his name could appal us," cried Joseph, proudly throwing back his head. "I hope to convince him ere long that I am more than willing to confront him in battle, Oh, how weary is the inactivity to which my mother's womanish fears condemn me! Why did I heed her tears, and promise that I would not make the attack? Now I must wait, nor dare to strike a blow, while my whole soul yearns for the fight, and I long either to lead my troops to victory or perish on the field of battle."

"And yet, sire, it is fortunate that you have been forced to inactivity. To us time is every thing, for Frederick's army outnumbers ours. He has seventy thousand men with him near the Elbe, and fifty thousand under Prince Henry near Nienberg."

"Yes, but I shall oppose his hundred and twenty thousand men with twice their number," cried Joseph impatiently.

"Provided we have time to assemble our men. But we must have several days to accomplish this. At the end of a week our army will be complete in numbers, and we can then await the enemy behind our intrenchments, and the natural defences afforded us by the steep banks of the Elbe."

"Await--nothing but await," said Joseph scornfully. "Forever condemned to delay."

"In war, delay is often the best strategy, sire. The great Maurice, of Saxony, has said that fighting is an expedient by which incompetent commanders are accustomed to draw themselves out of difficult positions. When they are perplexed as to their next move, they are apt to stumble into a battle. I coincide with the great captain, although I well know that I shall incur your majesty's displeasure thereby. Our policy is to remain upon the defensive, and await an attack. Frederick has been accustomed to win his laurels by bold and rapid moves, but we have now for us an ally who will do better service in the field against him than our expertest generalship."

"Who is that?" asked Joseph, who was listening in no amiable mood to Lacy's dissertation on strategy.

"It is old age, sire, which hourly reminds Frederick that his hand is too feeble to wield a sword or pluck new laurels. Frederick accompanied his army in a close carriage; and yesterday, as he attempted to mount his horse, he was so weak that he had to be helped into the saddle; in consequence of which he reviewed his troops in an ill-humor, cursed the war, and wished Austria to the devil."

"And this is the end of a great military chieftain," said Joseph sadly; "the close of a magnificent career! May God preserve me from such a fate! Sooner would I pass from exuberant life to sudden death, than drag my effete manhood through years of weariness to gradual and ignominious extinction!

"But," continued the emperor, after a pause, "these are idle musings, Lacy. Your picture of the great Frederick has made me melancholy; I cannot but hope that it is overdrawn. It cannot be that such a warrior has grown vacillating; he will surely awake, and then the old lion will shake his mane, and his roar--"

At this moment a horseman at full speed was seen coming toward the house. He stopped immediately before the window. A little behind came another, and both dismounting, spoke several words to the soldiery around, which evidently produced a sensation.

"Lacy," said Joseph, "something has happened; and from the countenances of the men, I fear that these messengers have brought evil tidings. Let us go out and see what has occurred."

As the emperor was about to lay his hand upon the door, it opened, and one of his adjutants appeared.

"Sire," said he, almost breathless, "a courier has arrived from the borders of Bohemia, and he brings startling intelligence."

"Tell us at once what it is," said the emperor.

"The King of Prussia has left the county of Glatz and has marched into Bohemia."

The emperor's face brightened instantaneously. "That is glorious news!" cried he.

"Glorious news, sire?" exclaimed the astounded adjutant. "The courier who brings the intelligence has no words strong enough to depict the terror of the inhabitants. They were gathering their effects and flying to the interior, while the Prussian troops occupied the villages without opposition."

"The count is correct," said Lacy, who just then reentered the room. "I have spoken with the man who brought the tidings. He is the mayor of his village, and he fled as the staff of the king entered the place."

"I must speak with him myself," cried Joseph quickly; and the adjutant opening the door, the villager was introduced into the room.

"Did you see the King of Prussia?" asked the emperor.

"Yes, sire, I saw him," replied the man, gloomily. "I heard him order his men to forage their horses from our barns, and to strip our gardens of their fruit and vegetables. I heard him give orders to spare nothing; for, said he, 'the people must be made to feel that the enemy is in their midst.'" [Footnote: Frederick's own words. Dohm's Memoirs, vol. i., p. 130.]

"I shall remember the king's words," said Joseph, while his eyes flashed with anger. "How did he look?"

"Like the devil in the likeness of an old man," said the peasant. "His voice is as soft as that of a bridegroom; but his words are the words of a hangman, and his eyes dart fire like those of an evil spirit. Even his own men have nothing good to say of him. His generals call him a selfish old man, who wants to do every thing, and knows nothing. He has not even appointed a general staff, and has no one to attend to the wants of his army." [Footnote: Historical. See Dohm, vol. i., p. 183.]

"Further, further!" cried Joseph, as the man paused.

"I have nothing further to tell, sire. As the king and his people left my house, it was growing dark, so I slipped out. The curates were in the churches with the women and children, and we men ran to the next village, where the people gave us horses; and I have come to entreat the emperor not to let the King of Prussia take us, as he did Silesia."

"I give you my word that you shall not be given over to Prussia. Remain true to your country, and oppose the enemy whenever and wherever you can. Go back to your village, greet your friends for me, and promise them my protection. Count, be so good as to see that these men get some refreshment before they start."

The adjutant bowed, and, followed by the villager, left the room.

"Lacy," cried the emperor, "the time for deliberation has gone by. The hour for decision has struck, and I am free to give battle. It is Frederick who has thrown down the glove, and I too, shall emerge from obscurity, and prove to the world that others besides the King of Prussia are worthy to lead their men to victory. It would be dishonorable to refuse the challenge he has sent through his invasion of Bohemia. Let orders be given to march to Jaromirs. We shall await the enemy there; and there at last I shall measure swords with the greatest captain of the age!"

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CXXIV. SECRET NEGOTIATIONS FOR PEACE

After the departure of the emperor for the seat of war, the court of Vienna became supremely dull. All the state apartments were closed, the gentlemen and ladies in waiting went about silent as ghosts, the archduchesses were pale and sad, and the empress, disconsolate, spent all her days in the solitude of her own apartments.

Not only at court, but in the city were all sounds of joy hushed into speechless anxiety. Above all, since it had become known that Frederick had invaded Bohemia, the Viennese were in a state of painful excitement, convinced as they were that the warlike king would never stop his marches until they brought him to the gates of Vienna.

Finally the panic reached the palace. The rich were conveying their treasures to places of security, and the archduchesses and ladies of honor were importuning the empress to leave Vienna, and remove the court to Presburg. [Footnote: Dohm's Memoirs, vol. i., p. 187.]

Maria Theresa turned a deaf ear to these entreaties. Her eyes, which had grown dull through weeping, flashed with defiant courage as she replied: "I remain here in Vienna, and if the King of Prussia lays siege to my capital, I shall die like an empress in imperial panoply. I have never known what it was to fear for my life, and if now my heart throbs with uneasiness, it is for my people, it is not for myself. I mourn for my subjects, should Heaven, in its wrath, permit Frederick to prevail. For this it is that my life is spent in seclusion and prayer. Come, my daughters, come, ladies all, let us betake ourselves to the house of God."

And leaning upon the arms of the Archduchesses Elizabeth and Christina, the empress proceeded to the chapel. Behind them, with downcast eyes and reluctant steps, came the ladies of the court, all of one mind as to the weariness of too much godliness and too much praying.

"When will the empress's private chapel be completed?" whispered one of the ladies to another. "When will this daily martyrdom cease? Is it not too bad to be forced to church five times a day?"

"You may thank fortune for your headache yesterday. It was my turn to accompany the empress to the chapel, and we stayed so long that the Archduchess Elizabeth told me that toward the end her senses began to fail her, and she was scarcely able to utter the responses. How is the Archduchess Marianna to-day?"

"Her highness," whispered the first lady, "is too sensible to recover in a hurry. The wound in her cheek has reopened, and she really suffers a great deal at present. But she bears her pain with great fortitude. Yesterday the English ambassador was paying her a visit of condolence, and as he was expressing his sympathy, the archduchess interrupted him with a laugh. 'Believe me,' said she, 'for a princess of forty, who is an old maid, even a hole in her own cheek is a godsend. Nothing that varies the dull uniformity of my life comes amiss.'" [Footnote: The archduchess's own words. See "Courts of Europe at the Close of the Last Century," by Henry Swinburne, vol. i., p. 342.]

Both ladies tittered, but perceiving that the empress was turning her head, they resumed their sanctimonious faces, and folded their hands.

"Was it you, ladies," said Maria, Theresa, with severity, "who were interrupting our solemn silence by frivolous whisperings?"

"Yes, your majesty," replied the first lady of honor. "We were preparing ourselves for prayer by edifying conversation."

The empress smiled kindly upon the speaker. "I know that you are inclined to religion," said she, "and I am glad that you have had so good an influence over the Countess Julia, for she is not wont to be too zealous at prayer. I will remember you both for your piety, dear children and will see that you are both well married. There is the young Baron of Palmoden and Count--",

But the empress, who, in her darling schemes of marriage, had forgotten for a moment whither they were going, suddenly crossed herself, saying, "Forgive me, ladies; let us hasten our steps."

On this day the empress remained for three hours in the chapel, and while her attendants, worn out by ennui, were some sleeping, or others whispering to keep themselves awake, Maria Theresa, before the altar, was on her knees, praying with all the fervor of her honest and believing soul. As she prayed, she heaved many a sigh, and many a tear fell unheeded from her eyes upon her tightly-clasped hands.

Certainly her prayers proved consolatory, for when they were ended, she rose from her knees, calm and resolved. As she reached the door of her own room, she turned to her favorite daughter. "Is your heart still disconsolate, Christina`?" said she, with a look of supreme tenderness.

"How can it be otherwise, my mother?" said Christina, sobbing. "Has not my cruel and avaricious brother forced my husband into this wicked war? Oh, dearest mother, if you would but speak the word, Albert might be relieved from the disgraceful contingency of appearing in arms against his native land! He has no alternative, he must either become a traitor to his own country, or perjure himself by deserting his colors. Oh, your majesty, have mercy upon your subjects, and force the rapacious emperor to forego his unjust claims, and obey your imperial commands!"

"Dry your tears, my daughter," replied the empress, kissing her tenderly; "I have prayed so fervently for wisdom in this matter, that I feel as if my prayers had been answered. What He has commanded I will do, and may His grace strengthen and guide me! Hope for the best, my child, and do not speak so unkindly of your brother. He is not as cruel as you represent him; he has always been a dear, obedient son, and I trust, I may find him so to the end. Go, now, Christina, and remember that God directs all things."

The empress dismissed her daughters and entered her room, passing rapidly to the place where hung the portrait of the Emperor Francis. For a long, long while she looked at it without any thing but a vague yearning to be united to her adored husband. Finally, as was her custom, she began to speak to it.

"Franz, I have prayed from my soul for light. It seems to me that God has spoken, but, oh, my darling, if what I am about to do is unwise, whisper me one word of warning, and I shall be passive. Sometimes I think that you visit me, beloved, and whisper words of angelic sweetness in my ear. Speak now, my Franz, speak if I am wrong--I will obey your voice."

She clasped her hands, and looked imploringly at the picture. Finally she sighed. "Your dear face still smiles upon me," murmured she, "and I must believe that I have decided for the best. I will act."

So saying, she rang her bell, and a page answered the summons.

"Send hither my private secretary, and let a carriage be dispatched for Baron Thugut. I wish to see him immediately."

A few moments afterward, Koch made his appearance, and in half an hour after a page announced Baron Thugut.

"Baron," said the empress, "I wish to put a serious question to you. Remember that God hears you, and answer me without reservation."

"Your majesty has forgotten," replied Thugut, "that I have been so long in the kingdom of unbelief that I am an unbeliever myself. I do not know whether God hears me or not; but as I know that your majesty exacts of me to be candid, I shall obey your commands."

"Then, tell me what is your opinion of the war of the Bavarian succession. Do you think it an equitable one?"

The baron's small black eyes turned from the empress to the secretary. Maria Theresa understood the glance.

"Speak without reserve; Baron Koch is loyal, and knows all my secrets. Do you think, then, that our claims to Bavaria are just?"

"Just, your majesty?" repeated Thugut, in his sharp, cutting tones. "Their success or their failure must decide that question. He who wins will have proved his right. If we succeed in holding Bavaria, Germany will uphold us--for Germany never raises her voice against a fait accompli. Should Frederick unhappily defeat us, not only Germany, but all Europe will cry out against the greed and injustice of ambitious Austria."

"I do not wish to expose myself to this contingency," replied the empress. "I must have peace with God, the world, and my conscience, and you must come to my assistance, Thugut."

An ironical smile played over Thugut's face. "With God and your majesty's conscience, I would be a poor mediator," said he, "but toward the world I am ready to serve your majesty in any shape or form."

"Then you shall mediate between myself and Frederick."

"Between your majesty and the King of Prussia!" said Thugut, astonished.

The empress nodded her head, and, just then, the door opened, admitting a page who handed two letters on a golden plate. "The answer of Prince Gallitzin," said he, bowing and retiring.

Maria Theresa opened the letters, which were unsealed, saving

"Now we have every thing requisite. Here is a passport for you as private secretary to the Russian ambassador; and here is a letter which you are to bear from Gallitzin to the king. This is the pretext of your visit to Frederick."

"And the real motive is--"

"You will find it in the letter which I shall intrust to you for him. Read my letter aloud, Koch."

The secretary read as follows

"From the recall of Baron von Reidsel and the marching of your majesty's troops into Bohemia, I perceive with profoundest sorrow that we are on the eve of another war. My age, and sincere love of peace, are known to all the world, and I can give no greater proof of this love than I do by writing to your majesty. My maternal heart, too, is sorely grieved with the thought that I have two sons and a beloved son-in-law in the army. I have taken this step without the knowledge of the emperor, and whatever its result, I exact that it shall remain a secret between us. It is my desire to resume the negotiations which were broken off by my son. Baron Thugut, who will deliver this into your majesty's hands, has received my instructions, and is empowered to treat with you. I trust that your majesty may deem it consistent with our common dignity to meet my wishes in this matter, and hope that you also correspond to the earnest desire which I cherish for a continuation of friendly relations with your majesty. With this hope I remain, "Your majesty's affectionate sister and cousin, "MARIA THERESA." [Footnote: This letter was written in the French language, and is to be found in Cross-Hoffinger's "Life and History of the Reign of Joseph II.," vol. iv., p. 89.]

"Your majesty wishes me to bring about a peace. But what sort of peace?" asked Thugut. "A conditional one, or peace at any price?"

Maria Theresa's eyes flashed fire.

"Is Austria so weak that she should crave peace at any price?" cried she, proudly.

"No, indeed, your majesty. She seems, on the contrary, so powerful that she undertakes war at any price. But Bavaria is well worth a war with Prussia. Allow me one more question. What is the emperor to do with his army, while we negotiate?"

"They must await the result. I have written to Leopold to use all his influence to reconcile Joseph, for he will be indignant when he hears what I have done. But until it becomes evident that we cannot treat with Frederick, the emperor and his generals must remain passive. Should I fail, my son may then give battle, while his mother intercedes for him. If the medicine of diplomacy fails this time, we shall have to resort to the knife to heal our political wounds."

"Your majesty is right," said Thugut, with a heartless laugh. "When medicine fails we use the cold steel; and if that is not enough, fire is the last resort. What are your majesty's conditions with Prussia, medicine, iron, or fire?" [Footnote: Thugut's own application of the old-fashioned method of cure. See Hormayer's "Contributions to the History of my Fatherland."]

"Balsam, I trust," replied the empress. "Koch has drawn out my propositions. And now go and make your preparations to depart, for I long for peace with the whole world."

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CXXV. FRATERNAL DISCORD

Very different were the preparations making by the empress's warlike son. In company with Lacy and his staff, he had reviewed his troops for the last time, and had ridden from one end of their encampment to the other, that he might personally inspect the condition of his army. He had found it cheerful, spirited, and eager for the fray, the officers assuring him that their men were impatient to meet the enemy, and end the campaign by one decisive blow.

Even Lacy himself ceased to preach caution. He saw in the triumphant smile and flashing eyes of Joseph that counsel would be worse than useless, and warning would only drive him to some deed of mad daring, which might peril his life, or the safety of his army. The emperor himself had planned the attack, and his generals had approved his strategy.

On the other side of the Elbe was the King of Prussia, afraid to cross, lest the Austrian army, from their secure heights on the opposite shore, should annihilate his troops as they attempted the passage.

But what Frederick hesitated to undertake, Joseph was resolved to accomplish. He had determined to cross the Elbe, and force the king to give him battle. His columns were to move under cover of night, to ford the river below, and, by rapid marches, to reach the Prussian army at break of day.

"We shall be victorious, I feel it," said the emperor to Lacy, on their return from the encampment. "I have a joy within my heart that is the forerunner either of victory or of death."

"Of death!" echoed Lacy, with surprise. "Does your majesty mean to say that man can encounter death joyfully?"

"Why not?" said the emperor. "When a man dies, has he not won the long and bloody battle of life?"

"These are disconsolate words to fall from YOUR lips, sire. To you life must present a bright array of hopes and useful deeds. None but an old and decrepit man should take such gloomy views of the world."

"I have suffered as much as older men, Lacy," returned the emperor, laying his hand upon his friend's shoulder "But all my sufferings are forgotten in the anticipated joy of the morrow. Let the dead past bury its dead the birth of my happiness is at hand. I shall no mote rest my title to the world's homage upon the station to which I was born. It shall know at last that I am worthy to be the friend of Lacy and of Loudon. All the years that have intervened have never yet sufficed to blot out the remembrance of that fearful day on which the empress recalled the consent she had given for me to meet Frederick in the field. I have never looked upon my mother since without feeling the wound reopen. But to-day I can forgive her. I can even forgive the hated priests who were the cause of my misfortune. Lacy, I love the whole world. I--"

The emperor interrupted himself to stare with astonishment at the figure of a man, who just then had opened the door.

"The Grand Duke of Tuscany!" exclaimed Lacy.

"My brother Leopold," murmured Joseph, in a low, tremulous voice, but without rising from his seat, or offering his hand. A cloud passed over the pale, sickly face of the grand duke, and the smile vanished from his lips.

"Your majesty does not invite me to enter?" asked he, reproachfully. "You do not bid me welcome?"

The emperor gazed upon his brother in silence, and Leopold shrank from the keen and searching glances of Joseph's inquiring eyes.

"My brother," cried the emperor, suddenly, "you have come hither to bring me some evil tidings."

"I have come to greet your majesty, and to enjoy a few hours of family intercourse with you," replied the grand duke, while, without awaiting the courtesy which Joseph would not extend, be closed the door, and advanced into the room.

"No, no," cried the emperor, "that is false. We are not such a pair of loving brothers that you should seek me for affection's sake."

And approaching Leopold as he spoke, he stopped just before him, and continued:

"I implore of you be generous and tell me what you want. You have letters from the empress, have you not?"

"I have. I have not only letters from our imperial mother to deliver to your majesty, I am also the bearer of verbal messages, but-"

"But what?" cried Joseph, as Leopold paused.

"But I must request of your majesty to grant me a private interview."

"With his majesty's permission, I shall withdraw," said Lacy. Joseph inclined his head, and, as Lacy disappeared, he turned his eyes once more upon the pale, embarrassed countenance of his unwelcome relative.

"Now we are alone," said he, breathing fast. "Now--but no. Give me one moment to collect my strength. My God! what evil has the empress in store for me now, that she should select you as the messenger of her cruelty? Peace--I do not wish to hear your voice until I am ready to listen to its discordant sounds."

"I await your commands," replied Leopold, with a respectful inclination.

The emperor crossed the room several times forth and back. His cheeks were blanched, his mouth quivered, while quick and gasping came the breath from his heaving chest.

"Air, air!" said he in a stifled voice. "I shall suffocate!" He approached the window, and leaning far out, inhaled the cold winter blast, whose icy breath was welcome to his hot and fevered head. After a while, he closed the window and turned to his brother, who, with folded arms, still stood near the door.

"Now," said Joseph, gloomily, "I am ready to hear. Speak out, your infernal errand!"

"I must first beg pardon of your majesty if the intelligence which I am compelled to communicate is unwelcome," began Leopold, in a deprecating voice.

Joseph cast a rapid, searching look athwart the perplexed face of his brother. "You are forgiven," replied he, contemptuously. "Your message seems to be punishment enough of itself, if I judge by your countenance. Let us be quick, then, and be done with one another. Give me the letter, and say at once what you have to say."

The grand duke took from his coat-pocket a sealed dispatch which he delivered to the emperor.

"Here are the letters of the empress, but she ordered me to accompany them with a few words explanatory of her motives. She commissioned me to tell what she found it difficult to write."

"She was afraid," muttered Joseph.

"Yes, she was afraid to commit an injustice," returned Leopold. "She was afraid to offend her Maker by continuing a war whose object was to break one of His holy commandments--"

"Oh, my brother!" interrupted Joseph, sarcastically, "you are yourself again--I recognize the dutiful son of the priests who denounce me because I would disturb them in their comfortable Bavarian nest. I see plainly that if I should be so unfortunate as to fall to-morrow on the battle-field, you will throw yourself into the arms of Frederick and of that frantic amazon, the Duchess Clemens, beg pardon for my sins, and hand over the fairest portion of Germany to pope and Jesuits. Oh, what a favorite you would become with the black-coats! Doubtless they would give you absolution for all the sins you are accustomed to commit against your wife, but, my virtuous brother, I shall outlive the morrow, that I promise you, and shall gain such a victory over Frederick as will astound you and the whole popedom."

"You were about to give battle to Frederick?"

"I am about to do so," replied Joseph, defiantly.

"Then it was time for me to come!" exclaimed Leopold, solemnly.

"The mercy of God has sent me to stop the carnage! My brother, the empress earnestly entreats you, by the tears she has shed for your sake, to desist from fighting! As your empress she commands you to sheathe your sword until you hear the result of the negotiations now pending between herself and the King of Prussia."

The emperor uttered a cry of rage, and the angry blood darted to his very brow. "The empress has opened negotiations without my consent!" cried he, in a voice of mingled indignation and incredulity.

"The empress requires the consent of no one to regulate her state policy. In the supremacy of her own power, she has reopened negotiations with the King of Prussia, and hopes to terminate the war honorably without bloodshed."

"It is false, I will not believe it!" again cried Joseph. "My mother would not offer me such indignity, when she herself placed in my hand the sword with which I seek to defend my rights. It is a priest's lie, and you have been commissioned to be its interpreter. But this time your pious frauds will come to naught. Take back your packet. It is not the empress's handwriting."

"It is that of her private secretary."

"I am not bound to respect his writing, and I have no time to listen to your stupid remonstrances. Wait till day after to-morrow. When a man is flushed with victory, he is generous and ready to pardon. When I have beaten Frederick, I shall have leisure to inquire into the authenticity of your papers. Remain with me, not as the emissary of priests and Jesuits, but as the brother of the emperor, who to-morrow is to win his first victory and his first budding laurels. Give me your hand. On the eve of a battle, I am willing to remember that we are brothers."

"But this is not the eve of a battle, your majesty. The empress commands you to await the result of her efforts to end the war."

"I have already told you that I see through your intrigues."

"But I have the proofs of my veracity in these papers. You will not read them?"

"No, I will not!"

"Then I shall read them myself," returned Leopold, breaking the seal. "The empress commands you, and it is your duty as her subject to obey."

"I shall obey when I am convinced that the empress commands. But in this case I am convinced that it is not my mother, the high-spirited Maria Theresa, who intrusts you with such an abject commission."

"You surely will not deny her handwriting?" returned Leopold, extending an open letter to his brother.

Joseph looked imploringly at his brother's calm face.

"You are resolved to show me no mercy," said he. "You will not understand my refusal to believe. Listen to me, Leopold. Show that you love me for once in your life. Think of my joyless youth, my sorrowing manhood, my life of perpetual humiliation, and give me one day of independent action."

"What does your majesty mean'?" asked the grand duke.

The emperor came up to him, and putting both his hands upon Leopold's shoulder, he said in a voice of deep emotion; "Majesty asks nothing of you, but your brother entreats you to serve him this day. See, Leopold, it is too late, I cannot retract upon the very eve of battle. The army knows that we are about to engage the enemy, and my men are wild with enthusiasm. The presence of Frederick upon Austrian soil is an indignity which I am pledged as a man to avenge. If I allow him to retreat from his present disadvantageous position, my name is gone forever, and all Europe will cry out upon my incapacity to command. Remember, Leopold, that it concerns not my honor alone, but the honor of Austria, that this battle should be fought. Rescue us both by a magnanimous falsehood. Go back to the empress. Tell her that you lost her letters and that I would not take your word. Meanwhile, I shall have humiliated the enemy, and Maria Theresa will have been forced to submit to an event which she cannot recall. Let us burn these papers, Leopold," continued Joseph, passionately clasping his hands, "and God will forgive you the innocent deception by which your brother shall have won fame and glory."

"God will never pardon me for sinning so deeply against my conscience," replied Leopold, unmoved. "You require of me to burn those papers and consign thousands of your own subjects to death and worse than death--the lingering agonies of the battle-field. Never! Oh, my dear brother, have pity on yourself, and bethink you that you peril your own salvation by such thirst of blood--"

"Peace!--and answer my question," cried Joseph, stamping his foot. "Will you do what I ask of you?"

"No, Joseph, I will not do it. The empress desires to spare the blood of her people, and we must obey her just demands."

"I will not obey!" cried Joseph with such violence that his face was empurpled with passion. "I am co-regent, and as a man and a commander, it is my right to defend the honor of the crown. I will not read those letters, and I choose to assert the superiority of my manhood by doing that which they forbid. In your eyes and those of the empress, I may be a rebel, but the world will acquit me, and I shall be honored for my just resistance. You will not destroy the papers as I implored you to do?--then give them to me, and so satisfy your tender conscience."

"No," replied Leopold, who had replaced the dispatches in his pocket, "for I see that you intend to destroy them."

"That need not concern you. Give me the letters."

"No, Joseph, I will not give them."

The emperor uttered a hoarse cry, and darted toward his brother with uplifted arm.

"Give me the papers!" said he, with his teeth set.

"What! you would strike me!" said Leopold retreating.

"Give me the papers!" thundered the emperor, "or I fell you to the earth as I would a beast!" and he came yet nearer.

Pale and panting, their eyes flashing with anger, the brothers stood for a moment confronting each other.

"Refuse me once again," hissed Joseph in a low, unnatural voice, "refuse me once again, and my hand shall smite your cowardly face and disgrace you forever; for, as God hears me, you shall never have satisfaction for the affront."

Leopold was silent, but with his eyes fixed upon Joseph, he retreated, farther and still farther, followed by the emperor, who, still with uplifted hand, threatened his brother's face. Suddenly Leopold reached the door and, bursting it open, rushed into the anteroom. With a tiger-bound he sprang forward to Lacy who had remained there in obedience to the emperor's orders.

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CXXVI. THE DEFEAT

"Field-Marshal Lacy," said the grand duke, "I claim your protection--the protection of a man whom the empress has honored, and who has sworn to obey her as his lawful sovereign."

"Even unto death," added Lacy solemnly.

The emperor groaned aloud, and his upraised arm fell powerless to his side. A triumphant smile flickered over the pale features of Leopold. He thrust his hand into his pocket and drew forth the dispatches of the empress.

"The empress charged me," said he, "in case the emperor refused to read these letters, to deliver them to you, Marshal Lacy, and to bid you, in my presence, read them to him. Come, then, your excellency, let us obey the commands of our sovereign."

Lacy bowed, and followed the grand duke in silence. The emperor retreated to his cabinet, and, sinking upon a sofa, buried his face in his hands. Nothing interrupted the stillness save the measured footsteps of Lacy and the grand duke, who entered and closed the door behind them. A long pause ensued. The grand duke retired to a window, where, with his arms folded, he awaited the development of affairs with recovered composure. Joseph still sat with his face hidden by his hands, while Lacy with military decorum stood at the door with his letters, silent until the emperor should signify that he might read. Finding that Joseph would not speak, Lacy took a few steps forward. "Does your majesty allow me to read the letters which, in the name of the empress, his imperial highness, the grand duke, has delivered to me?"

"Read," said Joseph hoarsely, but without removing his hands. Lacy approached the table, and from the various documents which he unfolded and examined, selected the letter which was in the empress's own hand--

"My Dearest Emperor and Son: As co-regent and heir to my throne, I hasten to advise you of the negotiations which have just been renewed between the King of Prussia and myself. I have every hope that they will terminate to our satisfaction, and thus not only save the lives of many of our subjects, but relieve my heart of the pangs it has endured during the absence of my beloved son. The King of Prussia has promised that, pending our diplomatic correspondence, he will not attack our armies. I therefore hope that you, my son, will concede as much, and scrupulously avoid all collision that might interrupt our negotiations. I send you copies of our correspondence, and will continue to do so regularly. Hoping that God in His goodness will restore to me my imperial son, I remain now as ever, your affectionate mother and empress, "MARIA THERESA."

A deep sign that was almost a sob was heaved by the emperor. Slowly his hands fell from his face, while with tearful eyes he turned to Lacy, and said, "Is it really so? Are my hopes of glory all frustrated?"

Lacy answered with another sigh and a slight raising of the shoulder.

"Read on, Lacy," continued the emperor, mildly; "my eyes are dim and I cannot see."

Lacy continued reading the correspondence: first the letter of the empress; then the reply of the king, in which he promised that Maria Theresa should have nothing to fear for the life of her beloved son.

When the emperor heard this he started; the color mounted to his face, then faded away and left it pale as before. His lips moved, but with a convulsive twitch he closed them again, and listened in silence. Two more letters followed, full of mutual and distinguished consideration; then came the propositions of the empress and the comments of the king.

Maria Theresa pledged herself, from that portion of Bavaria of which Austria had possession, to retain only so much as would yield a revenue of one million, offering to cede the remainder to the elector palatine, or to exchange with him for territory situated elsewhere.

Then followed Frederick's conditions. He stipulated that Austria should renounce all pretensions to Bavaria, contenting herself with a small portion of Upper Bavaria, and recognizing and upholding the claims of Charles Theodore, as well as those of his heir, the Duke of Zweibrucken.

"Further, further!" exclaimed Joseph, as Lacy paused.

"There is nothing further, sire; the correspondence ceases there."

"And to these disgraceful propositions we are not permitted to make the only answer of which they are deserving--that is, to wipe them out with blood! Oh, Lacy, Lacy, is it not fearful to be compelled like a schoolboy to submit to the punishment which my tormentor judges fit to inflict?"

"It is a painful duty, sire; but it is a duty, and your majesty must submit."

"I must not submit!" exclaimed Joseph in bitter anguish, while he sprang from the sofa. But suddenly his eager, fluttering glances were turned toward the window where stood the grand duke quietly surveying his movements.

"Have you not gone?" asked the, emperor. "I thought that your mission being fulfilled, your imperial highness had nothing more to do here."

"I await your majesty's answer," replied the grand duke. "Oh, you wish to mock me, do you?" cried Joseph, trembling with passion, "for well you know there is but one answer to the empress's commands, and that is--obedience. But since you are anxious to take a message, here is one, and mark it well. Say to the empress that I submit as becomes her subject, and so long as it suits her without my knowledge and behind my back to hold conferences with the enemy, I will abstain from engaging him in battle, although by so doing I shall ruin my reputation forever. Tell her furthermore that should she accept the dishonorable proposals made by Frederick and conclude a peace upon the basis of his conditions, she need never expect to see me again in Vienna. I never shall go near her so long as I live, but shall take up my abode in Aix la Chapelle, or in some other free city, as it was once the custom of the Emperors of Germany to do."' [Footnote: Joseph's own words. See Dohm's Memoirs vol. i., p. 143.]

"Oh, sire!" exclaimed Lacy, shocked, "retract those words, I implore of you!"

"I will not retract them," replied Joseph, imperatively; "I order the envoy of the empress to repeat them faithfully."

"I shall obey your majesty, the co-regent of the empress," said the Grand Duke of Tuscany. "Has your majesty any other commands?"

"Yes!" shouted the emperor, fiercely. "When you shall have accomplished your mission in Vienna, go home to your priests in Tuscany, and bid them say a mass for the repose of your brother's soul, for from this day you have lost him who was called Joseph. He is dead to you forever."

The grand duke returned his brother's look with one of equal hatred. "I can scarcely lose that which I have never possessed," replied he with composure. "Had the affront which your majesty has put upon me to-day come from a brother, we should have measured swords together before the sun had set upon the insult. But he who stands before me is my emperor, and of him I am prohibited from demanding satisfaction."

"Our paths in life lie apart, and I trust that we shall never be forced to look upon each other again," said Joseph in reply.

"Since we can never meet as brothers, I am compelled to echo the wish," returned Leopold. "Farewell!"

"Farewell--and let it be farewell forever!"

The grand duke crossed the room and opened the door, while Joseph watched his disappearance with glaring eyes and stormy brow, and Lacy in anguish of heart looked first at one brother, then at the other. The door closed, and the jar it made caused Lacy of start. He recovered himself and hastened to the emperor's side.

"Call him back, sire," implored he. "Call him back. He is your brother and the son of your mother. He is also the hope of those who tremble with apprehension of your majesty's reign."

"Oh, yes--he is the leader of my enemies, the head of the pious conspirators who have cursed my life by their diabolical opposition. But a day will come when I shall crush the whole brood in their owl's nest, and put my house in order. In that day I shall remember this interview with the Grand Duke of Tuscany." [Footnote: The two brothers never met again. Although Leopold was next heir to the crown, Joseph would not allow him to receive the title of King of Rome, but bestowed it upon Leopold's son and heir, Francis. Even upon his death-bed the emperor refused to see his brother. By his explicit commands, it was only when his death had taken place, that a courier was sent to inform Leoold of his accession to the throne.]

"Sire," insisted Lacy, "I entreat of you, recall him--if not as your brother, as the envoy of your sovereign. Before it is too late, retract those fearful words, which in a moment of--"

"Lacy!" interrupted the emperor, in a loud, angry voice, "I have this day lost a brother and a battle. Am I also to lose a friend?"

The tears rose to Lacy's eyes. "Sire," said he in a voice of emotion, "forgive your truest friend if he has presumed to oppose you. I have no kindred to love: my heart is bound to you, and if I lose your regard, I am desolate and alone in the world!"

"You shall not lose it, my dear, dear friend," exclaimed Joseph, throwing his arms around Lacy's neck. "O God, you do not know how I suffer I I feel as if I had lost some beloved friend. And is it not so? Have I not buried to-day the hopes of a whole life? The hopes which from my youth I had cherished of winning glory and fame through Frederick's humiliation!--I would give years of my life to have measured swords with him, for--let me tell you a secret, Lacy--I hate that man as much as I once fancied that I loved him. He is the cause of every misfortune that has befallen our house for forty years past. His fame is our shame, his splendor our obscuration. I might forgive him his robbery of Silesia, but that he has reduced me to the role of an imitator, I can never forgive! Every thing on earth that I imagine, he executes before me. If I desire to free my people from the dominion of the clergy, he has already liberated his; if I seek to advance art, literature, or manufactures, he has just afforded them protection in Prussia; if I recommend toleration, lo! he has removed the disabilities of the Jews, and has pronounced all sects equal before the law. Would I excel in music, or yearn for military glory, the world has long since pronounced him a hero, and his flute was heard before I learned the violoncello. Oh, I hate him, I hate him, for his greatness is the rock upon which my originality is fated to split; and his shadow projects forever before me and my unborn deeds. He forces me to pass for a counterfeit of his true coin, and yet I feel that my individuality is as marked as his! He is the evil genius of my destiny, vanquishing me even in that which I would have done for the good of my subjects and the advancement of the world!"

"Your majesty goes too far," said Lacy, smiling. "There is one thing which Frederick has never dreamed of doing, and it is precisely there that you are destined to eclipse him. He has never sought to do any thing for Germany. A German prince, the ruler of a German people, he is the patron of foreign industry, literature, and art. The most insignificant writer in France is better known to him than Lessing or Winklemann; and while he is perfectly familiar with the composers of Italy, be has blundered into depreciation of Gluck's inspired music. There is the great and glorious contrast which your majesty presents to Frederick of Prussia; and the German people, whom he has despised, will look up to you, sire, as to the Messiah of their decaying greatness."

"He will foil me there as in all else," replied Joseph, disconsolately. "Has he not already guessed my plans in Germany, and has he not torn my banner from my hand to flaunt it above his own head, as the defender of German liberties! And Maria Theresa, too, is deceived by his infernal logic. Oh, Lacy! I hate him beyond expression. I hate him for the letter wherein he promises to spare her son, a man whom he loves, although he differs with him on the subject of German nationality. [Footnote: Gross-Hoffinger, "Records of the Life of Joseph II.," p. 41.] The cowardly remnant of a warrior! He takes refuge under my mother's hooped petticoat, and whispers in her credulous ear that this war is a great sin. Do you really think that I am bound to sheathe my sword at the ipse dixit of my mother?"

"Your mother is the reigning empress, sire, and it is for you to give to her other subjects an example of loyalty and obedience."

"Ah," sighed Joseph, "I must still the throbbings of my bursting heart, and suffer in silence!"

For a while he paced the room with hasty, uncertain steps, murmuring inaudible words, and darting despairing looks toward the window, whence gay throngs of soldiery were to be seen preparing to leave the encampment, while they sang their martial songs, and speculated together upon the events of the morrow. Suddenly the emperor turned his head toward Lacy, and said:

"Field-marshal, I withdraw my plans of battle. The empress-queen has spoken, it is for us to obey. Apprise the army of the change. We remain where we are."

"Sire," exclaimed Lacy enthusiastically, "your victory has been won to-day. A victory over self!"

The emperor raised his eyes with a sad, weary expression, and shook his head: "It was harder to win than could have been that which I contemplated for to-morrow. Go, Lacy, go, we must still hope and pray--pray God to grant that at some future day we may be revenged."

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CXXVII. THE REVENGE

Lacy had assembled the generals and the staff-officers to communicate the decision of the emperor; while the latter, overcome by this supreme disappointment, was pacing his cabinet with heavy and measured step. Then he stood at the window, and watched the movements of his soldiers.

"They have heard it now," thought he, "and the word has gone forth, 'The emperor is afraid to meet the old hero.' Yes, my brave soldiers, I know full well that you despise me! Your songs have ceased--your spirit is crushed, and, ah, mine also! This unfought battle is worth a victory to Frederick; for the army will think that my courage failed me, and the King of Prussia will still remain in their estimation the invincible foe of Austria! Oh, when will the hour of retribution sound?"

At this moment a knock was heard at the door, and an adjutant announced to the emperor that a hussar, belonging to a Galician regiment stationed directly opposite to the Prussian encampment, wished to communicate something of importance.

"Admit him," said Joseph, wearily.

The adjutant bowed, and returned, accompanied by a stalwart figure, attired in the fanciful and becoming costume of a Galician hussar. The emperor returned his salute with a slight bend of the head, and motioned him to approach. The adjutant withdrew, and Joseph was alone with the man.

"Now speak," said the emperor, "and if you have important tidings, let me hear them."

The soldier raised his head, and spoke. "I have come to do your majesty a service, but first you must promise to reward me as becomes an emperor."

"If your service is great, your reward shall be in proportion."

The soldier bowed. "I am on picket duty immediately on the bank, of the Elbe. As I have lain among the bushes, I have more than once seen the King of Prussia just opposite to me, taking a survey of our strength. Little thinks he, as he reins in his horse, that a sharpshooter's ball is not too far off to bring him down. But I have thought of it."

"You have thought of WHAT?" exclaimed Joseph, shocked.

"I have thought that my ball has never yet missed its man, and what a rich man I might become if I were to free Austria from its worst enemy. I was turning this over in my mind yesterday, when here comes the king on his gray horse, and halts directly in front of me. He held a cane in his hand, and pointed with it toward our encampment, and beat the air with it, as though he were showing his officers how he was going to thrash the Austrian army. When I saw this, my blood began to boil, and I rose half up, and cocked my gun. Many a Bosnian have I brought down with it."

"Go on," said the emperor, as the soldier paused, and threw an admiring glance upon his musket.

"Yes, sire, I raised my gun, and took aim, when I began to reflect that--"

"That what?" exclaimed Joseph, upon whose forehead great drops of sweat had begun to gather.

"That it would be better first to ask the emperor's permission, and get the promise of a reward," said the hussar, with a salute.

"Ah!" cried the emperor, breathing freely, "that was a lucky thought of yours."

The soldier bowed low. "I put down my musket, and when the hour came round for me to be relieved, I asked leave of my captain to come here to see an old acquaintance. And, indeed, your majesty, I was not telling a lie, for you once slept under my father's roof, and paid him so well for the night's lodging, that he was able to buy some land to settle me upon it, and thereupon I married my sweetheart. So that I did come to see an old acquaintance; and now, your majesty, I have a firm hand and a sharp eye, and if you say so, Frederick shall bite the dust before this day week."

"What said your captain to such a proposal?"

"Does your majesty suppose that I am such a fool as to give another man the chance of stepping in my shoes?"

"It follows thence that I am the only person in your confidence," said Joseph, much relieved.

"The only one, sire, and I believe that you will not misuse it."

"No, I will not, and as a reward for your trust in me, here are two gold pieces."

At first the soldier smiled as he received the gold, but presently his brow darkened, and casting a dissatisfied look at the emperor from behind his busby eyebrows, he said, "Is the life of the King of Prussia worth but two ducats?"

"It is worth more than all the gold in my imperial treasury," replied the emperor, with energy; "and no man on earth is rich enough to pay for it. I gave you these ducats to repay what you spent in coming from your camp hither. But I shall reward you still further if you will promise not to divulge what you have confided to me. Not only that, but I will also give you your discharge from the army, send you home, and give you a situation as imperial huntsman. If you break your promise, I will punish you with death."

"Sire, I promise, and I shall never break my word."

"Swear it in the name of God and of the Blessed Virgin."

"I swear," said the soldier, raising his right hand to heaven. "And now, your majesty, that no one is to know it except us two, when shall I shoot the King of Prussia, and return to my home?"

The emperor looked sternly upon the unconscious hussar. "Soldier," said he, in loud and solemn tones, "keep the gold I have given you in remembrance of the warning which your good angel whispered, when you forbore to murder the King of Prussia. I hope and believe that every man among you would risk his life in battle to take him prisoner, but God forbid that any one of you should stoop so low as to become his murderer!"

The man stared at the emperor in utter bewilderment, and not a word of reply was be able to make to this incomprehensible harangue.

The emperor continued: "I pardon your evil thought because it did not germinate into an evil deed. But had you followed your impulse to murder the king, I would have hung you without giving you time to see a priest. Thank God for your escape, and let us dismiss the disgraceful subject forever. You can remain here for the night."

"But I have only six hours' leave of absence, sire."

The emperor looked distrustfully at the soldier. "I have discharged you from the service, and will see that you are not molested. "

"And I am really to go home?" cried the man, overjoyed. "And the emperor really means to fulfil his promise in spite of the dreadful reprimand I have received?"

"Yes, I mean to fulfil my promise. But you also must swear to live a peaceful life, and never try to kill another man save in open fight, were he even a Bosnian."

"From my heart, I swear," replied the soldier, solemnly.

"Now you can go."

The emperor then rang his bell, when the door opened, and Gunther entered the room.

"Gunther," said he, "give this man his supper and a bed in your room, and, while he remains here, see that his wants are attended to."

Gunther bowed, and retired with the hussar. The emperor followed the gigantic figure of the soldier until the door closed upon him, then he raised his eyes to heaven with a look of unspeakable gratitude.

"Lord," said he, "I have suffered cruelly since the sun rose to-day, but oh! how I thank Thee that Thou hast preserved my name from eternal infamy! How would the world have spurned me, if, refusing to give him battle, I had taken the life of my enemy through the hands of an Austrian soldier! My God! my God! the life of Frederick has become more precious to me than my own--for HIS life is one with MY honor.

"But what, if another should execute what this Galician has conceived?" continued the emperor, shuddering. "What if, in his ignorance, another one of these wild huntsmen should deem it his duty to take the life of Frederick?" The emperor grew pale with the thought, and his hand was lifted as if to protest against the crime. "I must find means to shield myself from such disgrace, for his safety and my honor are cast on the same die."

Far into the night Gunther heard the tread of his Imperial master, and he waited in vain to be called in to attend him. He watched until the dawn of day, and when, at last, unable to contain his anxiety, he opened the door of the cabinet, he saw the emperor asleep in an arm-chair. He was in full uniform, and the rays of the rising sun lit up his pale face, which, even in sleep, wore an anxious and painful expression.

Gunther approached, and touched him lightly.

"Sire," said he, in a voice of tender entreaty, "let me assist you to undress. This is the fourth night that your majesty has slept in your uniform. You must lie down, indeed you must."

Joseph opened his eyes, and looked at Gunther.

"Ah!" sighed he, "during three of these nights I might just as well have slept in my bed as any respectable burgher who has nothing to trouble him but his growing corpulence. But last night I dared not undress, for I have much to do this morning. Good Heaven! Gunther," continued the emperor, suddenly remembering the hussar, "what has become of the man whom I gave into your custody last evening?"

"Your majesty's second valet is in the same bed with him, and they are both asleep. The door between our sleeping-room and the anteroom has been open all night, so that, while I sat there awaiting your majesty's call, I had the hussar directly under my eyes. He seems to have pleasant dreams, if I judge by his smiles and snatches of songs."

"Let him sleep, Gunther, and when he awakes, allow no one to hold any conversation with him. Now give me a glass of fresh water for my breakfast."

Gunther hastened to obey, and returned in a very few minutes. The emperor emptied the glass at a draught.

"Oh!" exclaimed he, refreshed, "how delightful it is! I have not a cook in my palace capable of brewing me such a beverage."

"And yet the meanest of your subjects, sire, would grumble if he had nothing better than a glass of water for breakfast."

"No doubt of it, Gunther. Men set no value upon that which is easily obtained. If I were to close up the fountains, and forbid them to drink water for breakfast, they would raise a howl, and protest that they could drink nothing else. And if I desired to give them a taste for assafoetida, I would have nothing to do but forbid its use. Once forbidden to the multitude, the multitude would go mad for it. But see, the sun has sent a ray through the window to bid us good-morning, and to warn me that it is time to depart. Order my horse to be saddled: Tell some of the staff to prepare to accompany me, and then go to Field-Marshal Lacy, and request him to go with me this morning on a tour of inspection."

"Lacy," said the emperor, as they galloped off together, "you must prepare yourself for a long ride. We had anticipated an early start to-day, and we are punctual. To be sure, we are minus an army, and neither our hearts nor our trumpets are sounding triumphant blasts of victory. Ah, friend, what miserable puppets we are in the hands of Almighty God! Yesterday I was gazing exultingly upon the heaven of the future, so clear, so blue, so silver-bright--when lo! the rustling of a woman's dress is heard, and the sky of my destiny grows black as night. Yesterday I fancied myself a man--to-day I am a schoolboy in disgrace upon my knees. Oh, Lacy, those weary knees ache me so, that I could sob for pain, were it not laughable for a commander-in-chief to put his handkerchief to his eyes.

"Good God! Lacy," shouted the emperor, suddenly, while he reined in his horse until the animal almost fell upon his haunches, "why do you not laugh? You see that I am doing my best to divert you."

"I cannot laugh, sire, when you yourself are suffering almost to madness!"

The emperor made no reply, but rode cu, relaxing his speed until his horse ambled gently over the road. "Lacy," said he, finally, "I am unreasonable when I murmur against destiny, for yesterday Providence was most benign toward me. Some other time, you shall hear in what manner. Let us quicken our pace, for to-day I must visit all the outposts. I have an order to promulgate to the pickets, of which I shall explain to you the reason when we return."

Shortly after the emperor had spoken, they reached the front. Joseph sprang forward to the very edge of the river-bank, and looked earnestly toward the opposite shore. Nothing was to be seen, save far away on the horizon, a few black specks which showed the outposts of the enemy. The emperor signed to the officer on duty to approach.

"Do the Prussians ever venture any nearer?" asked he.

"Yes, sire. They seem to be officers of high rank making a reconnaissance, probably with a view to finding a crossing for their army. They sometimes approach so close that the sharpshooters, who have eyes like telescopes, recognize the King of Prussia in the group."

"It is quite possible that in the excitement of a survey, the king may approach the shore. In the event of such an accident, I have a command to give to your men. As soon as they recognize the king, they shall present arms, and remain thus until he is entirely out of sight. I desire, through this courtesy, to express the respect due to a crowned head, a great general, and a personal friend of my own. This order must be strictly enforced by the officer of the day." [Footnote: The emperor's own words. See Gross-Hoffinger, i., p 431.]

The emperor then inclined his head, and rode off with his staff. At each outpost the order for presenting arms to Frederick was repeated, and the officers charged with its execution to the letter.

Late in the day Joseph returned from his long and tiresome visit of inspection. But so far from suffering fatigue, he sprang from his horse with a light bound, and his countenance was as free from gloom as it had been before the arrival of the Grand Duke of Tuscany.

"Lacy," said he, taking the arm of the field-marshal, "I am about to explain to you the cause of my over-politeness to my abhorred enemy. You must have been astounded at the orders I have been giving to-day."

"To tell the truth, I was surprised. But I thought that in the nobleness of your heart, sire, you were proving to me that you had relinquished all thoughts of revenge."

"Nevertheless, Lacy, my hate is unappeased and I have kept my word. I have already had my revenge. I have saved the King of Prussia from the bullet of an assassin." [Footnote: This whole chapter is historical. See Riedler's archives for 1831, and Gross-Hoffinger, i., p. 427.]

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CXXVIII. A LETTER TO THE EMPRESS OF RUSSIA

With flushed face and panting bosom, Maria Theresa paced her cabinet, sometimes glancing with angry eyes at the heaps of papers that covered her escritoire; then wandering hastily to and fro, perfectly insensible to the fatigue which in her advancing years generally overwhelmed her whenever she attempted to move otherwise than leisurely. The empress had received bad news from every quarter; but worst of all were the tidings that came from Bohemia. For more than a year the Austrian and Prussian armies had threatened one another; and yet nothing had been accomplished toward the settlement of the Bavarian succession.

Maria Theresa, shocked by the threat which Joseph had made to her through the Grand Duke of Tuscany, had broken off her negotiations with Frederick, and had sacrificed the dearest wishes of her heart to appease the fury of her imperial son. Notwithstanding this, no battle had been fought, for Frederick was quite as desirous as the empress could be, to avoid an engagement. He had declared war against his old adversary with the greatest alacrity; but when it became necessary to manoeuvre his army, the hero of so many fights was obliged to confess in the secrecy of his own heart that his gouty hand was impotent to draw the sword, and his tottering limbs were fitter to sink into an arm-chair than to bestride a war-horse.

Irritable, crabbed, and low-spirited, his campaign had proved a disastrous failure. Instead of planning battles, he had planned pillaging and foraging expeditions, and his hungry and disaffected army had converted the rich fields of Bohemia into a gloomy and desolate waste. At last succoring winter came to the help of the oppressed Bohemians, and both armies went into winter quarters. Maria Theresa had employed the season, which forced her ambitious son to inactivity, in new negotiations for peace. Count von Mercy had sought for intervention on the part of France, and Baron Thugut had made new proposals to Prussia. Until to-day the empress had indulged the hope of terminating this unhappy and ridiculous war; but her hopes had been frustrated by the dispatches she had just received from France and Bohemia. Count von Mercy wrote that so far from accepting the role of mediator, the French king expostulated with him upon the injustice of the claims of Austria, and earnestly recommended their total relinquishment as the only road to peace.

Another courier from Joseph announced that the winter season having almost closed, he hoped that he might now be permitted to prosecute the war with firmness and vigor. Circumstances were favorable to Austria, for General Wurmser had succeeded in surprising the Prince of Philippsthal, and in driving the Prussian garrison from their stronghold. The emperor, therefore, declared his intention of giving battle to Frederick, that he might at one stroke free Bohemia from the presence of a tyrannical and merciless enemy.

These were the tidings which had flooded the heart of the empress with anguish.

"I must have peace," thought she, as, perfectly unconscious of the fact, she still paced the floor of her cabinet. "I cannot go to my grave burdened with the crime of an unrighteous war. Peace! peace! Heavenly Father, send us peace! Something I must do, and that at once; and if my son still vituperates his unhappy mother, I know that my subjects, the people of Germany, and all Europe, will sustain me by their approbation."

Filled with the idea, she approached her escritoire, and again her eyes rested upon the papers and pamphlets that lay there. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashed fire, as lifting from the desk a heavy package, she threw it down with violence, exclaiming:

"Has that Schrotter been printing another absurd pamphlet, braying to the world of our rights to Bavaria? I must stop that man's mouth, and teach him discretion!"

Here the empress rang and gave two messages to the page who answered the summons. "Let Prince Kaunitz be informed that I would be happy to see his highness as soon as possible. Send a messenger to Counsellor von Schrotter, and let him be here in an hour."

So saying, the empress, who at last began to feel that she was exercising her limbs beyond all power of endurance, sank into an arm-chair and continued her reflections. They were any thing but consolatory. She could not humble herself to make any more proposals to Frederick. He was so arrogant that he might answer in such a way as to make war the only alternative for Austria. But where to go for a mediator? France had refused, and Marie Antoinette had with difficulty obtained from her husband a promise not to sustain Prussia.

"I have a most disobliging son-in-law in Louis," thought the empress, "and if Marie Antoinette were not in a condition where anxiety of mind might be fatal to her life, I should very soon speak plainly to the king, and let him understand distinctly how little I care for his approval or disapproval! But I must be patient for my daughter's sake; and if she gives birth to a dauphin, I shall be too happy to quarrel with her stubborn king. I had reckoned upon France, however, and I am disappointed and grieved."

So saying, the empress bent once more over her papers, and this time she opened a dispatch from her ambassador at St. Petersburg. She began to read:

"The King of Prussia is asking succor from Russia. The empress is quite ready to grant it, and has already marched an auxiliary force into Galicia. But she exacts that her troops shall act independently of Frederick, and requires of him for the prosecution of her war with Turkey, a subsidy of two million of thalers. The king is indignant at her exactions, so that the opportunity now offers to dissolve this dangerous alliance. If the empress-queen could bring herself to pen a letter to Catharine requesting her intervention--"

"No," exclaimed Maria Theresa, interrupting herself, "to such degradation I cannot stoop! It would be too base!" She threw down the letter, and frowning leaned her head upon her hand. "How," thought she, "could a virtuous woman write to that abandoned wretch who degrades the divine birthright of royalty by a dissolute life? How could Maria Theresa so humiliate herself as to ask succor of such a Messalina!"

The entrance of a page interrupted the empress's meditations. His highness Prince Kaunitz regretted that he was unable to obey her majesty's commands, as he was sick and not able to leave his room.

The empress dismissed the page, and frowned anew.

"I know perfectly well the nature of his malady," thought she. "Whenever he desires to consult with the emperor before seeing me, he falls sick. Whenever danger is ahead and affairs look stormy he retreats to his hole like a discreet fox. I wish to Heaven that I too could take to my bed and shut my eyes to all that is transpiring around us! But no," continued the empress with a pang of self-reproach, "I have no right to retire from the post of danger. I must act, and act quickly, or Joseph will be before me. Oh, my God, help me in my great need."

She re-read the dispatches from her different ambassadors, and each one breathed the same spirit. From every court in Europe camp disapprobation and blame. Every one of the great powers counselled peace--speedy peace, lest all should be drawn into the strife, and Austria left to the humiliation of struggling single-handed against every other nation in Europe.

The tears of the empress flowed fast. She could see no help on earth, and how could she feel otherwise than resentful toward the minister and the son who had brought her into this mortifying position? Suddenly she dried her tears and once more took up the dispatch from St. Petersburg. The silence in that little room was broken only by her sighs, and the rustling of the papers which she held in her hand. She paused, and those trembling hands fell into her lap. She threw back her head as if trying to make a difficult resolve.

"There is one way--but oh, how disgraceful!" murmured she. Again the gathering tears were dashed from her eyes, and she tried to read.

"It must be," sighed she, as she replaced the paper on the desk; "and if so, it must be done quickly. Oh, my Creator! Thou alone knowest how fearful to my heart is this sacrifice of womanly pride; but thou willest my humiliation, and I submit! Let me drink the chalice!"

She took up her pen and began to write. Often she hesitated--threw aside her sheet, and took another. Sometimes she read aloud what she had written; then starting at the sound of the words, resumed her writing in silence. At last the task was accomplished, and her eyes scanned the concluding paragraph

"With the conviction that my honor could be intrusted to no abler hands, I leave it to your majesty, in conjunction with France, to make such propositions as you may esteem best calculated to promote peace. In this trust I remain,

"Your majesty's true and devoted sister,

"MARIA THERESA." [Footnote: This letter of the empress is yet in the archives of St. Petersburg. Coxe, who copies it word for word, saw it there himself. See Coxe's "History of the House of Austria," vol. iv., page 592.]

As she read these words, the cheeks of the empress crimsoned with shame, and, burying her face in her hands, she sobbed aloud. When the paroxysm of her grief was over, her face was very pale and her eyes dim and swollen. "I must complete the humiliation," thought she; then folding the letter, it was directed "To Her Majesty the Empress of Russia."

She took up a tiny gold bell, and ringing it so that it gave out but a few strokes, a portiere was raised, and Koch entered the room.

"Take a copy of this letter, and send a courier with it to St. Petersburg. I have at last yielded to the wishes of my counsellors, and have written to the Empress of Russia. Peace, Koch--not a word!--my heart is not yet strong enough to bear the grief and shame of this hour."

The private secretary had scarcely left the room, when the page reentered, announcing Counsellor von Schrotter.

"Ah," said the empress, "he comes at the right moment. I am just in the mood to castigate those who have displeased me."

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CXXIX. THE GRATITUDE OF PRINCES

The message of the empress had been received by Counsellor von Schrotter with rapture. His heart throbbed so joyfully that its every beat sent the quick blood bounding through his veins. The hour for acknowledgment of his long-tried services had arrived. For years he had lived a life of labor, research, and patient investigation. Among the deeds, parchments, and dusty green tables of the chancery, his youth had faded to middle age, and of its early hopes had retained but one single earthly ambition: it was that of taking a place among learned men, and becoming an authority of some weight in the judicial world. His pamphlets on the Bavarian succession had lifted him to fame, and now among his countrymen his name was beginning to be quoted as that of a great and accomplished jurist. Nothing was needed to complete the measure of his simple joys, save the approbation of the court, and some acknowledgment on the part of his sovereign of the fidelity with which he had labored for so many years in her behalf.

This precious tribute he was called upon to receive. He was to speak himself with the Empress of Austria. So excited was he by the thought, that the strong man trembled from head to foot; he was even more agitated than he had been twenty years before, when he had received his diploma as doctor of laws. Pale, but inexpressibly happy, he stood upon the threshold of the empress's cabinet, and awaited her permission to approach and kiss her beloved and honored hand.

Maria Theresa saw him and spoke not a word. She sat immovable in her arm-chair, darting lightning glances upon the unconscious counsellor, and growing every moment more enraged at the thought of his impertinent researches, until the storm burst with all its fury upon his head. The empress clutched the pamphlets which lay near her upon the table, and rising from her chair, strode through the room to the door where the unhappy author stood.

"Did you write these brochures?" asked she.

"Yes, your majesty," said Von Schrotter with a happy smile.

"Read the title-page."

Von Schrotter read: "The rights and measures of her imperial, royal, and apostolic majesty in reference to the Bavarian succession."

"Now read the title of your first pamphlet."

"Impartial thoughts on the various questions arising from the succession of Maximilian Joseph."

"You acknowledge the authorship of these two brochures?"

"I am proud to acknowledge them, your majesty."

"Whence it follows that you are proud to be the cause of the unholy war which now rages throughout Germany," said the empress in a voice of indignation. "It is you, then, whose pen has metamorphosed itself into a sword wherewith to take the lives of thousands of good and honest men! What right had you to publish impartial thoughts upon the Bavarian succession? I suppose you had an idea that in so doing, you were proving to the world what an important part you play in the affairs of the nation!"

"Your majesty," stammered Von Schrotter, utterly at a loss to understand his crime--"your majesty, through Prince Kaunitz, conveyed to me your entire satisfaction with my researches into the imperial archives, and the emperor himself requested me to write the second pamphlet."

"I am in no wise indebted to you for your complaisance," replied the empress; "for your ink has changed itself into blood, and your stupid vagaries, hatched in the comfortable quiet of your own room, have driven my poor soldiers from their homes, out into the pitiless storm of hardship, danger, and death. What right had you to meddle with the difficulties of the succession? Did you expect that, in gratitude for your valuable services to the crown, I would reward you with a title and an estate in Bavaria?"

"No, your majesty," replied Von Schrotter, blushing, I was but doing my duty as a jurist and civil officer of the crown."

"And do you suppose you have succeeded in proving any thing with your rubbish?" asked the empress, scornfully. "Do you imagine that any one word take the trouble to read your balderdash?"

"In defending the claims of the crown, I was performing an act of sacrred duty toward my country," replied Von Schrotter, emboldened to reply, by a just sense of the indignity offered him.

"Oh, yes, I know something of the vanity of authors," said the empress. "They imagine themselves to be Atlas, each one with the world upon his shoulders, which must certainly fall, if they are not there to uphold it. I, however, take the liberty of judging that if they were all to be blown to atoms, nobody would be the worse for their disappearance. What has come of your writings? A paper war of such dimensions, that I think the foul fiend must have plucked all the geese in Avernus, and have thrown their quills at your heads. What with your imbecile pens, nobody knows who is right!"

"But, your majesty, "remonstrated Von Schrotter, "discussion is indispensable to the discovery of truth, and as I am sure that I have contributed to this discovery, I cannot regret what I have done."

"Ah, indeed!" exclaimed the enraged empress. "You think you have contributed to the discovery of truth! I will tell you to what you have contributed, sir: you are the cause that the emperor became so headstrong on the subject, that sooner than give up Bavaria he has involved me in war; you are the cause that the whole world has had something to say on the subject of our claims; whereas, had you held your tongue, they might have passed for what they are not--just. You are the cause that my days are spent in sorrow, and my nights are sleepless; that in the despair of my heart, I have been reduced to write to a woman whom I despise! Yes, of all this you are the cause, and more than this--you will be guilty of my death; for I repeat to you that this war has broken my heart, and will be the last nail in my coffin. [Footnote: Maria Theresa's own words.] When my people, then, mourn for my death (and I hope that they will regret me), you may boast of having compassed it yourself; and from my grave I shall arise to--"

"No more, your majesty, no more! Spare me, in mercy," sobbed he, "if you would not see me die at your feet!"

"And I presume you would consider it a great misfortune for Austria if you were no longer able to unsheathe your goose-quill in her defence. There is no danger of your dying from the wounds inflicted by my tongue; but I am resolved that you shall carry their marks to the grave with you. This is all I had to say to you; you are dismissed."

"But, your majesty," replied Von Schrotter, "I have something to say--I must defend myself."

"You must defend yourself!" cried Maria Theresa, surveying him with a look of ineffable disdain. "Defend yourself to God--I am not disposed to listen to your defence."

"But, your majesty--"

"Peace!" thundered the empress. "Who dares speak when I have ordered him from my presence? Go home, and ponder my words."

So saying, she walked back to her seat. But seeing that Von Schrotter's lips were parted as if in an attempt to say something, she snatched her bell, and rang it so loud that in its clang his words were lost.

"Counsellor Von Schrotter is dismissed," said she to the page. "Open the doors, that he may pass."

Von Schrotter gasped out a convulsive sigh, and scarcely knowing what he did, turned one last sad look upon his cruel sovereign, and bowing his head, left the room.

When his tall, majestic form had disappeared from her sight, the empress said:

"Ah!--that outburst has done me good. And now that I have driven away humiliation by anger, I shall go and pray to God to bless the sacrifice I have made to-day for the good of my people."

She rang the bell, assembled her ladies of honor, and with them entered the private chapel which had lately been added to her own apartments. She knelt before the first prie-Dieu that presented itself, and her attendants knelt around her.

Whilst the empress was praying, Von Schrotter returned to the home, which an hour sooner, he had left with a heart so full of hope and ecstasy. He had not a word for his old house-keeper, who opened the door to admit him; and motioning away the servant who would have shown him into the dining-room, he ascended the staircase with slow, uncertain steps, his hands clinging to the balustrade, his head so heavy that he scarce could bear its weight. The servants stood below in sorrowful amazement. They had never seen their master so agitated in his life before; they could scarcely believe that this ghastly being was the dignified and stately man who had left them but an hour before. Suddenly they started, for surely they heard a loud laugh from the study, but what a laugh!--so wild, so unearthly, that it sounded like the dreadful mirth of a madman!--Then all was silent. Presently there came the sound of a heavy fall.

"That is our master! Some misfortune has befallen liim," cried the servants, hurrying up the stairs and bursting into the room. On the floor, surrounded by the books which had been the pride and solace of a harmless life, lay the counsellor weltering in his blood.

"He has broken a blood-vessel!" cried the house-keeper, with a sob, while the other servant ran for a physician. The old woman raised her dear master's head, and his bloody lips parted with a ghastly smile.

"This is the gratitude of princes!" murmured he almost inaudibly. "Such is the reward of him who loves his country!"

"What is it, my dear, dear master?" faltered the faithful servant, in vain seeking to penetrate the meaning of his words. "Why do you stare at me so horribly? What has distressed you?"

He moved as though he would have raised his head. "This is Austria's gratitude!" cried he in a loud voice; then, forth from his lips gurgled the purple stream of life, and his words died into hoarse, inaudible mutterings.

The physician came in, followed by the valet, and together they raised the sufferer and placed him upon his bed. The doctor then felt his pulse and his chest, and bent down to catch his breathings. He shook his head mournfully and called to the weeping servants.

"He is dying," said he. "Some fearful shock that he has received has induced a hemorrhage, which in a few hours will end his life."

Maria Theresa rose from her prayers, comforted and light of heart. And as she left the chapel, the man whom she had crushed to the earth by her unjust anger, drew his last sigh. [Footnote: This whole chapter is historical. Hormayer "Austrian Plutarch," vol. vi.]

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CXXX. FREDERICK THE GREAT

King Frederick and his Prussians were still encamped at Wildschutz. His army was weary of inactivity, and every morning the longing eyes of his soldiers turned toward the little gray house at the end of the village where the king and his staff were quartered, vainly hoping to see their Fritz in the saddle, eager, bold, and daring as he had ever been until now. The men were destitute of every thing. Not only their food was exhausted, but their forage also. Bohemia had been plundered until nothing remained for man or beast. The inhabitants had fled to the interior, their villages and farms were a waste, and still the King of Prussia insisted that his army should subsist upon the enemy.

The men were in despair, and the officers began to apprehend a mutiny, for the former were surly, and no amount of conciliatory words could appease their hunger or feed their horses.

"We must see the king, we must speak to old Fritz!" cried the malcontents; and with this cry a crowd of artillerymen made their way to headquarters.

"We must see the king! Where is old Fritz? Has he ceased to care for his soldiers?" repeated the crowd.

"No, friends, I am ready to listen," said a soft voice, which, nevertheless, was heard above the din, and the king, clad in his well-known uniform, appeared at the window.

The soldiers received him with, a cheer, and at the sight of the well-beloved countenance, they forgot their need, and shouted for joy.

"What is it?" said Frederick, when the tumult had died away.

One of the men, as spokesman, stepped forward. "We wanted to see our old Fritz once more; we can scarcely believe that he sees our wants and yet will do nothing to relieve them." "You see mine," said Frederick, smiling, "and, as you perceive, I am scarcely better off than yourselves. Do you think this a fit residence for a king?"

"It is a dog-kennel!" cried the soldiers.

"And is that all you have to say to me?"

"No, sire, it is not. If our king can do nothing for us, at least let him rescue our horses from starvation. We are men, and our reason helps us to bear privations; but it is a sin to keep our horses here without food. We beseech your majesty, give us forage for our horses!" And the others repeated in chorus; "Forage, forage, give us forage for our horses!"

Meanwhile, the king had closed his window and had retired to the other end of his house. This made the soldiers frantic, and they screamed and shouted louder than ever

"Give us forage for our horses!"

Suddenly the voice which had so often led them to victory, was heard at the door

"Peace, you noisy rebels, peace, I say!"

And on the steps before his wretched cabin, stood Frederick, surrounded by the principal officers of his army.

"Sire," said one of the king's staff, "shall we disperse them?"

"Why-so?" replied Frederick, curtly. "Have my poor soldiers not the right to appeal to me for help? Speak, my children, speak without fear!" "Forage, sire, forage--our horses are dying like flies!"

"You see," said the king to his officers, "these poor fellows ask nothing for themselves. Why is it that they have no forage for their horses?"

"Sire," replied the officers, deprecatingly, "as long as there remained a hay-stack or a storehouse in this part of Bohemia, your majesty's army was fed by the enemy. But the country is stripped of every thing. The inhabitants themselves have been obliged to fly from starvation."

"Starvation!" echoed the king. "I will warrant that, while the horses of the privates are suffering for food, those of the officers are well provided."

"Your majesty!"

"Do not interrupt me, but let all the forage belonging to the chief officers of the army be brought at once, and placed before these men. They can wait here until it comes, and then divide it between them. Are you satisfied, my children?"

"Yes, yes," cried the men, shouting for joy at the prospect of the abundance about to be vouchsafed to them.

The officers, on the contrary, were deeply humiliated, and beheld the proceedings with gloomy discontent.

Frederick pretended not to perceive their dissatisfaction. He stood with his hat drawn down over his brows, leaning for support upon the crutch-cane which, of late, had been his inseparable companion.

Occasionally, when a soldier came up with his bundle of hay, the king glanced quickly around, and then looked down again. The artillerymen gradually ceased their noisy demonstrations, and now, with anxious, expectant faces, they looked at the king, the officers, and then at the very small amount of forage which was being placed before them.

Just then an adjutant bowed to the king, and announced that the last bundle of hay had been set before his majesty.

Frederick raised his eyes, and sadly contemplated the miserable little heap of forage which betokened with so much significance the destitution of his brave army.

"Is this all?" said he.

"Yes, sire, all--"

"It is well. Now," continued he to the artillerymen, "divide this between you. Had my officers been more selfish, your horses would have fared better. But you see that my generals and adjutants are as noble and self-sacrificing as yourselves; and unless you manage to forage for us all, we shall all starve together. I have called for this hay to prove to you that your officers were not revelling in plenty while you were suffering for want. Take it, and do not ask for that which I cannot give you."

The artillerymen looked almost ashamed of their clamor, while the faces of the officers brightened, and their eyes turned with love and admiration upon the man whose tact had so entirely justified them to their men.

The king pretended to see their delight as little as he had feigned to see their mortification. He seemed wholly absorbed watching the soldiers, who were now striving together as to who was to have the remnants of forage that was far from being enough to allow each man a bundle. [Footnote: Dohm's Memoirs, vol. i., p. 158.]

Finally Frederick withdrew to his cabin, and, once alone, he fell into the leathern arm-chair which was the only piece of furniture in the room besides a bed and a table.

"This will never do," thought he, sorrowfully. "We must either retreat or advance. This war is a miserable failure--the impotent effort of a shattered old man whose head is powerless to plan, and his hand to execute. How often since I entered upon this farcical campaign, have I repeated those words of Boileau:

`Malheureux, laisse en paix ton cheval vicillissant De peur quo tout a coup essoufle, sans haleine, Il ne laisse en tombant, son maitre sur l'arbne.' [Footnote: Frederick's own words.]

"Why did I undertake this war? Why had I not discretion enough to remain at home, and secure the happiness of my own people?"

The king sighed, and his head sank upon his breast. He sat thus for some time in deep discouragement; but presently he repeated to himself:

"Why did I undertake this war--why?" echoed he aloud. "For the honor and safety of Germany. How sorely soever war may press upon my age and infirmities, it is my duty to check the ambition of a house whose greed has no bounds, save those which are made for it by the resistance of another power as resolute as itself. I am, therefore, the champion of German liberties, and cannot, must not sheathe my sword. But this inactivity is demoralizing my army, and it must come to an end. We must retreat or advance--then let us advance!"

Here the king rang his bell. A valet entered, whom he ordered to go at once to the generals and staff-officers and bid them assemble at headquarters in fifteen minutes from that time.

"Gentlemen," said the king, "we cross the Elbe to-morrow."

At these words every countenance there grew bright, and every voice was raised in one long shout:

"Long live the king! Long live Frederick the Great!"

The king tried his best to look unmoved.

"Peace! peace! you silly, old fellows," said he. "What do you suppose the boys will do out there, if you raise such a clamor indoors? Do you approve of the move? Speak, General Keller."

"Sire, while out on a reconnaissance yesterday, I discovered a crossing where we may go safely over, without danger from the enemy's bullets."

"Good. Are you all of one mind?"

A long shout was the answer, and when it had subsided, the king smiled grimly and nodded his head.

"We are all of one mind, then. To-morrow we engage the enemy. And now to horse! We must reconnoitre the position which General Keller has chosen, and part of our troops must cross to-night."

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CXXXI. ,

"THE DARKEST HOUR IS BEFORE DAY."

A few moments later the officers were mounted, and the king's horse stood before his door. Frederick, coming forward, with something of his youthful elasticity, tried to raise himself in the saddle; but he stopped, and with an expression of great suffering withdrew his foot from the stirrup.

The old hero had forgotten that the gout was holding him prisoner. His face flushed with disappointment, as he called his lackeys to his help. But once in the saddle, the king struck his spurs with such violence into his horse's flanks, that the animal leaped into the air, and bounded off in a swift gallop.

Whether Frederick had intended to prove to his officers that he was as bold a horseman as ever, or whether be had yielded to a momentary impulse of anger, he suffered keenly for his bravado; for at every bound of the horse, his agony increased. Finally he could endure no more. He came to a complete stand, and requested his suite to slacken their pace. They rode on in perfect silence, the officers casting stolen glances at the king, whose lips quivered, while his face grew every moment paler with suppressed anguish. But he bore it all without a sigh, until they had reached the point for which they started. Having accurately surveyed it, Frederick turned his horse's head, and rode back to his quarters.

This time he had not only to be lifted from his horse, but to be carried to his room. Once there, he signed to his attendants to leave him. He felt the imperious necessity of being alone with his afflicted mind and body. He leaned his head back, and murmured

"Malheureux, laisse en paux ton cheval vieillissant!"

Then, closing his eyes, he quoted the sacred Scriptures for the first time in his life without irreverent intention.

"The spirit is willing," sighed the wretched unbeliever, "but the flesh is weak."

He remained pondering over those truthful words for several moments; then casting his eyes over the various objects that lay upon his table, they lit upon the little leather-covered box, which contained his flute. For some time past his perplexities had been so great that he had held no intercourse with this object of his life-long affection; but now he felt as if its tones would be consolatory. And with trembling, eager hands he unfastened the case, and raised the instrument to his lips. But alas! the flute, like its adorer, was superannuated. Wearily came its feeble notes upon the air, each one hoarse as the wind whistling through a ruined abbey. [Footnote: It was during the war of the Bavarian Succession that Frederick found himself compelled to give up the flute. His embouchure had been destroyed by the loss of his front teeth, and his hands trembled so that he could scarcely hold the instrument.]

Frederick had played but a few bars of his adagio when his hands fell slowly, and the flute rolled upon the table. He contemplated it for awhile, then his eyes filled with tears, which fell rapidly down his cheeks. A mournful smile flickered over his countenance.

"Well," said he, in a low voice, "I suppose there is nothing disgraceful in the tears of an old man over the last, faithful friend of his youth."

With these words he replaced the flute in the case, and locked it, murmuring:

"Farewell, forever, my life-long solace!"

Just then, a thousand voices shouted:

"Long live the king! Long live old Fritz!"

"They are rejoicing over the approaching battle," thought Frederick. "But their hopes, like mine, are destined to be crushed. Instead of crossing the Elbe, we must retire to Silesia. Old age has vanquished me--and from such a defeat no man can ever rally.

"Well, well! We must take the world as it comes, and if I can neither light nor play on the flute, I can still talk and write. My eulogy on Voltaire is not yet completed--I must finish it to-day, that it may be read before the Academy at Berlin, on the anniversary of his death." [Footnote: Voltaire died in May, 1779 and Frederick, while in camp in Bohemia, wrote a poem on his death.]

Selecting from among his papers the manuscript he wanted, Frederick took up his pen and began to write.

Gradually the songs and shouts of the soldiers ceased, and the king was consoling himself for the loss of music by flinging himself into the arms of poetry, when a knock was heard at his door, and his valet announced the secretary of Count Gallitzin.

Frederick's heart throbbed with joy, and his great eagle eyes were so strangely lit up, that the valet could not imagine what had caused such an illumination of his royal master's features.

"Thugut," cried the king; "is Thugut here again? Admit him immediately."

By the time that Baron Thugut had appeared at the door, Frederick had so forced down his joy, that he received the envoy of the empress-queen with creditable indifference.

"Well, baron," said he, with a careless nod, "you come again. When the foul fiend comes for the third time, he must either bag a man's soul, or give it up forever."

"I feel flattered, sire, by the comparison your majesty makes of me to so great and powerful a potentate," replied the baron, laughing.

"You believe in the devil, then, although you deny the Lord."

"Certainly, sire, for I have never yet seen a trace of the one, and the other I meet everywhere."

"For an ambassador of Maria Theresa, your opinions are tolerably heterodox," said Frederick. "But tell me what brings you hither? You must not expect me to continue our interrupted negotiations. If the empress-queen sends you to claim ever so small a portion of Bavaria, I tell you, beforehand, that it is useless to say a word. Austria must renounce her pretensions or continue the war."

"Sire, I come with new propositions. Here are my credentials, if your majesty is at leisure to examine them, and here is a letter from the hand of my revered sovereign."

"And what is that?" asked Frederick, pointing to a roll of papers, tied up with twine.

"Those are my documents, together with the papers relating to the past negotiations."

"I think that I have already refused to go over these negotiations," said Frederick, sharply; and without further ceremony, he broke the seal of the empress's letter. While the king read, Thugut busied himself untying his roll and spreading his papers out upon the table.

"This is nothing but a letter of credentials," observed the king, putting it down. "The empress refers me to you for verbal explanations. I am ready to hear them."

"Sire, the empress-queen, animated by a heartfelt desire to restore peace to Germany, has called upon France and Russia to settle the difficulties which, to her sincere regret, have arisen between herself and your majesty. These two powers, having responded favorably to my sovereign's request--"

"Say, rather," interrupted Frederick, "that these two powers having given to her majesty of Austria the somewhat peremptory advice to relinquish her pretensions to Bavaria--"

Baron Thugut bowed, and resumed: "That the two powers may have the opportunity of conducting their negotiations without any new complications from military movements, her majesty, the empress, proposes an armistice, to begin from to-day."

Up to this moment the king's eyes had been fixed upon Thugut; but as he heard these few last words, he dropped them suddenly. He was so overjoyed, that he was afraid to betray his raptures to the diplomatist. He recovered himself in time. "Did you come through my camp?" said he to the baron.

"Yes, sire."

"You heard the, shouts and songs of my brave Prussians. Were you told that I intend to cross the Elbe, and offer battle to your emperor to-morrow?"

"Yes, sire, I was told so."

"And at the very moment when I am prepared to fight, you come to me with proposals of armistice! You perceive that I could only be brought to consent to a truce through my consideration for the empress, provided she offered sound guaranties for the conclusion of an honorable peace. Let us hear your proposals."

The interview between the king and the secret envoy of the empress was long and animated. When the latter was about to take leave, Frederick nodded condescendingly, saying:

"Well! I consent to make this sacrifice to the wishes of the empress. You can inform her, that instead of giving battle to the emperor, as I had hoped to do on the morrow, I shall retreat to Silesia, and retire into winter quarters."

"And your majesty promises equitable conditions, and will consult with the Russian ambassador?"

"I promise, and the empress-queen may rely upon me. Farewell." The envoy turned to depart, but before he reached the door the king called him back.

"Baron," said he with a significant smile, "you have forgotten something." Here he pointed to the twine which had fallen on the floor, and lay near the baron's chair. "Take what belongs to you; I never enrich myself with the possessions of others."

When the door closed, the king raised his eyes to heaven. "Is it chance, or Providence, that has succored me to-day?" thought he. "Which of the two has vouchsafed me such honorable deliverance in my extremity?"

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CXXXII. THE EMPEROR AND HIS MOTHER

It was a day of double rejoicing in Vienna, at once the celebration of peace, and of Maria Theresa's sixty-second birthday. For three months the seven envoys of Austria, Prussia, Russia, France, Bavaria, Zweibrucken, and Saxony, had been disentangling the threads of the Bavarian succession. For three months Joseph had hoped and prayed that the debates of the peace congress might come to naught, and its deliberations engender a veritable war. But he was destined to new disappointment. The love of peace had prevailed. Austria had renounced all her inheritance in Bavaria, save the Innviertel, and had declared her treaty with Charles Theodore to be null and void.

The people of Vienna were overjoyed. They, like their empress, preferred peace to increase of domain; and they hastened to offer her their sincerest congratulations. All the European ambassadors were in full uniform, and Maria Theresa was seated on a throne, in all her imperial regalia.

She was radiant with smiles, and happiness flashed from her still bright eyes; but on this day of rejoicing there was one void that pained the empress--it was the absence of her eldest son. Since his return to Vienna, three months before, there had never yet been a word of explanation between Joseph and his mother. He had studiously avoided being alone with her, had never made his appearance in council, and when documents had been presented to him for signature, he had no sooner perceived the sign-manual of the empress, than he had added his own without examination or comment.

It was this cold submission which tortured the heart of Maria Theresa. She would have preferred recrimination to such compliance as this; it seemed so like aversion, so like despair!

When the ceremonies of the day were over, the empress sent a messenger to request the presence of her son, in her own private apartments. The messenger returned, and a few moments after, was followed by the emperor.

He entered the room, and his mother came eagerly forward, her two hands outstretched to greet him. "Thank you, my dearest child," said she, affectionately, "for coming so promptly at my request. My heart has been yearning for my son, and I have longed all day to see my co-regent and emperor at my side."

She still held out her hands, but Joseph, affecting not to see them, bowed with grave ceremony. "I am neither emperor nor co-regent," replied he; "I am but the son and subject of the empress, and as such I have already congratulated your majesty with the rest."

"Were your congratulations for my birthday, or for the restoration of peace, my son?"

"The birthday of my empress is, above all others, a day of gratulation for you," replied Joseph, evasively.

"Then peace is not agreeable to you?"

"Pardon me, I have every reason to be satisfied. Have we not exchanged compliments with all the powers of Europe, and have not the people of Vienna sung ninety-nine thousand TE DEUMS in honor of the peace of Teschen?" [Footnote: Joseph's own words.]

"I see that you do not approve of it, Joseph," said the empress, who was anxious to come to an understanding on the subject.

"I was under the impression that I had signed all your majesty's acts without giving any trouble whatever," was the cold reply.

"But you did it unwillingly, I fear, and thought of your mother as a weak and timid old woman. Is it not so, my son?"

"When I signed the treaty I thought of my ancestor, Charles V. After a disastrous campaign in Africa, he was obliged to return with his fleet to Spain. He sailed, it is true, but he was the last man to go on board. So with me--I signed the articles of peace, but was the last one who signed." [Footnote: Ibid.]

"Have you nothing more to say on the subject? Are you not glad that there is to be no bloodshed?"

"A son and subject has no right to sit in judgment upon the actions of his mother and empress."

"But you are more than a subject, you are an emperor."

"No, your majesty; I am like the Venetian generals. In war, they commanded the armies, and received their salaries from the republic. When their campaigns were over, their pensions were paid and they sank back into obscurity."

"Oh, my son, these are hard and bitter words," exclaimed the empress, pressing her hands upon her heart. "I see plainly that you are displeased because I have exchanged a doubtful war for an honorable peace."

"I am not so presuming as to be displeased with your majesty's acts, and if you have obtained an honorable peace, I wish you joy of it."

Maria Theresa sighed heavily. "I perceive," said she, disconsolately, "that you are resolved not to let me see into your heart."

"Oh, your majesty," cried Joseph, with a bitter smile, "I have no heart. Where my heart once was, there stands an open grave, and, one by one, my hopes have all been buried there."

"I think it strange that the future Emperor of Austria should speak of buried hopes."

"I said nothing of an emperor, your majesty, I spoke of poor Joseph of Hapsburg and of his personal wishes. As regards the future emperor, he of course has many hopes for Austria. First among them is the wish that the epoch of his reign may be very far off! Second, is his desire to serve his country. As we are now to enjoy the blessings of peace, and I am on the list of your majesty's pensioned officers, I should like, if it do not conflict with your views, to receive an appointment as minister to some foreign power."

"Oh," exclaimed Maria Theresa, sorrowfully, "would you leave me so soon again?"

"Yes, your majesty, I desire a long leave of absence."

"Whither would you then journey, my dear child?"

"I desire to visit the Empress Catharine."

"The Empress Catharine!" echoed Maria Theresa, starting and coloring violently. "You would visit that woman?"

"Yes, your majesty. I would visit that woman as Baron Thugut did the King of Prussia; with this exception, that I do not go secretly--I first consult your majesty."

Maria Theresa would not notice this thrust of her son. She contented herself with replying: "What object can you have in going on a mission to Russia?"

"I propose to win the friendship of the empress."

"The friendship of that degraded woman! I do not covet it."

"And yet your majesty was the first to request her mediation in our affairs with Germany. As you have raised the foul fiend, and he has come at your call, you must abide the consequences, and accept him as a friend. Since Russia is to have a voice in German politics, it is better that she speak for us, than sustain our enemy, Prussia."

"But she has long been the ally of Prussia," objected the empress.

"So much the more incumbent is it upon us to disturb the alliance. To do this, is the purpose of my journey to Russia. I repeat my request for your majesty's consent."

For some moments Maria Theresa contemplated her son with inexpressible tenderness. At length she said with a sigh, "You really desire, then, to go to Russia?"

"Such is my wish, your majesty."

"Well, my child, since you desire it, I consent; but I do it unwillingly. I wish to prove to my son how gladly I gratify him, when I can do so without conflicting with my duties as a sovereign."

The emperor bowed, but spoke not a word. Maria Theresa sighed again, and an expression of deep pain crossed her face.

"When do you expect to start?" said she, sadly.

"As soon as possible; for if I am not mistaken, the time is now propitious for stepping in between Prussia and her beloved ally."

"Then I am to lose my dear son at once?" asked the mother, with tearful eyes. "I fear he leaves me without a pang; and will seldom bestow a thought upon the mother whose anxious heart follows his every movement with love."

"I shall bestow my thoughts upon my sovereign, and remember that I am pledged to obtain for her a powerful ally. But I have much to do before I start. Above all things I must see Prince Kaunitz. I beg therefore of your majesty the permission to retire."

"As the emperor pleases," said Maria Theresa, with quivering lip.

Joseph bowed, and without a word or look at his mother's sorrowing countenance, turned toward the door. Up to this moment the empress had controlled her distress, but she could master her grief no longer. She looked at the emperor with dimmed eyes and throbbing heart; and in the extremity of her maternal anguish, she cried out,

"Oh, my son, my precious boy!"

The emperor, who was opening the door, turned around. He saw his mother, her tears falling like rain, standing close by with outstretched arms. But he did not respond to the appeal. With another ceremonious bow, he said, "I take leave of your majesty." and closed the door behind him.

Maria Theresa uttered aloud cry and sank to the floor. "Oh," sobbed she, "I am a poor, desolate mother. My child loves me no longer!"

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CXXXIII. PRINCE POTEMKIN

Prince Potemkin was just out of bed. In front of him, two pages, richly dressed, bowed down to the floor as they opened the door for him to pass into his cabinet. Behind him, two more pages held up the train of his velvet dressing-gown, which, all bedecked with jewels, came trailing behind his tall, graceful figure. Behind the pages were four valets with breakfast and Turkish pipes.

And in this wise Prince Potemkin entered his cabinet. He threw himself upon an ottoman covered with India cashmere shawls, and received from a kneeling page a cup of chocolate, which was handed to his highness upon a gold waiter set with pearls. Then, as if the cup had been too troublesome to hold, he replaced it on the waiter, and ordered the page to pour the chocolate down.

The page, apparently, was accustomed to the order, for he rose briskly from his knees, and approaching the cup to Potemkin's lips, allowed the chocolate to trickle slowly down his princely throat. Meanwhile the three pages, four valets, and six officers, who had been awaiting him in his cabinet, stood around in stiff, military attitudes, each one uncomfortably conscious that he was momentarily exposed to the possible displeasure of the mighty favorite of the mighty Czarina.

Potemkin, meanwhile, vouchsafed not a look at any one of them. After he had sipped his chocolate, and the page had dried his mouth with an embroidered napkin, he opened his lips. The valet whose duty it was to present it, stepped forward with the Turkish pipe, and depositing its magnificent golden bowl upon the Persian carpet by the ottoman, placed the amber mouth-piece between the lips of his master.

Again a dead silence; and again those stiff forms stood reverentially around, while Potemkin, with an air of ennui and satiety, watched the blue wreaths that rose from his pipe to the ceiling.

"What o'clock is it?" asked he moodily.

"Mid-day, your highness," was the prompt reply.

"How many people in the anteroom?"

"A multitude of nobles, generals, and lesser petitioners, all awaiting your highness's appearance."

"How long have they been there?"

"Three hours, your highness."

His highness went on smoking, impelled probably by the reflection that three hours was too short a time for the court of Russia to wait for the ineffable blessing of his presence.

After a while he became weary of the pipe, and raised his head. Three valets rushed forward, each with an embroidered suit, to inquire whether his highness would wear the uniform of a field-marshal, that of a lord-chamberlain, or the magnificent costume of a Russian prince. Potemkin waved them off, and rose from the ottoman. His long brown hair, which flowed like the mane of a lion around his handsome face, bore here and there the traces of the down pillow upon which he had slept; his open dressing-gown exposed to view his slovenly undergarments; and his pearl-embroidered slippers were worn over a pair of soiled stockings which, hanging loosely around his legs, revealed his powerful and well-shaped calves.

In this neglige, Potemkin approached the door of his anteroom. As soon as he had been announced, a hundred weary faces grew bright with expectation; and princes, dukes, and nobles bowed before the haughty man who was even mightier than the empress; for HE bent before no mortal, while she was the slave of one will--of Potemkin's.

Silent and disdainful, Potemkin walked through the lines of obsequious courtiers that fell back as he passed, here and there condescending to greet some nobleman of wealth or influence. As for the others who raised their imploring eyes to his, he affected not to know of their insignificant presence, and returned to his cabinet without having vouchsafed a word to anybody.

"Is the jeweller there?" asked he of the officer at the door, and as the latter bowed his head, Potemkin added, "Admit him, and after him the minister of police."

With these words he passed into his cabinet, and his valets began to dress him. While his long mane was being combed into order, Potemkin amused himself playing like a juggler with three little golden balls, while the pale and trembling jeweller stood wondering what new robbery awaited him now.

"Ah, Artankopf, you are there?" said the prince, when his toilet had been completed. "I have an order for you."

The jeweller made a salam, and muttered some unintelligible words of which Potemkin took no notice.

"I saw a magnificent service of gold yesterday in your showcase."

"It is an order, your highness," said Artankopf, quickly.

"Then I cannot buy it?"

"Impossible, your highness."

"Then I order one exactly like it, above all in weight. The statuettes which ornament that service are exquisitely moulded. How much gold is there in it?"

"Sixty thousand rubles, your highness."

Potemkin's eyes sparkled. "A considerable sum," said he, stroking his mane. "I order two services of the same value. Do you hear? They must be ready on this day week."

"And the payment?" Artankopf ventured to inquire.

"I shall pay you in advance," replied Potemkin, with a laugh. "I appoint you first court-jeweller to the empress."

The jeweller did not appear to appreciate the mode of payment; he seemed terrified.

"Oh, your highness," said he, trembling, "I implore you not to make such fearful jests. I am the father of a large family, and if you exact of me to furnish you a service worth a fortune, the outlay for the gold alone will ruin me."

"You will be irretrievably ruined if you do not furnish it," laughed Potemkin, while he went on throwing his balls and catching them "If those two services are not here on the day you take a journey to Siberia, friend Artankopf."

"I will be punctual, your highness," sighed the jeweller. "But the payment--I must buy the gold."

"The payment! What, the devil--you are not paid by the appointment I give you! Go: and if you venture to murmur, think of Siberia, and that will cure your grief."

With a wave of his hand, Potemkin dismissed the unhappy jeweller, who left that princely den of extortion a broken-hearted, ruined man.

The robber, meanwhile, was counting his gains and donning his field-marshal's uniform. "One hundred and twenty thousand rubles' worth of gold!" said he to himself. "I'll have the things melted into coin--it is more portable than plate."

The door opened, and Narischkin, the minister of police, entered.

"Out, the whole gang of you!" cried Potemkin; and there was a simultaneous exodus of officers, pages, and valets. When the heavy, gold-bordered silken portiere had fallen, the tyrant spoke.

"Now let us hear your report," said he, seating himself before his toilet-mirror, where first he cleaned his dazzling white teeth, and then pared his nails.

The minister of police, in an attitude of profound respect, began to go over the occurrences of the past two days in St. Petersburg.

Potemkin listened with an occasional yawn, and finally interrupted him. "You are an old fool. What do I care for your burglars and bankrupts! You have not so much as a murder to relate to me. Can you not guess that there are other things of which I wish to hear?"

"Doubtless your highness wishes me to report the doings of the Emperor of Austria."

"You are not quite such a dunce, then, as you seem to be. Well, what has the emperor been about these two days past?"

"He leads the same life as he did in Moscow," said Narischkin. "He goes about as Count Falkenstein."

"He comes as his own ambassador," cried Potemkin, laughing, "and he could not have chosen a worse one than Count Falkenstein. [Footnote: Potemkin's own words.] What a wretched country Austria must be when its emperor travels about like an ordinary Russian gentleman!"

"He arrived in St. Petersburg with one servant carrying his portmanteau, and engaged two rooms at a hotel."

"Oh, yes. I have heard of his passion for living at hotels. It all proceeds from avarice. Were he the guest of the empress, he would be obliged to make some imperial presents here and there. When our great czarina invited him to Sarskoe-Selo, he accepted, on condition that he should be allowed to lodge at an inn. Now there happens to be no inn at Sarskoe-Selo; so the imperial gardener has hung out a sign, and the little Count of Falkenstein is to take up his lodging with him. He never will be the wiser, and will fancy himself at an inn. So that in trifles, as in matters of state, the czarina shall befool Austria, and lead him by the nose. Tell me something more of his eccentricities. Have you dazzled him with a sight of our wealth?"

"He is not to be dazzled, your highness. Even the homage he has received seems to give him no pleasure."

"Ah! Has he, then, been the object of so much consideration?"

"Her majesty ordered it, and she has even devised some delicate compliments wherewith to surprise him."

"Ah!--she seems to be inclined toward this little emperor," muttered Potemkin. "She indulges in fanciful projects of aggrandizement with him, and forgets--Well--what were the surprises which the czarina prepared for his countship?"

"Day before yesterday, he visited the Academy of Sciences. An atlas was presented to him; and when he opened it, he found a map of his own journey from Vienna to St. Petersburg, with engravings illustrating the various details of the journey." [Footnote: Theodore Mundl, "Conflicts for the Black Sea," p. 141]

"Pretty good," sneered Potemkin, "but unfortunately not original, for the little count received a similar compliment in Paris. Go on."

"Then the emperor visited the Academy of Arts, and there he found a portfolio of engravings, among which was an excellent portrait of himself with this inscription: 'Multorum providus urbes et mores honaivum inspexit.'"

"Who wrote the inscription?" asked Potemkin, hastily.

"Her majesty's self," replied Narischkin, with a deep inclination at the name. "But the emperor greets every thing with a quiet smile. When he visited the mint and saw the enormous piles of bullion there, he merely said: 'Have you always as much silver in the mint as there is to-day?'"

Potemkin laughed aloud. "That was a sly question, and shows that little Falkenstein has been peeping behind the scenes and has discovered that we were prepared for his coming."

"Yes, your highness. It would appear that Count Falkenstein does not quite believe in our enormous wealth; for after seeing the mint, he put on that mocking smile of his, and asked whether the Imperial Bank was in a condition to redeem its issue."

"What was the answer?"

"'Yes,' of course, your highness."

"It was a masterpiece of effrontery then, and I shall take the opportunity of testing its truth. Go to the bank, Narischkin, and say that I need one hundred thousand rubles for an entertainment I propose to give to the czarina. I must have it in coin. Quick--begone."

"I fly, your highness, but first be so kind as to give me the imperial order. You well know that no coin can leave the bank without the signature of the empress."

"I should like to see whether they will dare to return MY signature," cried Potemkin, fiercely.

He wrote the order, and handing it to Narischkin, said: "Take this to the bank directors; and if they ask for the signature of the empress, tell them she will send it to-morrow, but I must have the money to-day."

Narischkin bowed lower than he had ever been seen to do toward the son of the empress himself, and left the room on reverential tiptoes.

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CXXXIV. THE PRUSSIAN AMBASSADOR

When Potemkin felt himself quite alone, he leaned back in his arm-chair with an ugly frown.

"Something is going on to my disadvantage here," muttered he. "I saw it yesterday in Panin's exulting countenance.. How I hate that man! Almost as much as I do Orloff! It is a blessing for me that both are not here to plot together. Singly, I do not fear them; but together--Orloff is the loaded cannon, and Panin the lighted match, and if I am not wary--"

Here, as though he had felt the shock of the ball, Potemkin sprang from his seat, and swung his hands above his head. But presently he sank back into his chair, and continued his meditations. "I must spike Orloff before he destroys me. But to spike a cannon, one must be able to reach it; and Orloff is far away on his estates, like a spider in her wicked web. Oh, if I could but reach it, I would soon tear it to pieces! But where are its threads? How shall I find them?--Panin, too, is getting intimate with the grand duke, and so, is currying favor with the empress. Yesterday when I entered the parlor without saluting him, Paul called after me with an oath, and turned to his mother with a complaint of my insolence. And the empress did not utter one word of reproof, although she saw me near enough to hear. That is significant--it means that Catharine fears me no longer. But, by the eternal God! she shall learn that she has a master, and that her master is Potemkin!

"How dare she take Panin into her confidence? He it is who inclines her to the King of Prussia. This fancy for Prussia is the only thing she has in common with the grand duke. Love of Frederick is the bridge which Panin has built to unite them. I must try to lead her into another road of policy, and so remove Orloff and Panin. Orloff hates Austria, and if--pshaw! Why is that Joseph so niggardly that one cannot feel the slightest interest in him? If after refusing all other invitations he had paid me the compliment of accepting mine--but, no!--this haughty Austrian treats me with as little consideration as be does the rest of the world; and forces me, in spite of myself, to the side of Frederick. But there I find Orloff and Panin, and we cannot work together. They must be disgraced, and Catharine made to follow me. How shall I commence? What shall I do?"

A knock at the door put an end to his communings.

"His excellency the Count von Gortz, ambassador of his majesty the King of Prussia," said the officer, who announced the visitors of Potemkin.

"Show his excellency into the little parlor," said the latter, carelessly, "and tell him that I will receive him there."

"Ah!--Count von Gortz," thought Potemkin. "That signifies that my enemies have not yet triumphed, and that the King of Prussia thinks me powerful enough to conciliate. Well--I must have time for reflection."

And without the slightest regard to the station of his visitor, Potemkin sat for half an hour, revolving in his mind what sort of reception he should give to Frederick's overtures. In spite of the slight, Count von Gortz came forward with a gracious smile, as Potemkin, slightly nodding, passed on to a seat, and waved his hand for the count to take another.

"I am commissioned by my sovereign, the King of Prussia, to request an interview of your highness," began Von Gortz.

Potemkin nodded, but said nothing.

"His majesty has intrusted me with a most flattering commission," continued the ambassador.

"Let us hear it," replied Potemkin, with indifference.

Count von Gortz bowed, rose, and drew from his bosom a rich velvet etui which he handed to the prince.

"His majesty, my august sovereign, in acknowledgment of your highness's great and glorious deeds, wishes to convey to you a token of his admiration and friendship," said Count von Gortz, solemnly. "He has bestowed upon your highness the order of the Black Eagle, and I have the Honor to present it to you with the insignia."

Potemkin took the etui and without opening it laid it on the table beside him. "Ah," said he, with a shrug, "his majesty sends me the Black Eagle. I am much obliged to him, but really I have so many orders that I have nowhere left to wear them, and how to dispose of this new one I scarcely know. See for yourself," continued he smiling, and pointing to his breast, which indeed was covered with crosses, "do I not look like a vender of orders, carrying about his samples?" [Footnote: All Potemkin's own words. Dohm's Memoirs. vol. i., p 4l3]

"If I may be allowed to use your excellency's words, you carry about samples, not only of your treasures, but of your heroism and statesmanship. It would be a pity if among them, you should not wear a decoration of my august sovereign."

"Very well, then, to oblige the King of Prussia, I will wear the cross, and, I beg you return him my thanks. Have you anything more to say, count?"

Count von Gortz cast a searching glance around the apartment, especially upon the heavy velvet window-curtains.

"Get up and look for yourself, if you suspect the presence of any body, "said the prince.

"Your highness's word is sufficient. Allow me then to speak openly and confidentially."

"In the name of your sovereign?"

"Yes, your highness. You know that the treaty, which for eight years has allied Russia and Prussia is about to expire."

"Is it?" said Potemkin, carelessly. "I was not aware of it, for I take no interest in minor politics."

"Your highness has in view the great whole only of the field of diplomacy," replied the complaisant minister. "But for Prussia this alliance is a most important one, and my sovereign has nothing more at heart than the renewal of his alliance with Russia. He knows how much his interests here are threatened by the visit of the Emperor Joseph; and he desired me to ask of your highness whether it would be advisable for him to send Prince Henry to counteract it."

Potemkin replied to this question by a loud laugh. "What a set of timid people you are!" said he. "What formalities about nothing! When the emperor was about to visit us, the czarina must know whether it was agreeable to the King of Prussia: now the king wishes to know from me whether the visit of Prince Henry is expedient."

"Yes. His majesty wishes advice from your highness alone, although there are others who would gladly be consulted by him."

"Others? you mean Panin--have you, then, asked counsel of no one, count?"

"Of no one. My sovereign wishes to consult with no one excepting your highness."

For the first time Potemkin betrayed his satisfaction by a triumphant smile. "If your king comes to me exclusively--mark me well, EXCLUSIVELY--for advice, I am willing to serve him."

"Your highness may see that my sovereign addresses himself to you alone," replied the minister, handing him a letter in Frederick's own handwriting.

Potemkin, without any appearance of surprise, took it and broke the seal. The king began by saying that he had every reason to believe that the object of Joseph's visit to Russia was to alienate Russia from her old ally. Then he went jnto ecstasies over the genius and statesmanship of Potemkin, and besought him to uphold the interests of Prussia. Furthermore he promised his interest and influence to the prince, not only for the present, but for the future, when it was probable that he (Frederick) could serve Potemkin substantially. [Footnote: This letter is historical, and is to be found in Dohm's Memoirs, vol. i., p. 412.]

A long pause ensued after the reading of this letter. Potemkin threw himself back, and in an attitude of thoughtfulness raised his eyes to the rich pictured ceiling above him.

"I do not entirely understand the king," said he, after some time. "What does he mean by saying that he will try to make that possible which seems impossible?"

"His majesty has learned that your highness is desirous of being created Duke of Courland. He will use all his interest with Stanislaus to this effect, and indemnify the Duke de Biron, who would lose Courland, by augmenting his possessions in Silesia. The king also means that he is ready to find a bride for the future Duke of Courland among the princesses of Germany."

"Really," said Potemkin, laughing, "the mysterious phrase is significant. But the king lays too much stress upon that little duchy of Courland; if I wanted it, I could make it mine without troubling his majesty in the least. As to the bride, I doubt whether it would be agreeable to the czarina for me to marry, and this matter I leave to herself. What does the king mean by a proffer of friendship for the future?"

Count Gortz leaned forward and spoke scarcely above his breath. "His majesty means to promise his influence with the grand duke, so that in the event of his mother's death, your highness would be secure of your person and property." [Footnote: Raumer's Contributions, etc., vol. v., p. 485.]

This time the prince was unable to suppress his real feelings; he started, and a deep flush overspread his face.

"How?" said he, in a whisper, "has the king the power to read my thoughts--"

He did not conclude his sentence, but sprang from his seat and paced the room in hurried excitement. Count von Gortz also had risen and contemplated him in anxious silence.

"Did the courier from Berlin bring any letters to the czarina?" asked Potemkin, as he ceased walking and stood before Von Gortz. "Yes, your highness, and I shall deliver them, as soon as I receive the assurance of your influence with the empress."

"Very well, you have it. I will go to her at once. Meanwhile go to Count Panin, to whose department this affair belongs, and induce him to lay before the czarina a proposition for the renewal of the Prussian alliance. Then ask an audience of the empress and present your credentials. You see that I am in earnest, for I work in conjunction with my enemy; but before I make one step, you must write out the king's last promise to me, adding that you are empowered to do so by his majesty of Prussia and having signed the promise, you must deliver me the paper."

"May I inquire the object of these papers?"

Potemkin approached the count, and whispered in his ear. "It is a matter of life and death. If the grand duke should come to the throne, from the unbounded regard which he has for the King of Prussia, I know that this paper will protect me from his vengeance."

"Your highness shall have it."

"At once? For you understand that I insist have some guaranty before I act. Your king's words are not explicit."

"I shall draw up the paper, and send it to your highness before I ask an audience of the czarina."

"Then the King of Prussia may reckon upon me, and I shall serve him to-day, as I hope that in future he will serve me. Go now and return with the paper as soon as it is ready."

"I believe that Prussia means fairly," said Potemkin, when he found himself once more alone. "But that only means that Prussia needs me, and that," cried he, exultingly, "means that I am mightier than Panin, mightier than the grand duke--but am I mightier than Orloff?--Oh, this Orloff is the spectre that forever threatens my repose! He or I must fall, for Russia is too small to hold us both. But which one? Not I--by the Eternal--not I!"

Just then there was a knock at the door, and Potemkin, who was standing with his fist clinched and his teeth set, fell back into his seat.

"How dare you disturb me?" cried he, savagely.

"Pardon me, your highness, but this is your day for receiving the foreign ambassadors, and his excellency of Austria craves an audience?"

"Cobenzl? Is he alone?"

"Yes, your highness."

"In ten minutes, admit him here."

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CXXXV. THE AUSTRIAN AMBASSADOR

Ten minutes later the door was opened, and Count Cobenzl, on the point of his toes, tipped into the room. Potemkin, on the sofa, was looking the picture of indifference; his eyes half-shut and his tall form stretched out at full length, he seemed just to have awakened from sleep. But during those ten minutes he had been doing any thing but sleeping. He had been decorating himself with the cross of the Black Eagle, and had allowed the broad ribbon to which it was attached to trail upon the carpet.

"It is well, Count Cobenzl," said Potemkin, greeting the minister, "that you did not come five minutes later, for you would not have met me at all."

"Pardon me, I should then have had but five minutes to wait in your anteroom," replied Cobenzl. "I detest anterooms, and wish that I had come ten minutes later, that I might have been introduced to your presence at once."

"You would not have seen me at all, I tell you; for I am about to have an audience of the empress."

"Ah, indeed!" cried Cobenzl. "That accounts for all these brilliant decorations, then."

"You certainly did not suppose that I was wearing them in Honor of YOUR visit, did you?" asked Potemkin, with quiet insolence.

"Oh, no, I thought it a mere mise en scene."

"Ah, Count Cobenzl is still mad on the subject of the drama," replied Potemkin, laughing. "What new comedy are you about to get up at the Austrian embassy, eh?"

"A very pretty thing, just from Paris, your highness. It is called, 'The Disgraced Favorite, or the Whims of Fortune.'"

Potemkin's eyes flashed fire, but he controlled himself, and said, "Where is the scene of the drama laid?"

"I do not precisely remember. In Tartary, or Mongolia, or--"

"Or in the moon," interrupted Potemkin, laughing. "But come be seated, and let us be serious." So saying, Potemkin threw himself back again upon the divan, and pointed to an arm-chair, which Cobenzl quietly accepted. The chair happened to be close to the spot where the ribbon of the Black Eagle was lying. Cobenzl seeing that it was under his feet, picked it up, and presented it to the prince.

"You know not what you do, count. You raise your enemy when you raise that ribbon. It has just been sent to me by the King of Prussia. I am quite in despair at being obliged to wear it, for it takes up so much room. The star of the Black Eagle is very large. Do you not think so?"

"Yes, your highness, and I congratulate you upon its possession, for the close King of Prussia does not often give away his diamonds."

"It would appear that diamonds do not abound in Prussia," replied Potemkin, with a gesture of slight toward the cross on his breast. "These brilliants are rather yellow."

"Do you prefer Austrian diamonds?" asked Cobenzl, significantly.

"I have never seen any," answered Potemkin, with a yawn.

"Then I am happy to be the first to introduce them to your notice," said Cobenzl rising, and taking from his pocket a turkey-morocco case. "My august emperor has commissioned me to present to you this little casket."

"Another order!" said Potemkin, with affected horror.

"No, your highness. Orders are toys for grown-up children. But you are a great man, and a toy for you must have some scientific significance. My emperor has heard that your highness has a costly collection of minerals and precious stones. His majesty, therefore, with his own hand has selected the specimens which I have the honor to present in his name."

Potemkin, whose indifference had all vanished as he listened, opened the casket with some eagerness; and an exclamation of rapture fell from his lips, as he surveyed its costly contents. There were Indian diamonds of unusual size and brilliancy; Turkish rubies of fiery crimson; magnificent sapphires; turquoises of purest tint; large specimens of lapis-lazuli, all veined with gold; and translucent chrysoprase of bright metallic green.

"This is indeed a princely gift," cried the covetous Potemkin, perfectly dazzled by the magnificence, and intoxicated by the possession of all these riches. "Never have I seen such jewels. They blaze like the stars of heaven!"

Cobenzl bowed. "And this sapphire!" continued the prince, "the empress herself has nothing to compare to it!"

"The czarina looks upon your highness as the brightest jewel in her crown--as her incomparable sapphire. But observe this turquoise; it is one of the greenish hue so prized by connoisseurs, and its like is not to be purchased with money."

Suddenly Potemkin, ashamed of his raptures, closed the casket with a click and pushed it aside.

"You can tell your emperor," said he, "that you were an eyewitness of the gratification I have received from this superb addition to my scientific collections. And now, count, without circumlocution, how can I serve you, and what does the emperor desire of me? Such gifts as these indicate a request."

"Frankly, then, the emperor seeks your highness's friendship, and wishes you to further his majesty's plans."

"What are these plans?"

"Oh, your highness is too shrewd a statesman not to have guessed them, and not to understand that we merely shift the scene of the war. We pitch our tents at St. Petersburg with the object of winning Russia to our side."

"But here Prussia holds the battle-field; you will have to fight against superior numbers."

"Not if Prince Potemkin be our ally," replied Dobenzl, courteously. "True, Prussia has Orloff, Panin, and the grand duke--"

"And who tells you that Prussia has not Potemkin also?" cried the prince, laughing. "Do you not see that I wear the Black Eagle?"

"Yes; but your highness is too wise to be the ally of Prussia. You are too great a statesman to commit such a bevue. Orloff, who has never forgiven you for succeeding him in Catharine's favor, Orloff asks no greater triumph than that of harnessing your highness to the ear of HIS political proclivities."

"He shall never enjoy that triumph," muttered Potemkin.

"Not if the emperor can prevent it; and, therefore, his majesty hopes that your highness will sustain Austria."

"But what are Austria's plans?"

"Austria wishes to occupy the place which Prussia now enjoys as the ally of Russia. Prussia, while wooing the czarina, ogles the grand duke, and it is her interest to bring them together. I know that the matter was thoroughly discussed yesterday between Count Panin and the Prussian ambassador."

"The Prussian ambassador was yesterday in conference with Panin?"

"Not only yesterday, but to-day, I met him coming from Panin's with his order of the Black Eagle, and a letter for your highness from the king."

"Truly your spies are great detectives," cried Potemkin.

"They are well paid," was the significant reply.

"And what, for example, were the proposals of Von Gortz?"

"Von Gortz stated that as Panin, the grand duke; and himself were not a match for the emperor and your highness, you were to be won over by flattery, orders, and promises."

"True!" cried Potemkin. "Your spies are right. What else?"

"Another powerful friend of Prussia has been recalled from his estates, and summoned to Petersburg."

Potemkin sprang from the sofa with a howl of rage.

"What! Orloff summoned by Von Gortz; he who--"

"Who was enticing your highness with vain promises, had suggested to the czarina the imperative necessity of recalling Orloff, with the express intention of holding you in check."

"What an infernal plot! But it bears the stamp of Panin's treachery upon its face," muttered Potemkin, while with hasty strides he walked up and down the room.

Cobenzl watched him with a half smile, and taking up the ribbon of the Black Eagle, he passed it through his hands by way of pastime.

After much going to and fro, Potemkin stopped, and his countenance was expressive of courage and resolve.

"Count Cobenzl, I know what are the plans of Austria, and they shall be sustained. Your interests are mine, for it is no longer a question of Austria or Prussia, but of Potemkin or Orloff! You see, therefore, that I am sincere; but Austria must sustain me, and we must tread our political path together."

"Austria will go hand and heart with your highness."

"Austria must sustain me, I say, and our password shall be, `The Conquest of Turkey.' That is the spell by which I rule the czarina. My enemies often fill her mind with distrust of me, but that great project shields me from their weapons. Still I am in danger; for here in Russia, we look neither to the past nor to the future; the excitement of the hour reigns absolute. A good subject never knows how to regulate his conduct. If I were sure of blame for doing evil, or of approbation for doing good. I might know what to expect from the czarina. But when a sovereign is the slave of her passions, all ordinary modes of deducing effect from cause fall to the ground. [Footnote: Potemkin's own words. Raumer, vol. v., p. 573.] I live in a whirlpool, from which I can devise no means of escape; but, by the grave of my mother, this life shall cease! I shall resume my power over the empress, and I shall trample my enemies underfoot, were they to take shelter under the throne itself!"

While Potemkin spoke thus, he clinched his fist, and his herculean arm was raised as if to fell his invisible enemies.

"Whosoever be the foe, Austria will be at your side," said Cobenzl.

"I believe you," replied Potemkin, with returning calmness, "for it is your interest to be there. I know what you desire. First you supplant Prussia with Russia, and that entails a coolness with France, Prussia's dearest friend. Then you also dissolve with France, and we both court the alliance of England, so as to isolate France and Prussia from European politics. The plan is good, and will succeed if you are discreet."

"How discreet?"

"You must weigh well your behavior toward the czarina. I dare not advise the emperor, but let me advise you. You have often occasion to see the empress. Before you see her consult with me as to the topics of your discourse with her, and so we shall always be enabled to act in concert. Avoid ail dissimulation; let her perceive that you leave craft to the lovers of Prussia. Flatter as often as you see fit; flatter Catharine, however, not for what she is, but what she ought to be. [Footnote: Ibid.] Convince her that Austria is willing to further her ambition, not to restrain it, as Prussia has always done. Do this, and in a few months Austria will have changed roles with Prussia, and your enemies and mine shall be overthrown together."

A knock was heard at the, door, and an officer entered.

"How dare you interrupt me?" cried Potemkin, stamping his foot.

"Pardon, your highness. The private secretary of the Emperor of Austria has orders from his sovereign to hand a note to Count Cobenzl in your highness's presence."

"A very singular order. But we will gratify the emperor. Admit his majesty's messenger."

Gunther was introduced, who bowed low to Potemkin, passed on, and delivered his note.

"From his majesty's hand," said he. "Your excellency is to read it at once. It requires no answer." Then, bowing deeply, the secretary backed out of the room, and the discreet portiere fell, preventing the transmission of the slightest sound.

"Read," said Potemkin, "for doubtless the emperor has good reason for his haste."

Count Cobenzl broke the seal; but instead of a note for himself, a sealed dispatch within, bore the address of the prince. The count presented it at once, and Potemkin eagerly tore it open. He seemed electrified by its contents; so much so that Cobenzl started forward to his assistance, exclaiming: "Gracious Heaven, what has happened? Your highness is ill!"

"No, no," said Potemkin, "but read this, that I may be sure I do not dream."

Cobenzl took the letter and read:

"My dear Prince: To win your friendship, I have neither flattery, decorations, duchies, princesses, nor promises for the future; convinced as I am that your highness is able to reach the summit of your desires without help from other mortals. But I have something to impart which will prove the sincerity of my intentions toward you. An hour ago, Count Orloff arrived in St. Petersburg, and he is now in secret conference with the czarina. "Joseph II"

"I was right; it was not my secret apprehensions which conjured those spectral letters," cried Potemkin; "they are really the writing of the emperor, and Gregory Orloff is here."

He sprang forward like a bull rushing to the attack.

"Gregory Orloff is with Catharine, and I cannot slay him at her feet. But stay," exclaimed he, exultingly, and then his words resolved themselves back into thought. "My key--my key--I will force her to hear me. Count," continued he aloud, "I beg of you to excuse me, for I must go at once to the empress. Tell the emperor that if I weather the storm that is bursting over my head, I will prove to him my eternal gratitude for the service he has rendered me this day. Farewell! Pray for me; or if you like better, go home and get up a fine drama for the day of my burial."

"Nothing less than Voltaire's 'Death of Julius Caesar' would suit such an occasion; but God forbid that your highness should come to harm! I hasten to do your bidding."

Potemkin, trembling with impatience, stood watching Count Cobenzl, as with his mincing gait he tripped out of the room, and turned again at the door to make his last bow. Scarcely had the portiere fallen when he sprang across the room, and darted toward his sleeping-chamber. Near his bed stood an escritoire. He flung it open and taking thence a casket filled with gold chains, diamonds, and other jewels, he turned out the contents with such violence that they flew over the room in every direction. He found what he sought; it was a little secret compartment. He pressed the spring and it opened, revealing nothing but a key! But Potemkin snatched it up, and, unheeding the treasures worth a million, that lay scattered about the room, he passed into a little dark anteroom, thence into a corridor, up and down staircases, forward, forward, rapidly forward!

Finally he reached the end of a long, narrow corridor. Nothing here was to be seen save a blank, white wall, which separated Potemkin's dwelling from the palace of the czarina. But in the corner of this wall was a scarcely perceptible recess. He pressed it with his finger, when the wall parted, revealing a door--the door which led to Catharine's own private apartments. Potemkin's key unlocked it, and he darted through the opening--on, on, until he reached another door, which also yielded to his key; and then, breathing freely, he looked around the cabinet of the czarina, and exclaimed, "I am saved!"

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CXXXVI. THE EMPRESS CATHARINE

The magnificent state-apartments of the empress were silent and empty, for she had given out that she needed solitude to work, she would hold no levee to-day. But she was not alone; she was in a cabinet which led to her bedchamber; and with her was Count Orloff, her former lover and the murderer of her husband.

The empress lay half buried in the depths of a crimson velvet couch; and her large blue eyes were fixed with an expression of tenderness upon Orloff, who sat opposite to her. In spite of her fifty years, Catharine was a very handsome woman. Age had respected her fair, imperial brow, and the fingers of time had relented as they passed over it. Her eyes were as bright and beautiful as ever; her lips as red, and their smile as fascinating, as in the days of her youth; and in her bosom beat the passionate, craving, restless heart of a maiden of seventeen. This heart was as capable of love as of hate, and her graceful person as fitted to inspire love as it had ever been. Just now Catharine was anxious to please. She thought over the golden hours of her youthful passion, and tried to win a smile from Orloff's stern face. She forgot in him the man who had placed a bloody crown upon her head, she saw but the paramour who had wreathed her brow with the myrtles and roses of requited love.

They had spoken of indifferent things, but Catharine had grown silent, and the silence was becoming embarrassing to Orloff.

"Your majesty commanded my presence," began he.

Catharine raised her beautiful white arm from the cushion where it lay, and motioned him to approach.

"Hush, Orloff," said she, in a low voice. "No one hears us, do not call me majesty."

"My revered sovereign," stammered Orloff, "I--"

"Sovereign! Do I look as if I were your sovereign, Orloff? No, no, I am here as the woman who is not ashamed of the love we once cherished for each other. The world says that I am not pious, and verily I believe that Voltaire has corrupted me; but I have one steadfast faith, and I cling to it as fanatics do to Christianity. My religion is the religion of memory, Gregory; and you were its first hierophant."

Orloff muttered some unintelligible words; for truth to tell, he did not quite comprehend the vagaries of his imperial mistress. He was a man of deeds, fit for action and strife; but there was neither imagination nor poetry in his nature. He saw, however, that Catharine smiled and beckoned. He hastened forward, and bending the knee, kissed her hand.

"Gregory," said she, tenderly, "I sent for you to talk of the prospects of your son."

"Your majesty speaks of Basil Bobinsky?" asked Orloff, with a smile.

"Yes," replied Catharine, "of your son, or rather, if you prefer it, of our son."

"Your majesty acknowledges him, and yet you have thrust his father from your heart. You sacrificed me to a man whom I hate--not because he is my successful rival, but because he does not deserve the love of my empress; because he is a heartless spendthrift, and a wretch who is ready to sell his sovereign's honor at any moment, provided the price offered him be worth the treachery. Oh! it maddens me when I think that Gregory Orloff was displaced for a Potemkin!"

Catharine laid her jewelled hand upon Orloff's lips. "Hush, Orloff, do not vituperate. I have called for you to-day to give me peace. I do not wish the two men who share my heart to stand forever glaring at each other in implacable hatred. I wish to unite you through the sweet influences of a young couple's love. I beseech you, Gregory, do not refuse me the boon I crave. Give your consent for Basil to marry the Countess Alexandra, Potemkin's niece."

"Never!" thundered Orloff, starting to his feet, and retreating like an animal at bay. "Never will I consent for my bastard to marry the wench of such a contemptible fool as Potemkin!" [Footnote: Orloff's own words. Raumer's Contributions, etc., vol. v., p. 412.]

Catharine rose from her couch with a look of tender reproach. "You will not grant my heart's dearest wish?" said she.

"I cannot do it, Catharine." cried Orloff, wildly. "My blood boils at the very thought of being connected to Potemkin. No, indeed! No tie shall ever bind me to him, that hinders my hand, should you one day ask of me, to sever his head from his body."

Catharine again put her hand before Orloff's mouth. "Hush, you fulminating Jove!" said she. "Must you be forever forging thunderbolts, or waging war with Titans? But you know too well that in your godlike moods you are irresistible. What a triumph it is to win a boon from such a man! Invest me with this glory Orloff; and I give up my plan for a marriage between Basil and Potemkin's niece."

"Niece," echoed Orloff, "say his mistress!"

"Not so," exclaimed Catharine. "So treacherous, I will not believe Potemkin to be!"

"Nevertheless, Alexandra is his mistress, and the whole court knows it."

"If I find it so, Potemkin shall feel the weight of my vengeance, and nothing shall save him!" cried Catharine, her eyes darting fire. "But I tell you it is not so. He has his faults, but this is not one of them."

"Then you confess that the great Potemkin has faults, do you!"

"It was precisely because of his faults that I sent for you!"

"Me!"

"You--Gregory Orloff, the truest of the true! You have done me good service in your life; to you I am indebted for my crown, and you are its brightest jewel. But I have a favor now to ask of you which concerns my happiness more than any thing you have ever done for me before, my Gregory."

"Speak, my empress, speak, and I will die to serve you;" replied Orloff, inspired by Catharine's earnestness.

She laid her white hand upon his shoulder, and said in her most enticing tones: "Be the friend of Potemkin. Let him learn by your example to be more careful of the great trusts which he holds from me; more conciliating, and more grateful. For, indeed, in return for all the favors I bestow upon him, he makes my life one long martyrdom. For God's sake, Orloff, be friendly with Potemkin, and try to rescue me from the tempests which daily and hourly burst over my devoted head." [Footnote: Catharine's own words.] She leaned her head upon his bosom, and looked imploringly into his face.

"Your majesty," said Orloff, warmly, "you know that I am your slave. If Potemkin is obnoxious to you, speak the word, and I annihilate him. But my reputation will not permit me to consort with a man whom I despise, and whom I should be forced, nevertheless, to regard as the first subject of the empire. Pardon me if I cannot grant your majesty's petition."

"Go, then, cruel man, and leave me to my fate," said Catharine in tears.

"Since your majesty desires it, I retire." And Orloff bowing, turned to leave the room, but Catharine threw herself upon the sofa with a sob and he returned.

"Do you weep for Potemkin?" said he. "Spare your tears. He loves no one but himself, and his only aim in life is to enervate and weaken YOUR mind, that he may reign in your stead."

"Oh, Orloff, be merciful!" said Catharine, clasping her hands.

But Orloff continued: "Potemkin has essentially damaged your fleet; he has ruined your army; and what is worse, he has lowered you in the estimation of your subjects, and of the world. If you are willing to be rid of so dangerous a man, my life is at your disposal: but if you must temporize with him, I do nothing to further measures which are to be carried out by flattery and hypocrisy."

"I believe you, unhappily I believe you," said Catharine, weeping. "Potemkin deserves all that you say of him, but I have not the heart to punish him as he deserves. I cannot bid you destroy the giant whose shadow darkens my throne. You see, Orloff, that I am a poor, weak woman, and have not the strength to punish the guilty."

"I see that your majesty prizes the oppressor of my country far more than that country's self; and since it is so, I have nothing more to do here. Farewell, Catharine--I must return to Gatzchina."

He kissed the hand of the empress, and passed into the adjoining apartment. He went slowly through the magnificent state-rooms, through which he had to pass to the corridor, and with weeping eyes Catharine followed his tall form from door to door. She would have leaned for support upon that strong man, but he refused to shelter her, and she felt a sense of desolation which seemed to her a presentiment of evil.

"Orloff, Orloff!" cried she, imploringly; and she hastened after him. He was passing out into the corridor, when he heard her voice, and saw her coming fleet as a dove toward him.

"Orloff," said she, panting for breath, "do not leave St. Petersburg to-day. Remain for three days, and, perhaps, in that time I may gather courage to accept your help, and rid myself of this man."

"I will await your majesty's decision," replied Orloff; "and if then my sword is not required in your service, I shall leave St. Petersburg forever."

He bowed, and the heavy portiere fell behind him as he passed from the czarina's sight. Slowly she returned to her cabinet, murmuring, "Three days he will wait to know if--"

But suddenly she started, appalled at the sight of an apparition that occupied the divan on which she was about to repose her weary limbs. She uttered a wild scream of terror, for on this divan sat--Potemkin.

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CXXXVII. THE CZARINA AND HER MASTER

With flashing eyes, folded arms, and pale, stern, face, sat Potemkin, and his glance seemed about to annihilate the terrified woman, who had neither strength to call for help nor self-possession to greet her unwelcome visitor. He rose, however, and came forward. Catharine trembled and shuddered as he passed her by, locked the door and put the key in his pocket.

The empress looked around, and in deadly fear saw that there was no hope of rescue. She was alone with Potemkin, entirely alone!

Not a word had yet been spoken, but this fearful silence affrighted her more than a tempest of angry words would have done.

At last Potemkin stood directly before her, and spoke. "If Potemkin is obnoxious to you, speak the word, and I annihilate him."

"Oh!" screamed Catharine, "he knows all."

"Yes, I know all--I heard Orloff offer to be my executioner. Pray, why did you not accept the offer at once?"

He had come so near, that Catharine felt his hot breath upon her brow, like the blast from a furnace.

"I ask you again," said he, stamping his foot with fury, "why do you not let the axe of your executioner fall upon my neck? Answer me!"

Catharine was speechless with fright, and Potemkin, exasperated at her silence, raised his clinched hand, and looked so fierce, that the czarina fell backward almost upon her knees, murmuring--"Potemkin, would you kill me!"

"And if I did," cried he, grinding his teeth, "would death not be the just punishment of your treachery? Your treachery to me, who have given you my heart, my soul, my life, while you betray and accuse me, not face to face, as would an honorable woman, but behind my back as becomes a coward and a hypocrite! Look at me, and answer my question, I command you!"

Again he raised his hand, and his deep voice rolled like angry thunder in her ear. Catharine, against her will, obeyed his voice, and raised her eyes to his. She saw his lofty brow, like that of an angry demi-god, his dark, dangerous, fiery eyes, his glistening teeth, his magnificent frame, lithe, athletic, and graceful as that of "The statue that enchants the world," and a sensation of shuddering ecstasy flooded her whole being. Forgotten were her fears, her terror, her dream of vengeance; and, regardless of the hand which was still raised to threaten her, she cried out, in tones of mingled love and anguish:

"Oh, Alexandrowitsch, how preter-human is your beauty! You stand, like an avenging god, before me; and I--I can only worship and tremble!"

With faltering steps she approached, and folding her arms around his stalwart form, she laid her head upon his breast, and wept.

"See," murmured she, "I am here to receive the stroke. Let me die by your hand, Gregory Alexandrowitsch, for since you love me no longer, I am weary of life!"

Potemkin heaved a sigh, and freeing himself from Catharine's arms, fell back upon the sofa, buried his face in his hands, and sobbed convulsively.

"Why do you weep, Potemkin?" said Catharine, hastening to his side.

"Why I weep!" exclaimed he. "I weep because of my own crime. Despair had well-nigh made of me a traitor. Why does not this hand wither, which was uplifted to touch the anointed of the Lord! Why does not Heaven smite the wretch whose misery had tempted him to such irreverence of his sovereign!"

And Potemkin flung himself at Catharine's feet, crying out:

"Kill me, Catharine, that I may not go mad for remorse of my treason!"

Catharine smiled, and tried to raise him up.

"No," said she, tenderly, "live, and live for me."

But Potemkin still clung to her feet.

"No, let me lie here as the sinner lies before the altar of the Most High! I am a traitor--but despair has made me criminal. As I stood behind the tapestry, and heard how my empress accused me, I felt that the spectral hand of madness was hovering above my brain. Oh, Catharine, it is you whom I adore, you who have made of me a lunatic!"

Again he buried his face in Catharine's robes, and wept. She, perfectly disarmed, leaned over him, caressing him with her hands, and imploring him to be comforted.

"Let me lie here and weep," continued her Alexandrowitsch, "not for me, but for my Catharine--the star of my life! She, whom my enemies would deceive; that deceiving they might ruin her, when her only friend is lost to her forever!"

"Of whom do you speak?" asked the czarina, frightened.

"I speak of those who hate me, because I will not join them in their treachery toward my empress--of those who hold out to me gold and diamonds, and who hate me because I will not sell my loyalty for pelf. Oh, I was flattered with orders and honors, promises and presents. But I would not listen. What cared I for future security? What mattered it to me that I was to be the victim of Paul's vengeance? I thought of you alone; and more to me was the safety of your crown than that of my worthless life! I was loyal and incorruptible!"

Catharine had listened with distended eyes and lips parted in suspense. When Potemkin named her son, her whole bearing changed. From the love-stricken woman she leaped at once into the magnificent Czarina.

"Potemkin," said she, imperiously, "I command you to rise and answer my questions."

Potemkin rose with the promptness of a well-trained slave, and said, humbly:

"Imperial mistress, speak--and, by the grave of my mother, I will answer truthfully."

"What means your allusion to the Grand Duke Paul? Who are the enemies that sought to corrupt you? What are their aims?"

"The grand duke is weary of his subordinate position, and yearns for the crown which he thinks it is his right to wear."

Catharine's two hands clutched at her head, as though to defend her crown.

"He shall not have it!" she screamed. "He will not dare to raise his impious hands to snatch his mother's rights away!"

"He will find other hands to do it; for you well know, Catharine, that the crime from which we recoil ourselves, we transfer to other hands, while we accept its fruits."

Catharine shuddered, and grew pale.

"Yes, yes," murmured she to herself, "yes, I know it--well I know it, for it has murdered sleep for me!"

"And the grand duke has accomplices, Catharine. Not one, nor two--but half of your subjects mutter within themselves that the crown you wear has been Paul's since his majority. Russia is one grand conspiracy against you, and your enemies have pitched their tents at the foot of your throne. They may well hate the only man who stands between you and destruction. Their arrows have glanced harmlessly from the adamantine shield of his loyalty, and there remained but the alternative of calumniating him to his empress. Oh, Catharine, my angel; beware of Paul, who has never forgotten how his father lost his life! Beware of Orloff, who has never forgiven you for loving me! Both these traitors, with Panin to truckle to them, are in league with Von Gortz to force you into a league destructive of Russian aggrandizement. Oh, my beloved! sun of my existence! mount into the heaven of your own greatness, and let not the cloud of intrigue obscure your light. And when safe in the noonday of your splendor, you think of this day, let one warm ray of memory stream upon the grave of the man who died because his empress ceased to love him!"

At the conclusion of his peroration, Potemkin knelt down and passionately kissed the hem of Catharine's robe. Then, springing up, he clasped his hands, and turned away. But the empress darted after him like an enraged lioness, and, catching his arm, gasped:

"What! you would leave me, Alexandrowitsch?"

"Yes--I go to Orloff, to receive my death! The empress has willed it, and she shall find me obedient even unto my latest breath."

"No, Gregory," said Catharine, weeping profusely, "you shall remain to shield me from my enemies."

So saying, she put her arms around his neck, but he drew them away.

"No, Catharine, no! After what I have heard to-day. I do not desire to live. Let me die! let me die!"

"Potemkin," cried she, struggling to detain him, "I shall never, never mistrust you again. And I promise you that Gregory Orloff shall never pass this threshold again."

"How? Do you promise to sacrifice Orloff to me?" cried Potemkin, eagerly, cured in a thrice of his desire for death.

"I do, Gregory, I do. There shall be but one Gregory to reign over my court and my heart, and he shall be Gregory Potemkin!"

"You swear it, Catharine?"

"My imperial word thereupon. Now will you remain and protect me?"

"Yes, I remain, to confound your enemies. It shall not be said that I am flown in the hour when your noble head is endangered. I shall remain for your sake, for the peril is very great, Catharine."

"Gracious Heaven, Gregory, what danger threatens me?"

"You ask me such a question while Paul lives, and has Orloff and Panin for his accomplices, and Frederick for his friend?"

"Oh, no, dear Gregory, your anxiety leads you into error. I know that Paul hates me, but I do not believe that Prussia is his ally; for it is clearly the interest of Prussia to conciliate me, and he is too wise to entangle himself in such conspiracies just at the expiration of our treaty."

"Oh, you noble, unsuspecting woman!" cried Potemkin, ardently, "you know nothing of the egotism of the world. You believe in the honesty of Frederick, while he speculates upon the consequences of your death!"

The empress grew pale and her eyes flashed with anger. "Prove it to me," said she, imperiously.

Potemkin drew from his bosom the letter he had that morning received from Frederick. Catharine read it, and then said, "Much flattery, and many mysterious promises. What do they mean?"

"Count von Gortz was so good as to explain. The king offered to make me Duke of Courland, to give me a German princess in marriage, and to secure me the favor of your successor."

"That is not possible!" exclaimed Catharine, "those were idle words."

"Oh, no, your majesty, I will prove to you that they are not, as soon as Von Gortz is announced."

The empress looked at the clock, which pointed to two.

"It is exactly the hour I appointed to receive him." said she. "He must be in the anteroom."

"Have I your permission to go to him?"

The empress nodded, and Potemkin, drawing the key from his pocket, unlocked the door and disappeared. Catharine locked after him, and heaving a bitter sigh, said: "No more hope of rescue! He rules over me like irresistible destiny!"

In a few moments Potemkin returned with the paper. Catharine having looked over it, returned it with a smile.

"I thank the King of Prussia for this," said she, gently, "for my last hours will no longer be embittered by anxiety for your safety, Alexandrowitsch. Preserve this paper with care."

Potemkin took it from her hand and tore it to pieces.

"Are you mad?" cried Catharine, "that you tear this promise of protection from Paul?"

"When Catharine dies, I no longer desire to live, and I hope that Paul may release me of life at once--I shall die rejoicing."

"Oh, Gregory," exclaimed Catharine, again moved to tears, "I shall never forget these words! You have sacrificed much for me, and you shall have princely reward; on my word you shall! Let the grand duke be careful to utter no inconsiderate words, for the steppes of Siberia are as accessible to the prince as to the peasant; and every traitor, were he the heir of the crown itself, is amenable to justice before me! And Panin, with his eternal pratings of honesty and frankness, let him, too, beware, for he wavers on the edge of a precipice!" "And Prussia?" asked Potemkin, with a significant smile.

Catharine smiled in return. "I cannot chide HIM, Potemkin, for he would have befriended YOU."

"And the treaty? Do you intend to renew it with this wise, far-seeing prince?"

"I cannot say. It depends upon the offers he makes. Stay in this room, Gregory; and I will receive Von Gortz in the next one, where you can hear what passes between us."

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CXXXVIII. A DIPLOMATIC DEFEAT

The empress entered the small audience-chamber adjoining her cabinet, and ringing a bell, gave orders that Count von Gortz and Count Partin should be admitted. Then she glided to an arm-chair, the only one in the room, and awaited her visitors, who, conformable to the etiquette of the Russian court, bowed three times before the all-powerful czarina. Panin's salutation was that of a serf who is accustomed to kiss the dust from his tyrant's feet; Von Gortz, on the contrary, had the bearing of a man of the world, accustomed to concede homage and to exact it.

"Well, count," said the empress, graciously, "what pleasant news do you bring from Sans-Souci? Has your accomplished sovereign recovered from his indisposition?"

"The king has recovered, and will be overjoyed to learn that your majesty takes so much interest in his health."

"Oh," exclaimed Catharine, "the great Frederick knows how much interest I feel in his life--perhaps as much as he has in my death!"

Count von Gortz looked in astonishment at the smiling face of the empress. "What! Your majesty says that my sovereign has an interest in your majesty's death!"

"Did I say so?" said Catharine, carelessly. "It was a slip of the tongue, my dear count. I should have said TAKES, not HAS; for many people fancy they have what they would like to take. I should have said then, that the king cannot TAKE more interest in my death than I do in his life."

"The king, your majesty, is much older than you, and war has added to his years."

"If war adds to our years," replied Catharine, laughing, "then I certainly must be superannuated."

"I trust that the time has arrived when their majesties of Russia and Prussia may sheathe the sword, and enjoy the unspeakable blessings of permanent peace," said Von Gortz, with emphasis.

"Are you of the same mind, Panin?" asked Catharine, quickly.

"I know from my sovereign's noble heart that she would gladly bestow peace upon the world, and I believe that the time has come when that is possible," replied Panin, evasively.

"It is true, we have for the moment no pretext for war. The troubles between the Porte and myself were settled at the last peace convention, and he will take good care not to provoke a renewal of hostilities. We have no reason to apprehend any breach of peace in Poland, and our relations with the other European powers are equally friendly. England, Holland, and France seek our good-will; Prussia is our firm ally; and Austria, by sending her emperor himself, has given the most flattering proof of her consideration for Russia. It would appear that we enter upon an epoch of universal concord."

"And to give stability to this great blessing," replied Von Gortz, "it is the duty of all sovereigns to fuse their separate interests into one great alliance, whose watchword shall be 'Peace!' In presence of those who are bound together by the tie of one common policy, no ambitious enemy will venture to disturb the great international rest."

"I think we are already able to present the scarecrow of such an alliance to covetous princes, for we have a firm ally in Prussia, have we not?" said Catharine, smiling.

"Our treaty was but for eight years, your majesty," interposed Panin, "and the eight years have expired."

"Have they, indeed?" exclaimed Catharine, surprised. "Well--certainly years do fly, and before we have time to think of death, our graves open to receive us. I feel that I am growing old, and the King of Prussia would be wise if he were to direct his new negotiations toward my successor, and make him the partner of his magnanimous schemes for universal peace."

"Your majesty is pleased to jest," said Von Gortz, reverentially. "But to show you how heartily my sovereign desires to cement his friendship with the mighty Empress of Russia, I am empowered by him to make new proposals for a renewal of the eight years' treaty."

"Are you acquainted with these proposals, Panin?" asked Catharine.

"No, your majesty. I only know from Count von Gortz that his proposals are merely preliminary, and not until they obtain your majesty's approbation, will the king present them formally."

"Very well, count, let us hear your preliminaries," said Catharine.

"My sovereign desires nothing so much as a permanent alliance with Russia, which shall give peace to Europe, and deter over-ambitious princes from trenching upon the possessions of other crowns. To secure this end, my sovereign thinks that nothing would be so favorable as an offensive and defensive alliance, with a guaranty of permanent boundary-lines between Russia, Prussia, Poland, and Turkey. Such an alliance, in the opinion of my sovereign, would give durable peace to Western Europe. If the conditions be acceptable to your majesty, my sovereign will make like propositions to Poland and Turkey, and the treaty can be signed at once; for it has been ascertained that France approves, and as for Austria, the very nature of the alliance and its strength will force her to respect the rights of nations, and give up her pretensions to territorial aggrandizement."

The czarina had listened to this harangue with growing displeasure. Her impatience had not escaped the eyes of Panin, and he saw that the scheme would be unsuccessful. He had promised to second the proposals of the Prussian minister, but the stormy brow of the empress was mightier than his promise, and he boldly determined to change his front.

When Count von Gortz ceased, a silence ensued; for the czarina was too incensed to speak. She looked first at the Prussian ambassador, and then at her minister of foreign affairs, who was turning over in his mind what he should say.

"And these are the proposals of the King of Prussia?" cried she, when she found breath to vent her indignation. "Instead of a simple renewal of our mutual obligations, you wish to entangle us into alliances with Turkey! Count Panin, you are my minister. I therefore leave it to you to answer the Prussian ambassador as beseems the dignity and interest of my crown."

She leaned back in her arm-chair, and bent a piercing glance upon the face of her minister. But he bore the test without change of feature, and turning with perfect composure to his ex-confederate, he said:

"As my sovereign has commanded me to deliver her reply, I must express my surprise at the extraordinary preliminaries presented by your excellency. His majesty of Prussia proposes an alliance of Russia with Turkey. The thing is so preposterous that I cannot conceive how so wise a prince as your sovereign could ever have entertained the idea!" [Footnote: Panin's own words. "Dohm's Memoirs," vol. i. pp. 400, 401]

"Good, Panin!" said Catharine, nodding her head.

Panin, encouraged by the applause, went on: "Peace between Russia and Turkey can never be any thing but an armistice; an alliance with the Porte, therefore, is incompatible either with our policy or with the sentiments of my revered sovereign." [Footnote: Panin's own words. "Dohm's Memoirs." vol. i.. pp. 400, 401]

"In this case," replied Von Gortz, bowing, "my sovereign withdraws the proposal which was merely thrown out as an idea upon which he was desirous of hearing the opinion of his august ally, the empress."

"Then you know my opinion upon this 'idea.'" cried Catharine, rising from her seat, and darting fiery glances at the ambassador. "Count Panin has expressed it distinctly, and I desire you to repeat his words to the King of Prussia. And that the great Frederick may see that I make no secret of my policy, he shall hear it. Know, then, that my last treaty of peace with Turkey was but a hollow truce, whereby I hoped to gain time and strength to carry out the plans which I shall never abandon while I live. The king has guessed them, and therefore he has sent me these unworthy proposals. Russia has not reached the limit of her boundaries; her ambition is co-extensive with the world, and she means to grow and prosper, nor yet be content when Poland bows her neck to the yoke, and the crescent has given place to the Greek cross!"

So saying, the czarina bowed her bead, and haughtily left the room. When she raised the portiere, there sat Potemkin in the fulness of his satisfaction, ready to greet her with his most beaming smiles. Catharine motioned him to follow, and they returned to the cabinet. Once there, the czarina threw herself upon the divan and sighed:

"Shut the door, Potemkin, close the portiere, for in good sooth I know not whether I am about to laugh or cry. I feel as if I had been hearing a fable in which all my schemes were transformed into card houses, and were blown away by the wind! But indeed I must laugh! The good King of Prussia! Only think, Gregory, an offensive and defensive alliance with Turkey. Is it not enough to make you laugh until you cry?"

"I cannot laugh at such a disregard for the sacred rights of man," replied Potemkin, "This proposal of Prussia is an outrage to the faith of the whole Russian nation, and a challenge to you, my noble sovereign, whose bold hand is destined to tear down the symbol of the Moslem, and replace it with that of the Christian!"

"And believe me, dearest friend, I am ever mindful of that destiny," replied Catharine.

"And the treaty between Russia and Prussia--"

"Will not be renewed."

"Check to the king, then," cried Potemkin, "and checkmate will soon follow."

"Yes, the king is old, and would gladly end his days in a myrtle-grove; while I long to continue my flight, higher and higher, till I reach the sun. But who will go with me to these dizzy heights of power--"

"His majesty, the Emperor of Austria," said the loud voice of a gentleman in waiting, who knocked at the door of the cabinet.

"The emperor!" exclaimed Catharine. "You know I granted his request to come to me unannounced; but I have given orders to the sentries to send the word forward, nevertheless, so that I always know when he is about to appear."

"Farewell, Catharine," said Potemkin. "The crow must give place to the imperial falcon. Why am I not an emperor, to offer you my hand, and be your only protector?"

"Could I love you more if you were an emperor, Gregory? But, hush! He comes, and as soon as his visit is ended, return to me, for I must see you."

Potemkin kissed her hand again and again, and vanished through the tapestry by a secret door, which led to a small corridor connected with the czarina's private apartments. But instead of crossing this corridor, he turned into a little boudoir, through which the emperor would have to pass and there awaited his appearance. He came, and seeing Potemkin, looked surprised, but bowed with a gracious smile.

Potemkin laid his finger upon his lip, and pointed to the cabinet. "Sire," said he in a whisper, "I have anticipated you. Prussia has received an important check, and the treaty will not be renewed. It rests with your majesty now, to improve the opportunity and supplant the King of Prussia. Be sympathetic and genial with the czarina--ABOVE ALL THINGS flatter her ambition, and the game is yours. Depend upon my hearty co-operation."

"A thousand thanks," whispered Joseph in return. Potemkin made a deep and respectful salutation, and left the room. As he closed the door noiselessly behind him, the emperor crossed the threshold of the imperial cabinet.

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