THE EMPEROR LEOPOLD I.
The Emperor Leopold had just returned from early mass. Throughout
the services, and during the excellent sermon of his celebrated
court-preacher Father Abraham, the face of his imperial majesty had
worn a troubled aspect; it had not even brightened at the appearance
of the Empress Eleonora. But when, in his cabinet, he saw his
professor of music, Herr Kircher, Leopold smiled, and his brow
cleared at once. The professor was occupied in putting a new string
to the emperor's spinet, which the evening before had been broken by
his majesty at a concert; and, having his back turned to the door,
was not aware of the emperor's entrance until the latter laid his
hand upon Kircher's shoulder.
The musician would have risen, but Leopold gently forced him back
into his seat, observing that it was unbecoming in a teacher to rise
at the entrance of his pupil.
"Of his pupil, your majesty, to whom there remains nothing for a
teacher to teach; for in good sooth, if your majesty felt disposed,
you are competent to fill the chair of a musical professorship, or
to become the maestro of your own imperial chapel."
"I prefer my own position," replied Leopold, laughing, "although
there are times when the berth of an emperor is not an easy one. But
when as at present I am here with you, then I am truly happy, for
your conversation and music awaken in me pleasant thoughts and noble
aspirations. Let me enjoy the hour, for indeed, Kircher, I need
recreation."
The emperor sighed, and sank slowly into an arm-chair, where, taking
off his plumed hat, he threw it wearily down on a tabouret close by.
"Has your majesty any cause for vexation?" asked Kircher.
"Not for vexation, but much for sorrow," returned Leopold. "Let me
forget it, and if you have no objection, take up that piece of music
on the table, and give me your opinion of it."
Professor Kircher obeyed at once. "Your majesty has been composing,
I perceive, and your composition is in strict accordance with the
rules of counterpoint."
"I have translated my sorrows into music," returned Leopold. "I
could not sleep last night, and there was running through my head
the words of a sad and beautiful Latin poem. I rose from my bed, and
treading softly so as not to disturb the empress, I came hither, and
set the poem to music. It gave me indescribable pleasure, and I wish
you would try it, that I may know whether my interpretation has
meaning for others as well as for myself."
"My voice will not do it justice, your majesty; let me call Vittorio
Carambini to sing it, while I accompany him."
"No," returned Leopold. "Carambini's voice would so beautify my
composition, that I would not recognize it. I prefer to hear it from
you. So sit you down, dear Kircher, and begin."
Kircher made no further opposition, and commenced the prelude. The
emperor leaned back his head, and closed his eyes, as he was
accustomed to do, when listening attentively. Reclining among the
purple-velvet cushions of his luxurious arm-chair, Leopold presented
a handsome picture of imperial comeliness. His fine figure was set
off to advantage by his close-fitting Spanish doublet of black
velvet; his short Spanish cloak, looped up with large diamond
solitaires, fell in graceful folds from his shoulders, gently
stirring with its golden fringe the feathers of his hat that lay
beside him. The pale, regular features of the emperor harmonized
with the splendid costume which, from the days of Charles V., had
been in fashion at the imperial court of Vienna. Leopold had made
one modification, however, in his dress. In spite of his dislike to
the King of France, and all things French, he wore the long curled
wig which Louis XIV. had brought into vogue.
His whole attention was absorbed by Kircher, who, with a wig similar
in fashion, but more modest in dimensions, sat playing and singing
the "Schmerz-Lied." He sang with great feeling, and he, as well as
the composer, felt the power and beauty of the music.
It died away in gentle sighs, and there was a pause. Then the
emperor in a low voice said, "Thank you, Kircher; you have given me
great pleasure."
"Your majesty, it is I who should thank you. Your composition is a
masterpiece; and, instead of criticising my miserable performance,
you praise it."
"Do you really like it, then?"
"Like it! It evinces genius, which is something more than a
conformity to musical rules. It is a gift from Heaven, whence surely
all musical inspiration descends. The man that could listen to your
'Schmerz-Lied' without emotion has no soul; and, to him that could
hear it with eyes undimmed, God has denied the gift of tears."
"Kircher." said the emperor, with a delighted smile, "I thank you a
thousand times for your approbation. It emboldens me to confess that
I felt tears in my eyes while you sang. To you, a musician, I may
say as much; for you know that, to write a song of sorrow, a man
must have known sorrow himself. I fear that my 'Schmerz-Lied' will
have to give place to embateria, and our spinet to the discordant
drum."
"And will it come to open war with the Porte?" asked Kircher, sadly.
"I fear as much," sighed the emperor. "Is it not singular that I, a
man of peace, and lover of art, should be forever compelled to be at
war with the world? And is it not hard that a potentate should be
continually forced into measures which he abhors, and stand before
his fellow-creatures in a character that is not his own? History
will depict me as a heartless and bloodthirsty monarch, while no man
has ever more deprecated the shedding of blood than I. My only
comfort is, that, if my poor subjects suffer, it is 'ad majorem Dei
gloriam.'"
And Leopold, who was not only a disciple but a lay member of the
order of Jesuits, bent his head, and made the sign of the cross.
"Your majesty alludes to the bloodshed in Hungary?"
"Yes," said Leopold, mournfully; "for I love those poor Hungarians,
though they be heretics and rebels, and I long for the rising of the
sun of peace upon their unhappy land. O Kircher, if we could but be
at peace abroad and at home, how happily would our days glide by! My
court should be the paradise of poetry and love, the home of art,
and the temple of all wisdom and science."
"Your majesty is already the patron of all the arts; and artists are
proud to hail you as their brother. Are you not both a composer of
music and a performer? Do you not rival Hermann, Schildbach, and
Hamilton, in painting? And did you not astonish Fisher von Erlach
with the suggestions you offered him in the planning of the palace
of Schonbrunn? And in all your majesty's dominions, is there a
bolder horseman, a more valiant sportsman, a more graceful dancer
than yourself?"
"To hear you, Kircher," said Leopold, laughing, "one would suppose
that you were describing the attributes of Phoebus-Apollo."
"And so I am," laughed Kircher; "for out of the letters of your
majesty's name, Leopoldus A, did not Sigismund von Birken compose
the anagram, 'Deus Apollo?'"
"It is very easy to make anagrams by misplacing a few letters, my
dear Kircher; but to convert a poor terrene German emperor into a
Magnus-Apollo, would require the upheaval of mountains by Titan
hands, from now until the millennium. I would be content to be
myself, were I regarded as a beneficent and peace-loving monarch.
Consilio et Industria is the motto of my choice--a motto, which,
though inappropriate to a god, is pertinent as the device of a
Leopold. I would wish to govern with judgment, and labor
industriously for the welfare of my people, accepting with Christian
resignation whatever it pleases my Maker to apportion. All I ask of
Providence is some little leisure for the cultivation of my favorite
art. From music I derive such indescribable enjoyment, that, if I
could, I would die within hearing of its delicious melody. And,
since I have said so much, Kircher, I will go on to request of you,
that when my end draws near, you will attend to the fulfilment of my
wish."
"A melancholy duty you assign to me, gracious sovereign," sighed
Kircher. "But if I outlive you, it shall be lovingly performed. Let
us hope, however, for Austria's sake, that you will survive me by
many years."
"Life and death are in the hands of God," returned Leopold,
reverently. "And now let us speak of matters less serious. Here is
the score of a new opera, lately sent to me from Rome. It is called
'La Principessa Fidele,' and is composed by Scarlatti, who, as you
know, is winning a great reputation."
"Yes," growled Kircher. "he is winning reputation by tickling the
ears with soft strains which convey no meaning to the heart."
"Well, well, maestro, let us hear, before we decide," replied
Leopold, laughing.
Kircher placed the score upon the desk of the spinet, and began to
play. The emperor threw himself back again into his arm-chair, and,
closing his eyes, listened with an expression of great satisfaction.
But his pleasure was of short duration. Scarcely had Kircher
finished the first grand aria, before the door opened, and the
chamberlain of the day presented himself. Leopold frowned, and,
raising his head, asked somewhat impatiently, "Well,--what is it?"
"The members of your imperial majesty's council of war are in the
anteroom, and solicit an audience."
"Ask them to assemble in the small council-chamber, and I will join
them in a moment." Then, turning to Kircher, the emperor shook his
head. "Something unusual must have happened for the council to
assemble at such an early hour. You see, Kircher, that in these
troublous times an emperor can have no leisure hours; and, however I
may yearn to remain, I must leave you."
"Shall I return to-morrow morning?" asked Kircher.
"Happy is the man who can dispose of the morrow," sighed Leopold.
"It is more than an Emperor of Germany dare do. I must first
ascertain what news my council bring me; but, under any
circumstances, come, Kircher; for if I am not here, some distant
strain of your music may reach my ear to lighten my cares of state."
Resuming his hat, the emperor left the cabinet, and joined his
ministers in the council-chamber.