THE RE-ENFORCEMENTS.
On this same 8th of September--so fraught with discouragement to the
suffering inhabitants of Vienna--the Duke of Lorraine held a council
of war in his tent with his allies. The King of Poland was there,
burning with ardor to rescue the capital of Austria; the Elector of
Bavaria had arrived with heavy re-enforcements, which, added to the
troops furnished by Saxony, Swabia, and Franconia, swelled the army
to eighty-four thousand men. Other volunteers from various parts of
Germany had joined the standard of Austria, and all were eager to
uphold the cause of Christendom against the unbelieving infidel.
For three days the Polish troops had been occupied building a
pontoon bridge, upon which, on the 8th day of September, the allied
forces began to cross the Danube.
The first to cross were the King of Poland and the Duke of Lorraine.
No sooner had they gained the opposite bank than the army broke out
into one universal shout of joy.
John Sobiesky's fine face was beaming with exultation. With a
triumphant smile he turned to the duke, who, with his usual serious
expression of countenance, was watching the troops while they came
across.
"The Turks are lost!" said Sobiesky.
"They were lost from the moment your majesty came to our rescue,"
was the courteous reply. "From the moment that you assumed the chief
command, I felt certain of success."
"My dear duke," said the king, warmly, "I am not so dazzled by your
generous praise as not to know which of us is the greater general of
the two. If I have accepted your highness's gracious relinquishment
of the chief command to me, I shall take good care not to exercise
it without advice from yourself. But I am in no trouble now as to
the issue of our contest with the Turks. They are already beaten. A
general who, at the head of two hundred thousand men, suffers us to
construct this bridge within five leagues of his camp, is a man of
no ability. He is as good as beaten." [Footnote: John Sobiesky's own
words.--See Kausler, "Prince Eugene of Savoy," vol. i., p. 22.]
"Provided we reach Vienna before our poor hungry countrymen will
have been forced to surrender."
The king's eyes flashed. "Ay, ay, indeed!" exclaimed he, eagerly;
"every thing depends upon that. The main question is, to march to
Vienna as quick as possible."
"There are two roads to Vienna," replied the duke.
The king nodded affirmatively. "Yes; the road lying through the
valley of the Danube is level; the one that leads to Vienna by the
Kahlenberg is steep and toilsome."
"But much shorter," added the duke.
"Let us then select the route over the Kahlenberg," answered the
king. "Your highness' understands giving sound advice under the garb
of a passing observation."
Their conversation was just then interrupted by the appearance of
two young horsemen, who bowed respectfully as they rode by. One wore
the rich and becoming uniform of the Polish lancers--this was the
crown prince of Poland; the other, more simply attired, was Prince
Eugene of Savoy--the youngest colonel in the Austrian service.
At a signal from the King of Poland, the youths reined in their
horses.
"My son," said the king, touching the Polish prince on the shoulder,
"let me congratulate you that you are about to engage the enemy
under the command of one of the most distinguished generals of the
age."
The duke shook his head, and smilingly addressed Eugene: "Prince of
Savoy," said he, "you see before you a king whose least glory is his
crown. Let him be your model, and when you confront the enemy let
the thought of John Sobiesky's fame urge you to deeds of prowess."
"Your highness," replied Eugene, "not only when I confront the
enemy, but every day and every hour of my life, will I look back
with emotion to the time when I beheld the two most eminent
commanders of the age contemplating each other's greatness without
envy, and accepting each other's suggestions without cavil; and I
trust that, from the sight, I may receive inspiration as far as lies
within my capacity, to emulate their moral as well as their military
worth."
"You will ere long have the opportunity of showing us how proximity
to John Sobiesky inspires men to valor," replied the duke. "We are
about to march to Vienna. Which road would you take, if you had to
choose for the army?"
Eugene's large black eyes wandered over the horizon until they
rested on the summit of Kahlenberg. "If we gain those heights, we
overlook not only our friends, but the entire camp of the enemy."
"Well answered," said John Sobiesky. "You are a military man by
intuition, I see, and are destined to make a figure in the world.
You are small in person, but would be great in council. Men of your
size and build are more frequently gifted with military genius than
those of lofty stature. I suppose," continued he, smiling, "that it
is because the brain, which reasons, and the heart that feels, lie
close together, and so can help each other. But," said he,
interrupting himself, "here comes the Elector Max Emmanuel. Allow me
to bid him welcome."
The Duke of Lorraine followed him with his eyes, as, in company with
the crown prince, the king rode forward to meet the handsome Prince
of Bavaria.
"The Poles did well," said he to himself, "to prefer John Sobiesky
to me; and, if I had known him personally, never would I have been
his competitor for a throne. He is better fitted to reign and govern
than I."
"Has your highness any commands for me?" asked Eugene.
"Yes, my dear young friend," replied the duke, solemnly. "We draw
near to Vienna. Avenge your brother's death, but prize and cherish
your own life. Do not wantonly expose your person, nor seek for
danger, he alone is a hero whose valor is restrained by prudence. I
shall place you, nevertheless, where danger is imminent and glory to
be earned; so that, when I recommend you for promotion to the
emperor, the world may not say that you owe your advancement to
favor."
"Your highness's advice shall be followed to the letter," replied
Eugene, earnestly. "I will despise danger, that I may avenge my
brother; yet will I guard my life, that I may be the protector of
his wife and children. But nothing will more inspire me to heroic
deeds than the friendship which you so condescendingly evince for
me. May God bless and reward you for your sympathy with my suffering
heart!"
At the end of three days, the army gained the heights of the
Kahlenberg. The men, tired and sleepy, dispersed, and throw
themselves down to rest under the trees; their commanders rode
farther to the mountain's brow, and there, beneath the fiery rays of
the setting sun, lay prisoned Vienna and her Turkish jailers. But
above was a cloud of smoke and dust, through which ever and anon
leaped columns of fire, while the air was heavy with reverberation
of cannon. The Turks were storming the city.
The besieged, mindful of their promise, were defending themselves
with desperation. With imperturbable calm, Count von Starhemberg
headed every sortie, and his quick eye perceived every little
advantage that could be taken; while his wise precautions saved many
a life, and warded off many a peril. His redoubts were no sooner
damaged than repaired; trench after trench was dug; street by street
defended with palisades, improvised of rods and beams.
As night came on, the heavy firing of the Turks ceased, and a dead
stillness followed the terrible boom of cannon. The streets were
ploughed with balls, the ashes of many a consumed building were
scattered about by the wind, while here and there a fitful blaze was
seen issuing from a shapeless mass that once had been the stately
home of some proud Austrian noble. Pale, ghastly figures wandered
among the ruins, searching for food, which, alas! they rarely found.
But, amid this "abomination of desolation," they still lifted their
eyes to heaven for help, and still clung to hope of rescue.
Count Starhemberg, as usual, had ascended the tower of St.
Stephen's; while in the city below every form was prostrate in
prayer. With his own hand he fired the nightly rocket, and watched
its myriads of stars as they shot heavenward, illumined the
darkness, and then fell back into nothingness. His heart beat
painfully, as the last scintillations went out, and left but the
pall of night behind. But he gazed on in silence, and in anguish
unutterable. Suddenly he unclasped his rigid hands, for oh! joy!
joy! there was light on the summit of the Kahlenberg; the signal
darts up into the sky, and from Herman's peak the cannon proclaims
that help is nigh!
One cry of rapture burst from the lips of all who stood around the
commander; the warder grasped his speaking-trumpet, and cried out to
the crowd below, "The signal is answered!"
The sound was caught up by the eager multitude, the blessed tidings
were borne from street to street, and the people with one accord
knelt down and thanked God. Noble and simple, aged and young, all
hastened to St. Stephen's. Men clasped hands; and strangers that had
never met before, embraced one another like friends and kinsmen.
Hope had softened all hearts, joy's electric touch had made a
thousand interests one: men were no longer segregate, their lives
were blended into one great emotion.
Count von Starhemberg was so overcome, that for some moments his
tongue refused him utterance. When he spoke, his voice, so
accustomed to command, trembled and grew soft--soft and gentle as
that of a young maiden.
"Will some one fetch me pen and paper?" said he. And when a
portfolio was brought for him to write upon, he could scarcely
command his hand while it traced these few words:
"Lose no time; in Heaven's name, be quick, or we are lost!"
"Who will venture to swim across the Danube, and deliver this paper
to the Duke of Lorraine?" added he.
Three young men volunteered at once. Count von Starhemberg chose the
one that seemed the strongest, and gave it to him.
"Promise me that you will deliver it or die!"
"I promise," was the reply of the young man, who, without tarrying
another moment, sprang down the steps and disappeared.
In a few hours, another rocket from the mountain-top announced the
safe arrival of the messenger, and promised speedy relief.
Yes, deliverance was at hand. At gray dawn, the army were ready to
march, and the King of Poland, the Duke of Lorraine, and Louis of
Baden were in the saddle. When all were assembled, John Sobiesky
dismounted, and kneeling before the altar of Leopold's chapel,
addressed a prayer to Heaven for a blessing on the approaching
struggle. In his priestly robes, within the chancel, stood Marcus
Avianus, the inspired Capuchin whom the pope had sent to Germany to
preach this new crusade. His burning words had done as much, for the
cause of Christianity as the stalwart arms of Austria's best
warriors; and now, as he raised his hands on high, and eighty
thousand men knelt to receive his blessing, their hearts throbbed
with joy, for they felt that the God of battles would be with them
that day.
The rites done, John Sobiesky bestowed the honor of knighthood upon
his son, "thereby commemorating the proudest day of their lives;"
and at the conclusion of the ceremony, he addressed the Polish army,
exhorting them to fight as became a Christian host in a cause "where
death was not only the path to glory, but the way to heaven."
"I have but one command to give my men," said he, in conclusion.
"Let them follow their king, and wherever he is to be seen, there
let them know that the battle rages fiercest."
A tumultuous shout was the answer to this exhortation. It gathered
strength as it passed along the ranks, until it awoke a thousand
echoes from the mountain-tops around; while the rays of the sun,
like a consecrating fire, glistened from the point of every bayonet,
and flashed from the blade of every waving sword.
The cheers of the Christians were borne on the summer air, until the
sound reached the very camp of the Turks. It sent consternation to
the heart of Kara Mustapha, as he lay smoking his hookah under a
tent of silk and velvet. For sixty days he had besieged Vienna with
his hundreds of thousands. Against its obstinate defenders warfare
had failed; and now that hunger was about to do what he had vainly
tried--to paralyze their valor, here came succor, to render his
victory doubtful. For he well knew that the Christians were full of
ardor, while his Turks were tired of fighting. That he might excite
their thirst for blood, he assembled all his prisoners, men, women,
and children, together, and, within view of his army, ordered them
all to be massacred. The work of death began, and the expiring cries
of his victims were the Paynim's answer to the shouts of the
Christians, that were raising their hearts to God.
That fearful wail was heard, too, by the beleaguered men of Vienna;
and the thought of their butchered kindred gave strength to their
famished bodies. They hungered no longer for food! they thirsted for
blood.
And now the bells, which for sixty days had been silent, rang out
their alarum, calling all to the last great struggle. The sick
raised their heads, and felt the glow of health thrilling through
their fevered veins; the aged worked like youths--the youths like
demi-gods. And full of hope, full of valor, the brave citizens of
Vienna awaited the coming of their liberators.
The main body of the allied army was commanded by the Electors of
Bavaria and of Saxony; the right wing, by John Sobiesky; the left,
by the Duke of Lorraine and Louis of Baden. The plan of the attack
had been made according to the suggestions of the King of Poland.
At the side of Louis of Baden rode Eugene of Savoy, his sorrows all
forgotten in the excitement of the occasion. His countenance beamed
with animation, his eyes darted fire. His black war-horse, too,
partook of his enthusiasm: he pranced, leaped into the air, and
neighed as if in defiance of the barbs that were to bear his enemies
into battle that morning.
"My dear cousin," said Eugene to Louis, "I implore you let me go
early into action. Give me something to do as soon as we are in
sight of the enemy, and thereby prove me your love."
"You shall have your wish, Eugene. Your division is to open the
engagement. As soon as you hear the discharge of the cannon from the
heights of the Kahlenberg, you advance."
With a joyful wave of the hand, Eugene sprang forward, and placed
himself at the head of his dragoons, where, rigid as a statue, he
stood with his eyes raised to the summit of the Kahlenberg.
The first shot rolled like thunder through the valley gorges. The
men grasped their muskets, the horses pawed the ground. The second,
the third, followed, and every eye glistened, and every heart
throbbed. The fourth--THE FIFTH!
"En avant!" cried Eugene; and the dragoons galloped forward. They
were to drive the enemy from the valley of the Nussberg, and force
the pass of Heiligenstadt. But the Turks disputed every inch of the
ground, making breastworks of every hillock, trenches of every
hollow. They defended the way with such desperation that the
Austrian cavalry began to waver.
An exclamation of fury was heard from the lips of Eugene. "Victory
or death!" cried he; and with these words the intrepid youth struck
spurs into his horse, and sprang through the pass; his sabre,
flashing like lightning through the air, as right and left it dealt
destruction to the Janizaries that disputed his passage.
Amazed at such prowess, the dragoons gave one simultaneous cheer,
and leaped into the enemy's midst. From that moment they moved on
like a granite wall; onward in the track of their gallant commander,
all peril disregarding, they fought their way, until, inspired by
his heroism, encouraged by the soul-stirring tones of his blithe
young voice, they won the pass, and forced the enemy back.
Meanwhile the imperial and Saxon forces had advanced from the
Kahlenberg, in one dense column, the sight of which had sorely
shaken the confidence of Kara Mustapha in his power to resist them.
On swept the mighty mass, and in a few moments the deep thunder of
the cannon reverberated along the mountain gorges; the clashing of
swords and the rattling of musketry mingled with the cries of the
wounded, and the groans of the dying; while all above was fire and
smoke. The passes were reddened with blood, which drop by drop
flowed down their declivities, until it met another life-destroying
current on its way; and both glided onward to the Danube, empurpling
its waters with the mingled gore of Christian and Paynim.
The battle raged, without any decisive advantage, until long after
noon. At four o'clock, however, the Ulans of the King of Poland were
about to be overpowered by superior numbers, when re-enforcement
came in the form of a charge on the right wing of the Turks, by the
troops under Charles of Lorraine. Those flying squadrons, beneath
whose horses' hoofs the ground is trembling as if upheaved by an
earthquake, are headed by Eugene--the indomitable Eugene. On his
foam-flecked steed, with a sword in his hand that is gory to the
hilt, comes the "little abbe," who was too much of a weakling to
obtain a commission in the army of the King of France. If his mother
could see him now, she would confess that he was no fit aspirant for
a scarlet hat.
Side by side rode Eugene and Louis of Baden, both heading that
bloody chase. Over heaps of corpses, over struggling horses, falling
timbers, through smoke and fire, they dashed toward the gates of
Vienna. Count Starhemberg was there with his handful of braves,
making gallant resistance to the Janizaries. But for the mad charge
of Eugene, the little garrison would soon have been cut to pieces.
But the attack on their rear surprised the Janizaries; they fell
back, only to be confronted by the Duke of Lorraine, and, believing
resistance to be useless, they fled.
The King of Poland meanwhile was within the gates engaged in a hand-
to-hand fight with the enemy in the streets. He was not left long to
struggle without help. Once more Eugene and his cavalry came to the
rescue; and now the Turkish legions are flying for their lives,
while the Christians are shouting for joy and victory!
Kara Mustapha, who was to have made his seat of empire at Vienna,
has suddenly become a panic-stricken adventurer. With that singular
absence of fortitude which so often distinguishes tyrants in
adversity, he fell to weeping like a child, and went whining for
protection to the Khan of Tartary.
"Save me, save me!" was his cowardly cry.
The khan shook his head. "We know the King of Poland too well," said
he. "Nobody can withstand him."
And from this moment nothing was thought of, in the Turkish camp,
but flight. Kara Mustapha's war-horse, with its housings of purple
velvet worked in pearls, was too heavy to bear him away from Vienna;
he mounted a fleet-footed Arabian, and sped away without thought of
the treasures he was leaving behind. His costly tent, his girdles of
diamonds, his cimeters inlaid with rubies and sapphires, his six
hundred sacks of piastres, all fell into the hands of John Sobiesky.
While joy and jubilee prevailed throughout the streets of Vienna,
Eugene of Savoy was on his way to the dwelling of his widowed
sister: but, while he sorrowed with Urania and her orphans, his name
was being borne upon the trumpet-blast of fame, as chief among the
heroes that rescued Vienna from the infidel.
BOOK IV.
CHAPTER I.
THE FALL OF BUDA.
As a signal that the conference was at an end, the Emperor Leopold
rose from his arm-chair. The president and vice-president followed
his example, and the other members of the council bowed and retired.
The Margrave of Baden and Count von Starhemberg remained standing by
the green table, while the emperor, who had crossed the room, now
stood vacantly staring out of a window, drumming with his fingers on
one of the panes.
His two counsellors were perfectly au fait to the import of this
drumming; it meant that the emperor's thoughts were with his army,
which was still in the field, although three years had gone by since
the siege of Vienna. During this protracted struggle both parties
had fought bravely, but neither one had as yet prevailed against the
other. In 1684 the Austrians had gained a brilliant victory over the
allied enemy; but, in the course of the same year, the Turks, by
their obstinate valor, had forced the Duke of Lorraine to abandon
the siege of Buda, which, since then, had remained in their
possession, and gave them entire control of Hungary.
The emperor's thoughts, then, were at Buda, while his fingers still
drummed on the window-pane. At last he turned around.
"Any news from the army?" asked he, hastily.
"None, your majesty," replied the margrave. "Since the news of the
junction of the Duke of Lorraine's forces with those of Prince Louis
of Baden and Max Emmanuel, nothing further has been heard as to the
progress of the siege."
"And that, of course, signifies that there is nothing good to be
told," added Von Starhemberg. "If the Duke of Lorraine had met with
any success, he would not have failed to send a courier with the
tidings."
"Unhappily, since he has had command of the army, he has had many
more reverses to communicate than victories," replied the margrave,
with a sigh.
"You forget his brilliant victory at Gran last year," returned the
emperor. "Away with your petty ill-will toward the duke! Forget your
personal grievances in admiration of his heroism."
"Sire," replied the margrave, somewhat impetuously, "there are
personal grievances which will not allow themselves to be forgotten.
The Duke of Lorraine, in his dispatches, has not only accused me of
neglect in the provisioning and arming of his troops, but has also
declared me unqualified for my position, and has recommended another
man as minister of war."
"And yet you retain your position," replied the emperor; "so that
neither one of you has influence enough with me to injure the other.
I have great confidence, nevertheless, in the judgment of my
brother-in-law; and, if occasionally he is of opinion that battles
are not to be planned on the green table of a council-chamber, but
in the field by the man, who is to fight them--not in theories but
in praxis--I am inclined to think that he is right."
"One thing I hope that your majesty will do me the justice to
remember," answered Von Starhemberg, in a tone of vexation. "It is
this: the war department, at my suggestion, advised that Buda should
not be assaulted, but that the passes lying behind the city should
be seized, Stuhlweissemberg besieged, and Buda, by this means, cut
off from all intercourse with Turkey. Thus it would have fallen
without bloodshed; whereas we have nothing to expect, as the result
of a second direct attack, but the news of a second repulse."
"Should the Duke of Lorraine be forced to raise the siege a second
time, I hope that the war department will remember that it was I,
and not my commander-in-chief, who rejected their advice. So that,
if we should be unfortunate, mine be the blame of the disaster, for
I ordered the attack."
At this moment the door of the council-chamber was opened with some
precipitation, and the chamberlain of the day appeared on the
threshold.
"What do you come to announce?" asked Leopold.
"Sire, a bearer of dispatches from his highness of Lorraine."
"Ah, lupus in fabula" said the emperor, with a smile. "Well--let in
the lupus."
"Your majesty," interrupted the Margrave of Baden, "would it not be
better for me to receive the dispatches, and communicate their
contents to you? The news of another disaster will be a great blow:
your mind should be prepared to receive it."
"I am prepared for whatever it may please God to assign," replied
Leopold, reverently. "If the news be bad, it is my duty to confront
it like a man; if good, let me taste it pure, as it comes from the
lips of the messenger. Let him enter!"
The chamberlain stepped back, made a sign to the page in the
anteroom, and both sides of the door were flung open.
"Our bearer is a person of distinction," said Leopold to himself.
"Both doors are opened for a reigning prince, a grandee of Spain,
or--"
Just then the bearer of dispatches appeared--a small, slight person,
in a simple uniform, but his breast well covered with orders, both
Austrian and Spanish.
"Prince Eugene of Savoy!" exclaimed Leopold, with evident pleasure.
And he made several steps toward the prince.
"Prince Eugene of Savoy," muttered the margrave, with an ugly frown;
for well he knew that such an envoy would never have been chosen to
be the bearer of evil tidings.
Meanwhile Eugene rapidly crossed the room, and knelt before the
emperor.
"You forget," said Leopold, raising him, "that a knight of the
Golden Fleece is not obliged to conform to the court custom of
kneeling. His order kneel before the Almighty alone. Moreover, as
grandee of Spain, your highness has a right to appear with covered
head."
"Sire, I came hither neither as a grandee nor a knight. I came as
the squire of my noble lord, the Duke of Lorraine, and as the
soldier and subject of my emperor. Let me, then, greet my sovereign
as my heart dictates."
With these words Eugene knelt again.
"Now," said Leopold, "rise, loyal subject, and satisfy my
impatience. Tell me, in one word, has Buda fallen?"
"Yes, sire," was the exulting reply.
The emperor raised his grateful eyes to heaven, while his two
councillors exchanged glances of dissatisfaction. Leopold saw this,
and addressed himself to both.
"Gentlemen," said he, "pray remember that you were opposed to the
siege of Buda, and that it was undertaken at the request of the Duke
of Lorraine."
"Your majesty told us that you had commanded it yourself," answered
the margrave. "The duke, then, has merely carried out orders!"
"Orders given because of his request. He proved to me that Buda
could be taken; and, when I commanded this second attempt to reduce
it, I merely yielded to his better judgment. But let us change the
subject.--You are most welcome," continued he, to Prince Eugene.
"And now let us hear the details of your glad tidings."
"Sire, the siege of Buda is an epic, worthy of the pen of a Homer.
None but a great poet can do justice to the deeds of valor of the
Duke of Lorraine."
"Try you, nevertheless," replied Leopold. "But hold! It were selfish
to enjoy your narrative alone. The empress and the court shall
partake of our happiness to day. Count von Starhemberg, oblige me by
opening the door, and recalling the chamberlain."
The count reluctantly obeyed, and the chamberlain reappeared.
"You will announce to the ladies and gentlemen in waiting, that I
request the presence of the court. I myself will conduct the empress
hither." Then, with a wave of his hand to Prince Eugene, he added,
"Await our return."
Not long after, the empress, conducted by her imperial husband,
entered the room and took her seat. The ladies and gentlemen in
waiting stood behind, and the margrave and Count von Starhemberg
were on either side of the emperor.
"And now, Prince Eugene of Savoy," cried Leopold, "let us hear the
details of the fall of Buda."
All eyes were turned upon Eugene, who, without boldness or
bashfulness, calmly surveyed the brilliant assembly before him. In
his plain, dark uniform, his black hair worn naturally and without
powder, he presented a striking contrast to the courtiers in their
magnificently-embroidered Spanish doublets, and huge, powdered wigs.
He began his narrative, by alluding to the fact that for one hundred
and twenty years, in spite of six different attempts on the part of
Austria to retake it, the ancient capital of Hungary had been in the
hands of the Turks. He quoted the well-known saying of John
Sobiesky, "Buda has drunk such torrents of Christian blood, that
every handful of earth around its walls is red and moist with gore."
He made a few brief remarks on the subject of the last unsuccessful
attack, two years before; and then, with all the enthusiasm of a
warrior-poet, he entered upon the narration of the seventh siege.
He spoke of the various stratagems, sallies, and skirmishes that
preceded the final assault. On the 18th of June the city was
invested, and by the end of July the allied army had effected an
entrance, and captured so many streets that the besieged had been
compelled to retire within the fortress. At the same time,
combustibles were thrown into the magazine, which exploded with
fearful destruction, and the Duke of Lorraine, compassionating the
condition of the brave old commander, Pacha Abdurrahmen, sent a
messenger, advising him to capitulate. Abdurrahmen, for all answer,
informed the duke that Allah and the Prophet would shortly punish
the audacity of the Christians, and, by way of anticipating Divine
justice, he caused one hundred Saxons, who had been captured a few
days before, to be hanged within view of the besiegers.
This vindictive act was the signal for a new assault, and the
fortress was attacked on three sides. The assailants were several
times repulsed, for the Turks fought like demons. Undismayed, they
stood upon the walls, pouring fire and shot into the Christian ranks
until the hair was singed from their heads, and their scorched
clothes dropped from their bodies. If the allies were heroic in
their attack, the Turks were not less so in their defence. Finally
the women, too, were seen, some carrying ammunition, some bringing
refreshments to the gunners, while others, singing wild strains of
Turkish embateria, hurled stones from the walls upon the invading
army.
More than two thousand Austrians had fallen, but they had succeeded
in establishing themselves within one of the bastions, and had
thereby obtained possession of the prison-tower. The day following,
however. Abdurrahmen sprung a mine, which killed one hundred of the
imperial troops, and so terrified the others, that they retired in
confusion, and the bastion remained in the hands of the Turks.
Once more the Duke of Lorraine offered terms to the besieged, which
a second time were indignantly refused. For the grand-vizier had
arrived with re-enforcements, and on a plain just behind the city of
Buda his troops were drawn up in battle array. The besieged now
commenced an attack upon the besiegers; one of their bombs burst
almost at the feet of the Duke of Lorraine, killing and wounding
several of his staff; another fell into a heap of hand-grenades,
which produced a frightful conflagration.
On the first of September Abdurrahmen was again summoned to
surrender. The white-haired hero presented two documents to the
envoys, one of which was from the high-priest of the Prophet at
Constantinople, the other from the Sultan. The first enjoined it
upon the pacha, as a religious duty, to defend Buda as the key to
the Ottoman empire; the other contained these few emphatic words:
"Either fall as a martyr before the sword of the invader, or die as
a traitor by the blade of the headsman."
"You see," added Abdurrahmen, calmly, "that no discretion is allowed
me. I must prevail against you, or fight until I fall."
This decided the question of capitulation forever; and although the
grand-vizier was there with his reserves, the Duke of Lorraine
determined to storm the fortress anew. It was a desperate resolve;
hut, like Abdurrahmen, he had made up his mind to conquer or die.
At this point of his narration, Eugene paused for breath. The
emperor, perceiving that he was fatigued, made a sign to one of the
pages in attendance, who thereupon placed a chair for him--a
compliment never before paid by a sovereign of Austria to any man
below the rank of a reigning prince.
"Prince Eugene of Savoy," said Leopold, "as a grandee of Spain, and
a knight of the Golden Fleece, you have a right to be seated in the
presence of your sovereign. Make use of the privilege, then; for if
you stand much longer, I see that you will not have strength to
finish your recital; and I would not abridge it by a word. It sounds
like martial music to my enraptured ear."
"Sire," replied Eugene, accepting the chair, "'tis no wonder if the
boom of the cannon sound like music to the son of Charles V.; above
all, when it thunders to proclaim your majesty's success. On the 2d
of September began the last assault upon the fortress of Buda. It
was impossible not to admire the intrepidity of our enemies: to a
man, they seemed to have sworn, like their commander, to defend the
post or die amid its ruins. But your majesty's troops were as
resolute as they. After a terrible conflict fought over the bodies
of their slain comrades, they cut to pieces a detachment of
Janizaries that had been sent to oppose their passage."
"'No quarter!' was the watchword of the Moslems. 'No quarter!' cried
the Christians in return. 'No quarter!' shouted the Bavarians, as
they mounted a breach in the fortress, and fought hand to hand with
its frenzied defenders. The latter poured out in such numbers that
the Bavarians wavered, and perhaps might have been repulsed, had not
the gallant Louis of Baden mounted the breach himself, and called
upon his men to follow. They obeyed; the Bavarians rallied, and the
prince ordered a fresh attack. Thanks to his valor and able
generalship, the Turks were forced back, and fled in confusion; some
finding refuge within the walls, others, in their dismay, plunging
into the moat. The Bavarians followed the fugitives, and now from
every castle-window waved the white flag of surrender."
"To the hero of Buda, the brave Abdurrahmen, our commanders would
gladly have granted an honorable retreat. But he refused mercy at
the hands of his admiring antagonists. Alone he stood, sabre in
hand, defending the breach against our advancing troops, until he
fell, pierced by twenty balls, while the bodies of his slain foes
lay like a monument of his heroism around him. With the death of
Abdurrahmen the struggle ceased, and that night, as a last act of
defiance, the Turks sprung a mine in the fortress, and reduced it to
a heap of ruins."
"The next morning, the grand-vizier retreated, and the plan of
attack, inspired by the genius of the Duke of Lorraine, had
destroyed the prestige of the Sultan in Hungary. Scarcely inferior
to this great commander was the ability displayed by Prince Louis of
Baden, and Max Emmanuel. No man who beheld them can ever forget the
sight of these two great heroes, handsome and brave as Hector and
Patroclus."
"Sire, my tale is ended. Buda has fallen, and its conquerors have
immortalized themselves."
"You say, your tale is at an end, Prince Eugene," replied the
emperor, smiling. "But you have omitted something in your recital."
"What is it, your majesty?"
"You have not once mentioned the name of the Prince of Savoy; and
yet he must have been there. You have exalted the genius of the Duke
of Lorraine, and you have likened his two generals to the heroes of
antiquity. It is said that the Prince of Savoy is the inseparable
companion of Prince Louis and Max Emmanuel. Where, then, was he,
while his friends were gaining immortality?"
"Sire, he was with them; but, as he did no more than his duty, I
have nothing further to say."
"It is your duty, as bearer of dispatches from your commander-in
chief, to answer my inquiries, let them relate to whomsoever they
will. Where were you, then, while your friends were astonishing you
with their valor?"
"He was at their side, your majesty. Before the siege, the three
friends had sworn never to surrender to the enemy. It was therefore
natural that the Prince of Savoy should follow the example of his
superior officers, and imitate their gallantry."
"But was he in no danger? Was he not wounded?"
"Sire, on such a day, no soldier could hope to escape from danger;
above all, the officers who led them into action. The Prince of
Savoy's horse was shot under him, and he himself was slightly
wounded in the hand by an arrow."
"Where was he stationed on that last day?"
"He was ordered to skirmish with the enemy, and prevent them from
making sorties on the besiegers."
"A hard task, for one so young."
"Yes, sire; for it condemned him to inaction, while his comrades
were gaining glory. But before the close of the day, fate befriended
him. The grand-vizier having made no attempt to join the besieged,
the Prince of Savoy was so fortunate as to come in with his
dragoons, just as the Bavarians were about to be repulsed from the
breach."
"Ah! I thought so!" exclaimed Leopold; "and doubtless his appearance
had much to do with the successful storming of the castle. And how
did the Duke of Lorraine reward his gallantry?"
"Sire, he was rewarded far, far beyond his deserts. The Duke of
Lorraine, in presence of the army, folded him in his embrace."
"That was well done. Come hither, Prince Eugene. I, too, would
reward you as the Duke of Lorraine did."
Eugene hastened to the emperor, who folded him in his arms, and then
led him to the empress.
"Your majesty," said he to his wife, "I present you a young hero,
who for three years has been gaining renown in the service of
Austria. I recommend him to your favor, and beg that you, too, will
bestow some reward upon him."
The empress turned her soft blue eyes upon the prince, who bent his
knee, and kissed the hand she extended to him. "I will pray for
you," said she, "as long as I live; and, as a testimonial of my
regard, I beg you to accept my husband's portrait."
Unclasping from her neck a heavy gold chain, to which was attached a
miniature set in brilliants, she threw it over Eugene's shoulder
with these words:
"Let the emperor's likeness be to you a souvenir of your past
heroism, and may it inspire you for the future to serve him with
loyalty and love."
"Your majesty," replied Eugene, "of my own free will I chose the
Emperor of Austria for my sovereign; but from this day forth I am
pledged to serve him as his native-born subject: and the chain so
graciously bestowed by your majesty, I shall wear as emblematic of
my fealty, for life."
The emperor signed to Eugene to rise, and addressed himself to all
present. "Vienna, too, shall have her share in this day's joy. The
crescent, which for more than a hundred years has proclaimed to the
world that Austria's capital was once in the hands of the infidel,
shall be taken down from the tower of St. Stephen's. We have won the
right to displace the accursed emblem, and it shall once more give
place to the symbol of Christianity!"
The crescent of which the emperor spoke, had been on the tower of
St. Stephen's since the year 1529, when Vienna was besieged by the
Sultan Soliman. His guns were being constantly directed against the
tower; and the Viennese having sent a deputation to request that the
Turks would not demolish their beautiful cathedral, Soliman
consented to spare it on one condition. This was, that the cross
should be removed, and the crescent take its place. In their
extremity, the promise was made; and, from that day, the Christian
church had borne the hated symbol of Mohammedanism.
At the fall of Buda, Leopold refused to be bound any longer by the
promise extorted from his ancestors; and, in commemoration of the
capture of this important post, a cross was erected on the tower,
with this inscription: "Luna deposuit, et crux exaltata. Anno quo
Buda a Turcis capta, MDCLXXXVI."
CHAPTER II.
THE FRIENDS.
With the capture of Buda, the campaign of 1686 closed. The army went
into winter quarters, and the officers all congregrated in Vienna,
there to indemnify themselves for past hardships by a few months of
recreation.
Eugene of Savoy participated very little in the gayety of court-
life. While his companion-in-arms, Louis of Baden, plunged headlong
into the vortex of pleasure, the shy young Frenchman led a most
retired existence, in his little hotel in the Herrengasse. He had
purchased this residence for his brother's widow and children,
intending to make it not only their home, but his own. The young
widow, after spending two years with her brother-in-law, forsook the
world and retired to a convent, there to lay her burden of grief at
the feet of her Lord. Her children she committed to the care of
their great-grandmother, the Princess de Carignan; and Eugene was
left to the solitude of a bachelor home, without one friendly voice
to bid him welcome to its cold hearth.
Even Conrad, his faithful Conrad, was absent. Eugene had sent him to
Turin with messages to Victor Amadeus, which he had not thought it
prudent to write. For Conrad was not only loyal and affectionate; he
had proved himself a person of such uncommon ability, that he was
now his lord's secretary, no longer his servant. He had the care of
his money, the administration of his affairs, and was his trusty and
confidential friend. Eugene missed him sorely; for Conrad had
accompanied him "that night" to the Palais Royal, and although
Laura's name had never passed his lips, still her lover found some
solace in the companionship of the man who had tended him during
that dreadful illness, and who, he knew full well, had learned from
his unconscious lips the secret of his love and its blight.
Eugene was in his cabinet. He had been engaged in the study of
mathematics, and the perusal of Julius Caesar's campaigns; after
which, by way of recreation, he sat down to his escritoire, and,
unfolding a sheet of paper, began to make plans of palaces and
gardens.
He was so absorbed in his drawing, that he neither heard nor saw the
door open, and give entrance to a handsome young man in a rich
Spanish costume. For one moment the visitor paused on the threshold,
and smilingly surveyed Eugene; then, crossing the room on tiptoes,
he laid his hand upon the prince's shoulder.
"I certainly thought I would surprise you inditing a poem or a
letter to the lady of your thoughts, and here I find you drawing
plans!"
"Max Emmanuel!" exclaimed Eugene, rising joyfully, and embracing his
friend.
"Yes, Max Emmanuel, who, having paid his devoirs to his imperial
father-in-law, has come with all haste to ask how it fares with his
friend. The servants told me you were in your cabinet, so I forbade
them to announce me, and made my way hither all alone, that I might
take you by surprise, and find out whether you loved me as much as I
do you. Seeing you intent upon writing, I was quite confident that I
was about to discover a great secret--when lo! I see nothing but a
sheet of drawing-paper, covered with porches and pilasters. Tell me
the truth, Eugene--why is it that, instead of worshipping Aphrodite,
like other youths, you are doing homage to the household gods of
domestic architecture?"
"Why, my dear Max, domestic architecture interests me, because I
expect to build houses, and lay out grounds. I do not worship
Aphrodite like other youths, because--because I know her not."
The elector looked searchingly into Eugene's solemn eyes. "Are you
in earnest?" asked he. "Do you intend me to believe that you are
unacquainted with the ecstasies and tribulations of love?"
"No," replied Eugene, sadly, "for I am too truly your friend to
deceive you, Max. I have loved, but my love was unfortunate; and the
wound it has made in my heart is too painful to be probed. Dear
friend, let us speak of it nevermore!"
"On the contrary, let us speak of it together without reserve. A
hero like Eugene, who has faced death, and so often wrested victory
from his enemies, can surely contemplate such a wound as Cupid's
dart inflicts upon a man! But tell me, what are unfortunate loves?
mine have all been crowned with myrtle, and smothered in roses."
Eugene was silent for a time; then raising his large, melancholy
eyes, till they rested affectionately upon the bright, laughing
countenance of his friend, he spoke: "I can well believe that you
know nothing of the pangs inflicted by unhappy love; for you are
handsome, distinguished, and gifted. I, who am none of these, can
tell you what it is to love adversely. It is to love with passion;
to be parted from the object of your love; and not to know whether
she, like you, is constant to her vows, and suffers from your
absence, as you do from hers. Pray Heaven that love may never come
to you in such a shape as this."
"No danger of me contracting the malady," replied Max; "I am
constitutionally incapable of receiving it. I pluck the fruit or
flower that grows nearest, never suffering my imagination to run
away with my longings. But never mind me and my sybaritic
interpretations of the tender passion. Are your woes irremediable?
Is the lady married?"
"In the eyes of the world she is."
"But not in the eyes of God, you would say. Then her marriage must
have been compulsory or fraudulent?"
"It was fraudulent."
"Then hie we to the pope for justice! His holiness will not refuse
it to such a brave crusader as you, and I myself will be your
advocate. Give me pen and paper. I will write at once, send your
signature and mine to the petition, and dispatch it by a courier
this very day; and then the world will see whether we, who stormed
Buda, may not storm adverse fortune also."
"Dear friend, neither the pope nor you can storm my adverse
fortunes. I must hear from my beloved whether she is true to me
before I take one step to possess myself of her. For three years I
have waited in vain for her summons; and yet my longing arms are
outstretched to clasp her, and never while I live will they encircle
the form of another!"
"Nay--these are the enthusiastic ravings of recent disappointment.
For a few years longer you may sorrow for your first love; but
oblivion will come, all in good time, and you will end by loving
some other woman as deserving as your absent mistress, and more
attainable. After all, ambition, not love, is the business of life;
and Cytherea's groves grow not a flower that can compare with the
laurels which fame places on the brow of the conqueror. It is well
for me that I am ten years your senior, else I should have been
obliged to come behind you, Eugene, and pick up your cast-off
leaves."
"The Elector of Bavaria is not a man so easily set aside," was
Eugene's reply.
"And yet efforts are continually being made to set him aside," cried
the elector, hastily.
"Who could be so presuming as to lay his sacrilegious hand upon the
well-earned laurels of a warrior so distinguished as your highness?"
"Who? You know quite as well as I, that it is the Duke of Lorraine."
"Ah!" exclaimed Eugene, with enthusiasm, "who can compete with him?
He is the greatest man of the age. As learned as he is brave; as
prudent as he is resolute; a wise statesman, an unrivalled general;
equally distinguished in the cabinet and the field. How fortunate I
have been in having him for my master in the art of war!"
"You are modest," said the elector, derisively. "As for me, I have
no ambition to follow any master in the art of war. I wish to carve
out my own plans and schemes, and I am weary of being subject to the
will of the Duke of Lorraine."
"He is commander-in-chief of the army," urged Eugene. "No army can
be without a head, to which all its members must be subordinate."
"But why must that head be Charles of Lorraine, pray?"
"You surely would not dream of supplanting HIM!" cried Eugene.
"Yes, I would; and I have determined to submit to his dictation no
longer. If I cannot have a command independent of the Duke of
Lorraine, I shall withdraw my troops, remain in Bavaria, and leave
my father-in-law to fight his own battles with the Turks."
"You will do no such thing," said Eugene, laying his hand upon the
prince's shoulder, and looking anxiously into his face. "You will
not endanger the great cause for which we have fought together by
the interference of petty personal jealousies. No, Max Emmanuel, you
are too magnanimous to sacrifice the interests of Christendom to
such considerations. Moreover, you have gained too much renown as a
general, to be overshadowed by the reputation of any man."
"I do not know THAT. I only know that the Duke of Lorraine is in my
way, and that for the future he must stand aside, or I resign my
commission in the imperial army. But these are matters of future
discussion. We will postpone this altercation until the opening of
our next campaign. Meanwhile--do you know what brought me hither
this morning? I come to snatch you away from cold contemplation, and
introduce you to society."
"I have no taste for society," replied Eugene, shrinking from the
very thought. "I love solitude; and mine is peopled with delicious
visions of the past, as well as glorious aspirations for the
future."
"Of what nature are your aspirations? They point to military
distinction, I hope. Do they not?"
"Yes; and I trust that I shall attain it honorably. Fate will assign
me my place; the rest remains for me to do. I have too much to
learn, to mingle with the world."
"Man learns not only through the study of books, but through that of
human nature," exclaimed Max Emmanuel; "and you need never hope for
greatness unless you gain knowledge of the world. I have come to
entice you away, and I will not be refused."
"Whither would you entice me?" asked Eugene, smiling.
"To the paradise of pleasure and of lovely women--to Venice!"
Eugene started, and a glow overspread his pale face. "To Venice!"
echoed he. "To Venice!"
"Ay, prince--to Venice," repeated Max Emmanuel. "To live over the
'Arabian Nights,' by joining the great carnival."
"I have heard that Venice is the seat of all elegance and
refinement, and that no man who has not graduated in its school of
gallantry is considered perfect in worldly accomplishments."
"Then you perceive that you, who are so ambitious, must go with me
to Venice to receive your diploma as a gallant. My heart beats with
joyful impatience as I think of the delights that await us. The
carnival is to be unusually brilliant this year. The Prince of
Hanover, the Margraves of Baireuth and of Baden, the brave
commander-in-chief of the republican armies, Morosini, and Admirals
Molino and Delphini, are all to be there. Morosini himself has
written me an invitation to the carnival, and you must accompany
me."
"No, your highness," replied Eugene, seriously. "I have not been
invited; there is therefore no reason why I should go."
"But if I tell you that I will consider it as a proof of your
friendship," persisted the elector, "then I hope you will no longer
refuse me. Indeed, you would do me the greatest favor."
"How could it possibly be a favor?" asked Eugene.
"I will tell you how. _I_ am impulsive and easily led away: YOUR
principles are firm as a rock. I have known you for three years, and
have closely observed your character, Eugene. You are sensible,
honorable, and independent; you are reserved, yet sincere--brave,
yet discreet. You are more than all this--you are an honest man,
rejoicing in the fame of others, and never blind to worth because of
envy or longing for notoriety."
"My dear, dear friend," interrupted Eugene, "you overrate me beyond-
-"
"No, I do not overrate you," was the elector's reply. "I appreciate
you--that is all; and I want you for a counsellor. You know how a
reigning prince is surrounded by flatterers; how his follies are
heralded to the world as virtues; and, above all, you know how many
snares are spread for such a gilded butterfly by artful women, who
long, not only for his heart, but for his gold; above all, when he
calls himself a prince, and is the son-in-law of an emperor."
"You have a poor opinion of women," smiled Eugene.
"They have given me no reason to think well of them. I know the
whole sex to be fickle, coquettish, and heartless; and yet I am
forever being led astray by their siren voices. And when the wicked
enchantresses smile and swear that they love me, I am ravished--
albeit, I know that every word they utter is a lie."
"You mean when they smiled and swore, I presume," said Eugene; "for
such delusions must have ended with your marriage. The husband of
the beautiful Archduchess Antonia need not fear the wiles of Phryne
or Lais."
"Pardon me," replied the elector, with a woe-begone expression of
countenance, "they have become doubly dangerous, since they are
forbidden fruit. I never was intended to be a model of conjugal
fidelity, and my heart beats fearfully when I think of the starry
eyes, the raven hair, the pearly cheeks of the fair women of Venice!
I have very little confidence in my own valor, if I have to meet
them single-handed. Do, Eugene, come with me; let us be companions-
in-pleasure as we have been companions-in-arms. I depend upon you to
fortify my virtue in the hour of need."
"Your true and loving friend I am and will be ever," replied Eugene;
"but do not ask me to go to Venice. I am too poor to go thither in
such distinguished companionship."
"It is understood that you go as my guest; there can then be no
question of riches or poverty. I have engaged a palace for me and my
suite; my household are already there, and you have nothing to do
but to make yourself at home. Every thing I possess is at my
friend's disposal."
"Which means that your highness considers me as one of your suite,
and perchance intends to supply me with pocket-money?" said Eugene,
proudly.
"Nay, Eugene," replied the elector, offering his hand, "I meant
nothing that could offend my friend. I meant that he should share
with me as a brother whatever I possess."
"There are two things, your highness, which no man can share with
another. One is his mistress, the other his honor. I am poor, and
therefore I cannot share with you your advantages of fortune; I am
obscure, and scorn to shine by the borrowed light of your highness's
exalted station. Sooner would I dwell in a cottage than in a palace
at another man's expense."
Max Emmanuel had at first regarded Eugene with unmixed astonishment;
then the expression of his handsome face had changed to one of
admiration and tenderness. As the prince ceased, the elector rose
from his chair, and took both his friend's hands.
"You are, indeed, one of Nature's noblemen," continued he,
affectionately. "Your view of this matter is, as usual, exceptional;
but it is the highest view that can be taken of such an offer; and,
although I am the loser thereby, I honor you for the refusal. I must
then renounce the pleasure I had promised myself of having your
company to Venice," added the elector, with a sigh.
"Perhaps not," returned Eugene. "Any thing on earth I would do to
prove you my friendship; and I may go to Venice, not for the sake of
its beautiful women, but for the pleasure of bearing you company."
"Thank you for that 'may,' Eugene. But let your decision be a speedy
one, I implore you; for I long to quit a court that bristles with so
many tiresome Spanish formalities. I would be glad to start to-
morrow, but I will wait for you. How long must I wait?"
"Only until my secretary returns from Turin. I expect him to-day."
"So much the better. Let me hear from you as soon as possible."
"I will."
The elector rose and took his leave, while Eugene returned to his
escritoire, and tried to resume his occupation. But his thoughts
were straying to Venice, and his hand lay listless on the paper.
"To Venice!" murmured he. "To Venice--perchance to Laura!"
As he pronounced her name, he broke into one wild ejaculation of
joy.
"See her? Oh, yes!" cried he, passionately. "Gaze into my Laura's
eyes, I must--should the sight cost me my life! But--no!" faltered
he, suddenly. "I must not see her. She has forgotten me; and perhaps
at this very hour, when my heart throbs to bursting at the thought
of meeting her again, she jests with her husband at the silly
episode of her foolish fancy for me! Perhaps she rejoices at her
escape from alliance with the disgraced family of the De Soissons,
and blesses Heaven for--peace, doubting heart! I WILL believe--I
WILL hope--Laura, my Laura.--Ah, Conrad, are you here at last?"
And Eugene, springing from his seat, clasped Conrad's hands within
his own.
"Yes, your highness," replied Conrad, his face beaming with joy to
see his dear lord. "I have just alighted, and must apologize for my
dusty garb. I did not stop to change my dress."
"You were right--quite right, and it needs no apology. Tell me the
result of your mission. Did you speak with the Duke of Savoy in
person?"
"Yes, your highness, he was so kind as to grant me two audiences. I
related to him the entire history of your embarrassments, and their
cause. I told him of the sequestration of your estates by the
covetous King of France, and of the debts which this act of
injustice had compelled you to leave in Paris. He asked me what was
your pay as colonel in the Austrian service. I told him that the pay
was fluctuating as to amount, and uncertain as to receipt; but at
its maximum it might reach the sum of ten thousand florins a year.
Upon this, he said: 'Ten thousand florins a year to maintain a
prince of the house of Savoy, and one of the most distinguished
officers in the imperial service! Well may he be straitened in
purse!' Then I took courage, and told his highness that you could
not possibly live on less than fifteen thousand florins, and that
you appealed to him to assist you in maintaining the dignity of the
ducal house of Savoy, and saving its representatives from absolute
penury."
"And what was the answer?"
"He requested me to return the next day, which I did. I was most
kindly received, and his highness said that he hoped he had found a
remedy for your embarrassments, my lord. Although forbidden by the
laws of Savoy to pay a salary to any man not in the service of his
own dukedom, he would be happy to assist your highness from his own
privy purse, until he had arranged matters in a manner more
satisfactory and more secure. Prince Antony of Savoy, who is in a
dying condition, possesses the revenues of five abbeys, which his
highness of Savoy hopes to have transferred to your highness, thus
securing to you a fixed and certain income, not subject to the
sequestrations of the King of France."
"He wrote no letter?"
"No, your highness. The duke gave me four rouleaux of three hundred
ducats each for present need, and bade me take them as his answer to
your highness's letter."
Eugene smiled. "Therein I recognize my prudent cousin, who dares not
trust his promises to writing. But I thank him for his golden
answer. How much did you say you brought, Conrad?"
"Twelve hundred ducats, my lord, which will cover all expenses until
the opening of the spring campaign, when your pay is due."
"But, my dear Conrad, you forget that we have debts to pay. And, by-
the-by, what news do you bring from Paris?"
"Your highness's creditors there were so astounded at the prospect
of being paid, that I almost regretted to be obliged to disturb the
tranquillity with which they had accepted their losses. They were so
grateful that they bade me say they would be perfectly satisfied
with yearly instalments of any amount your highness would be pleased
to pay. So I made arrangements to close your whole indebtedness at
the end of three years."
"A long time for those poor fellows to wait for their dues," said
Eugene, shaking his head. "Conrad, if we obtain the transfer of
those abbey revenues, the first sum we receive therefrom goes to my
creditors in Paris. Remember that." [Footnote: The payment of Prince
Eugene's debts was regarded as something ultra-honorable by the
people of Paris, and the Duchess Elizabeth-Charlotte speaks of it in
her letters as a noble action.--See "Letters of Elizabeth-
Charlotte."]
"I shall be very sure to remember it, my lord; for it will be an
occasion of rejoicing to many an honest tradesman, each one of whom
will bless your highness's magnanimity."
"Magnanimity! I call it bare justice!" said Eugene. "Give me the
memoranda."
Conrad presented the package, which his lord opened, examining each
account until he had seen all.
"I miss one account here which I would gladly pay," said he, with
some embarrassment.
"The account of Monsieur Louis?" was Conrad's prompt reply.
Eugene made a motion of assent, while Conrad continued:
"My lord," said he, averting his eyes from the prince, "I went to
Monsieur Louis, as I did to your other creditors. He said that he
could not accept payment for decorations which had never been
completed. He would always hold sacred the remembrance of the day
when your highness fell insensible upon a heap of garlands that were
to have ornamented your reception-rooms, and he had been near to
lift you in his arms. He told me this with tears in his eyes, my
lord; pardon me if I have awakened painful reminiscences by the
recital; but he begged me to convey his message, and I felt bound to
comply."
For some moments Eugene kept silence. After a pause, during which
Conrad dared not meet his eye, the prince replied:
"Conrad," said he, "if I should ever afford to have a princely
retinue again, I will take Monsieur Louis into my service. At all
events, if I ever build a house, he shall decorate it, and shall be
well paid for his work.--And now to other things. Did you see her
highness the Duchess of Orleans?"
"Yes, my lord. Her highness was walking in the park when your letter
was handed to her. She sent for me at once, and received me in the
little pavilion."
"The pavilion! The pavilion! Go on."
"She inquired minutely as to your health, prospects, and condition.
She asked if you were cheerful. I told her that you were always in
high spirits on the day of a battle. Then she would have me relate
to her the dangers you had incurred, spoke of her grief at hearing
you had been wounded, and seemed never to tire of your praises. Then
she sat down and begged me to wait until she wrote you a short
letter. Here it is, my lord."
Eugene broke the seal; then, as if ashamed of the emotion that was
welling up from his agitated heart, he looked at Conrad, who
understood the appeal, and withdrew.
As the letter was opened, a small bit of paper fell from its folds,
and fluttered to the carpet. Eugene, without observing it, began to
read his letter. It ran thus:
"I cannot refrain from sending you a greeting in my own hand. My
dear prince, I hold you in affectionate remembrance; let me hope
that you have not forgotten me. Every thing remains here as when you
left; false, frivolous, and, to me, as antagonistic as of erst. I
have never been happy since SHE was so cruelly forced away from my
protection. I have had news of her. My daughter, who lives in Turin,
made a visit to Venice lately. I had begged her, if possible, to
give me tidings of----, and to give her my hearty love. They met for
a moment, when she pressed into my daughter's hand a little note for
me. I opened it, but it contained only the slip of paper I enclose.
Be assured of my sincere and constant friendship. ELIZABETH-
CHARLOTTE."
"The paper! the paper!" exclaimed Eugene, as, with trembling hands,
he opened the sheet, and found nothing within. "Great God! the
duchess has forgotten to enclose it, and I must away to Paris, this
night, this very--"
Just then his eyes rested on the carpet, and there at his feet lay
the treasured paper. It contained these words:
"I am a prisoner--watched day and night. Have you, too, forgotten
me? I cannot believe it; and, after three long years of silence and
of suffering, I still await your coming."
As Eugene read these tender words, he sank on his knees, and pressed
the paper to his lips. "Forgive me, my Laura," murmured he. "I was
weak in faith, and unworthy of you. But I will love you all the more
for my injustice. I come! I come!"
He rose from his knees, calling for Conrad, who was in the
antechamber, awaiting a summons to return. Great was his
astonishment when he beheld Eugene advancing toward him, his lips
parted with a happy smile, his eyes beaming with animation, his
whole bearing transformed. What could it mean?
"Conrad," cried he, and his very voice had a joyful peal, like the
chime of marriage-bells--"Conrad, we must leave Vienna this evening.
Let everything be in readiness. If we have not gold enough with our
cousin's ducats, borrow more; but be ready to go with me at once.
Stay--I had almost forgotten. Go to the palace; see the chamberlain
of his highness the Elector of Bavaria, and tell him to announce to
the prince that Prince Eugene of Savoy leaves this evening for
Venice. That is all. Make haste, Conrad! Away with you, and fly back
as soon as possible, for I tell you that we must be on our road
before night!"
CHAPTER III.
THE MARQUIS STROZZI.
The Marquis Strozzi was alone in his cabinet, pacing the room with
clouded brow and compressed lips. Now and then he stopped before the
window which opened on a balcony overlooking the Canale Grande; and
the sight of the gayly-decked gondolas that shot hither and thither
with their freight of youth and youthful glee, seemed to intensify
his discontent, and rouse him to positive anger.
"They are shouting their stupid welcome to these foreign princes,"
muttered he, "and presently she will be attracted by the sound, and
seek to know what it means. My God!" ejaculated he, striking his
forehead, "this love is the curse of my life. It will drive me to
madness, and yet--and yet I cannot overcome it. To work, then, to
work! I must increase my number of spies."
In the centre of the room, on a table of Florentine mosaic, lay a
little golden hell, fashioned by the master-hand of Benvenuto
Cellini. The marquis rang it gently, and, before he had replaced it,
a secret door in the wall slided back, giving entrance to a masked
figure, enveloped in a long black cloak.
Strozzi surveyed him for a moment, then, throwing himself upon a
divan, he was lost in contemplation of the frescoes by Paul
Veronese, which decorated the ceiling of this luxurious apartment.
Meanwhile the mask had carefully closed the door, and stood
respectfully silent.
Finally Strozzi condescended to speak. "Take off your mask." The man
obeyed, and Strozzi gazed upon a sinister face, disfigured by a
long, purple scar, which reached from the left temple to the chin.
"Do you know," continued the marquis, "that if you were to appear
unmasked in the market-place, every child in Venice would recognize
you, Antonio?"
"Yes, excellenza," was the humble reply.
"How did you come by that scar?" sneered the patrician.
Antonio moved impatiently, and glanced imploringly at the marquis.
The latter merely repeated the question.
Antonio heaved a sigh, and his head dropped to his breast.
"It was inflicted by my father," murmured he, almost inaudibly.
"Speak louder," said Strozzi. "Why did he inflict it?"
The man's eyes shot fire, but he dared not remonstrate. His glance
fell before the cold glitter of Strozzi's black orbs, as he muttered
in reply, "I was trying to get at his money, when he rushed in upon
me, and gashed my face with a dagger."
"Upon which YOU plunged your poniard into his throat, and made an
end of your respectable parent on the spot."
"Excellenza," cried Antonio, in tones of deep emotion, "I had but
raised it to ward off the blow, when my father rushed upon it, and
so met his fate."
The marquis laughed. "Rushed upon it--did he? Of course you are an
innocent lamb of a parricide, and the judgment passed upon your act
was a most iniquitous one. It was doubtless a shame that you were
publicly maimed, and then led back to prison to await your
execution. Possibly you may remember the night that followed your
punishment, when a priest entered your cell, and, on condition that
you paid him implicit obedience for five years, offered you life and
the release of your paramour--the woman for whose sake you murdered
your father."
"Poor Caterina!" sighed Antonio. "To think that, for the life of a
babe not a day old, she should be imprisoned for five years!"
"Why, then, did she murder it?" asked Strozzi.
"To save herself from the vengeance of her husband, excellenza. But
I--I have kept my word, and have served you faithfully, have I not?"
"Yes--you are a tolerably submissive hound," said Strozzi,
scornfully. "How long before your bondage ceases?"
"Excellenza, it was in January, 1683, that you appeared to me in the
dress of a priest, and saved me from the headsman. I owe you still
one year, one month, and twenty-six days of service."
"You are accurate--very; but mark me! If you fail in the least
point, the contract is null. I neither release your Caterina nor
you."
"I am your slave, and have no will but yours."
"'Tis well. What have you learned to-day?"
"As regards the gracious marchioness, but little. She drew, played
on her harp, and embroidered, as usual, and wrote a letter, which
she committed to the hands of that demoiselle Victorine. who gives
out that she was sent to her ladyship by her friend the Duchess of
Orleans."
"I know--I know. Where is the letter?"
"Here it is, excellenza."
The marquis examined the seal, to see that it had not been tampered
with by his underlings. "Any thing further?" added he, raising his
eyes to Antonio's woe-begone face.
"Very little, excellenza. The signora went twice to the balcony to
look at the gondolas, Mademoiselle Victorine watching her from
within. The second time she went, she clasped her hands all of a
sudden, blushed, and leaned so far over the balustrade that
mademoiselle made sure that there was something unusual on the
canal. Pretending that she had some question to ask as to the
signora's dress, she followed, but the signora was so absorbed in
what she saw, that she did not remark her tire-woman."
"What was it?" asked Strozzi, breathless with expectation.
"The Canale Grande was so crowded with splendid gondolas that it was
hard to say what had attracted the marchioness's attention. But
after a moment or two of waiting, Mademoiselle Victorine saw that
one of the gondolas was stationary just opposite to the palace."
"Whose gondola? Who was in it?" cried Strozzi, imperiously.
"Besides the gondoliers, the gondola contained a young man, so
simply dressed, that he could not have been anybody of distinction,
for he wore a brown doublet with plain buttons. Mademoiselle
concluded that the lying-to of the gondola was accidental; he was
too insignificant to have interested the signora."
"What do YOU think?" asked Strozzi, eying him searchingly.
"I think it was premeditated, but I will soon find out."
"What steps have you take a to--? But no!--go on--go on. What took
place afterward?"
"Nothing, excellenza; for after this gondola, came that of my lord
the marquis, and the signora retreated hastily to her room."
"Ah!--Now tell me what you have done?"
"I posted one of my men, with his gondola, under the balcony. He is
to remain there, watching every gondola that passes both by day and
by night. I have stationed men at every entrance of the palace, who
are to give admittance to all who present themselves; but who are to
require the names and business of all who leave. Even those who are
in your excellency's pay are to be searched--for example,
Mademoiselle Victorine."
"You are a well-trained dog," laughed Strozzi. "I really believe
that I will have to set you and your child-murderess free, some of
these days. Go, now, and bring me word who was in that gondola."
Antonio resumed his mask, and disappeared through the door, which
closed, and left no trace upon the wall.
At this moment, there was a knock at the door of the antechamber,
and a woman's voice was heard, asking admission.
"Lucretia!" said Strozzi, rising and undoing the bolt.
A lady entered the room. She was enveloped from head to foot in a
veil of costly Venetian guipure, fastened to the braids of her
raven-black hair by two large brilliants. Her face had been
concealed by the veil, but, as the door closed behind her, she threw
it back, and exposed to view a countenance of remarkable beauty.
"Look at me, Ottario," said she. "Tell me candidly--am I handsome
enough to bewitch our guests, those princely bears of Germany?"
The marquis surveyed her critically, just as a painter might examine
a fine picture. He looked at her pale, pearly skin, her scarlet
lips, her delicately-chiselled nose, and her low, wide forehead, so
like that of the Capitoline Venus. Then he gazed into her dark,
flashing eyes, at once so languishing and so passionate, with the
beautiful arched eyebrows that gave such finish to their splendor.
The black hair, like a frame of ebony, surrounded the face, and
brought out the graceful oval of her cheeks. Strozzi then followed
the luxurious outline of her well-developed bust, prisoned in a
bodice of blue velvet, which rested on her white shoulders like an
azure cloud upon the bosom of a snowy mountain-peak. The skirt, also
of blue velvet, was short in front, that it might not conceal a
fairy foot encased in blue satin slippers; but, behind, it fell in a
long train, whose rich folds lay on the carpet, perfecting the grace
and elegance of the beautiful living picture.
"You are certainly charming," said Strozzi, at last--"quite charming
enough to bewitch a dozen German princes, supposing your husband to
offer no impediment to the spell."
Here she drew out a fan of coral and gold. and, opening it with a
snap, began to fan herself. "Caro amico," said she, "you speak as if
you were ignorant of the character and virtues of Count Canossa,
when you yourself are the very tradesman that sold me to him."
"You use very strong expressions, Lucretia."
"Do I? Not stronger than are warranted by the transaction. You sold
me to him to rid yourself of your mother's dying charge, and you did
it, although you knew him to be a man so depraved that nothing on
earth was sacred in his eyes--not even the virtue of his wife."
"Why, that," replied the marquis significantly, "is so much the
better for you."
"You mean that otherwise he would not have married me?" asked
Lucretia.
"I mean that he would have examined more carefully into the truth of
the rumor which accused the sister of the Strozzi of having a
liaison with a gondolier; of having fled with him to Padua, and of
having been caught and brought hack to Venice, while her patrician
lover was sent to the galleys."
"I wish he had done so," was the reply, "and then you would have
been compelled to save my honor by allowing me to marry Giuseppe. Do
not laugh so heartlessly, Ottario. I loved him not only because of
his manly beauty, but because he was honorable and worthy of a
woman's purest love. His only fault was that of having loved me. You
sent him to the galleys; and I--I, too, have been condemned to the
galleys, and chained to a felon for life. Well I know that he
covered my indiscretions with his name for a stipulated sum, which
my generous brother paid to save my reputation, and he gambled it
away before the expiration of a year. Our palace resembles a ship
that has been visited by corsairs. It contains nothing but a pile of
lumber, for which not even a pawnbroker would give a bajocco. Were
it not for your alms, the Countess Canossa would starve."
"Alms, call you my gifts?" said Strozzi, casting his eyes over her
rich toilet. "They dress you up handsomely, methinks."
"But there they end," objected the countess. "I have neither lackeys
nor diamonds, neither gondola nor gondolier, and my saloons are so
shabby that I can receive no company at home. You give me as little
as decency permits."
"If I gave you diamonds, our dear Canossa would steal them; and if I
furnished your parlors, he would gamble away the furniture in a
night."
"You know the worth of the husband you selected for your mother's
child, and doubtless you had your own private reasons for
sacrificing her to such a man. His worthlessness, too, furnishes an
excuse for your niggardly allowance to me. The very dresses I wear
are the price of dishonor. I often feel ashamed of the part I play
toward your wife, Ottario, and I know not but some day I may throw
myself at her feet and acknowledge my treachery."
"If you do, your acknowledgment will be forthwith conveyed to my
ears, and the doors of the palace Strozzi will be closed to you
forever."
"I know it," sighed the countess; "and the fear of this expulsion
binds me to your wicked will."
"Never mind what binds you, so you serve with fidelity; and, above
all things, I charge you to be watchful during the coming week. I
will not be able to keep my wife much longer from participation in
the social pleasures of Venice."
"Why not? You have spread a report of her insanity, and nobody will
ever give a thought to her absence."
"But she may desire to witness the carnival herself."
"How so? when she has invariably refused to be presented to any one
as your wife?"
"She might change her mind, and claim her right to be presented to
the doge and dogessa. She may wish to take part in the carnival,
because of a fancy for some foreign prince!--Great God! when I think
of such a possibility," cried Strozzi, interrupting himself, "I feel
as though I were going mad for jealousy!"
"Poor fellow!" said Lucretia, "I pity you. You live with a perpetual
dagger in your heart."
"And it will kill me unless you are loyal to your office, Lucretia.
Promise me to watch this woman closely. Listen to me.--She may wish
to go out, and if she does, it is quite natural that you, as well as
I, should accompany her. Swear that wheresoever you may be together,
you will not for one moment quit her side, or take your eyes off her
person."
"For what do you take me. pray? Do you suppose that I attend the
carnival to yawn at the side of your wife? or do you imagine that
such eyes as mine were made for nothing better than to stare at a
woman?"
"You will have as much opportunity as you can desire to use them to
your own advantage, Lucretia, for Laura will not go out often."
"What will you give me in return for my self-denial?"
"If the carnival passes off without misadventure, I will buy you a
splendid gondola, with two gondoliers dressed all in silk."
"Give them to me now, and if I neglect my duty, then take them back.
But do--do give them to me to use during the carnival."
"Very well, you shall have them to-morrow morning. And you swear
that my wife shall neither give her hand nor speak to any man in
Venice, and that you will report her very glances to me?"
"I swear to guard your golden apple like a good dragon. And to-
morrow I shall join the great regatta," added she, clapping her
hands like a petted child. "Now, Ottario, listen to me--I have just
come from your wife's apartments with news for you."
"What is it?" gasped Strozzi, clutching at the arms of his chair.
"The beautiful Laura is no longer the cold vestal that came to
Venice as your wife. Her eye is bright, her cheek is flushed, her
lips are parted with womanly longing. I congratulate you upon the
change. Your love has at last awakened a corresponding sentiment,
and now is your time to woo and win. I came hither to tell you this
and make you happy. Do not forget my gondola! Addio, caro amico,
addio!"
She kissed the tips of her rosy fingers, and then, coquettishly
drawing her veil around her shoulders, she bounded off like a
gazelle, through the corridors of the palace.
"I wish I had your frivolity," murmured her brother, sinking back
upon the cushions of his divan. "I would that love, for me, were but
the episode of the hour!--But hark!--twelve o'clock--the hour for my
visit to her who is at once the blessing and the curse of my life!"
He was about to quit the room, when he heard a rustling at the
secret door. "Come in," said he, and the mask re-entered the room.
"You, Antonio! Already returned?" asked Strozzi, surprised.
"Yes, excellenza. I know the name of the young man in the gondola
which stopped before the palace this morning."
Strozzi was too much agitated to speak. He signed to the man to go
on.
"It was Prince Eugene of Savoy. He arrived in Venice yesterday, and
has taken the little Palazzo Capello, next to the Palazzo
Manfredino, which since this morning is occupied by the Elector of
Bavaria."
Strozzi was now as pale as a corpse; his brow darkened, and his
limbs trembled so that he was obliged to sit down. He mastered his
agitation as well as he could, and resumed his questionings.
"You are quite sure, Antonio?"
"Perfectly sure, excellenza."
"And yet the Prince of Savoy is not among the invited?"
"He came alone. The Marquis de Villars had rented the Palazzo
Capello for himself, but he has given it up to Prince Eugene, and
has accepted the invitation of the elector to occupy a suite on the
ground floor of the Palazzo Manfredino. The Prince of Savoy and the
elector are intimate friends; for no sooner had the former arrived,
than he left his address at the Palazzo Manfredino; and the latter
had not been here an hour before he was at the hotel of the White
Lion, where Prince Eugene had taken lodgings. By noon, the elector
had obtained the relinquishment of the Palazzo Capello for the
prince, and the Marquis de Villars had taken up his quarters at the
Palazzo Manfredino."
"From whom did you learn all these details?"
"From one of the gondoliers that rowed Prince Eugene this morning,
my half-brother Beppo. 'Whither shall I row you, excellenza?' asked
he. 'Anywhere,' said the prince, in excellent Italian, 'but take me
to see your famous palaces.' 'The Foscari, for example?' inquired
Beppo. 'Yes, and the Strozzi, which, I am told, is one of the finest
residences in Venice.' So they rowed to the Strozzi palace, and
there the prince bade Beppo stop for ever so long a time. The prince
will spend the entire carnival here. He has bought a gondola, and
his secretary is on the lookout for gondoliers, an Italian valet,
and a commissionnaire."
"You will offer yourself as his commissionnaire, then," said
Strozzi, with a sinister scowl. "And be sure you get the place--do
you hear?"
Antonio bowed, and the marquis continued: "In fifteen minutes return
to me, and meanwhile--begone!"
Without a word of reply Antonio disappeared; Strozzi pressed down
into the wall the spring by which the door was opened, and then,
taking up his plumed hat, betook himself to the apartments of his
wife.
CHAPTER IV.
LAURA.
She lay half buried in the yellow satin cushions of a soft ottoman.
Her large, dreamy eyes were fixed upon the ceiling, whereon groups
of flying Cupids were pelting one another with roses. Her lips were
parted with a happy smile, her fair brow was serene and cloudless,
and her cheeks were tinged with a faint flush like that of the rose
that is kissed by the first beams of the rising sun. She was the
same beautiful, spirited, hopeful being that had lived and loved in
the pavilion of the Palais Royal.
She lay dreaming and smiling, smiling and dreaming, when the velvet
portiere that opened into her boudoir was drawn aside to give
entrance to the Marquis de Strozzi. Yesterday his visit had been a
martyrdom to Laura; to-day she was indifferent to it: she was far
beyond its influence, nor did she acknowledge it by so much as a
glance.
But when he stood directly before her, and would have stooped to
kiss her hand, she withdrew it with a gesture of aversion, although
her countenance yet beamed with happiness.
The marquis saw that she was excited, and he frowned. "You seem in
good spirits to-day, Marchioness de Strozzi," said he, moodily.
"I am indeed in good spirits when I can endure your presence with
tranquillity, nor start at the sound of a title which is not mine. I
am not the Marchioness de Strozzi."
"I do not know how that can be, when you are indubitably my wedded
wife."
"No, no, I am no wedded wife of yours, nor am I bound to you by the
lying vows that gave me into your keeping. For three years, I have
endeavored to make you understand this, but you are singularly
obtuse."
"I can never be made to understand that the woman who, in presence
of her father and brother, promised to be unto me a faithful wife,
is not my true and lawful spouse."
"My vows were not for you; they were made to another."
"Nay--I can show your signature to the contract, and the pope
himself cannot undo our marriage."
"Our marriage!" exclaimed she, haughtily. "There is no marriage
between you and me, and be assured that there never will be. I would
sooner die than become your wife. Hear me," continued she,
passionately. "If I thought that I was indeed bound to you, I would-
-ay! I believe that I would commit the crime of suicide. Could you
convince me that the hand which received your accursed ring was
indeed yours, I would gather up all my strength of hate to strike it
off, and dash it in your face."
"Great God! And I love you to madness!" cried he, throwing himself
on his knees, and clasping her hands so convulsively that all her
writhings could not release them. "I love you, I love you, and am
doomed to love you, albeit your cruelty is driving me to madness!"
"'Tis the punishment of your crime toward me," answered Laura,
coldly. "You have sinned against love, and God has punished you
through love that shall be forever unrequited. Accept your fate, and
be resigned."
"I cannot do it, Laura, I cannot do it! My love for you is like a
deadly poison that sets my blood on fire. It must be requited, or I
shall die a maniac. Oh, have pity! have pity!"
"Pity for YOU!" said she, contemptuously.
"Look at me," cried he, imploringly. "For once in your life, Laura,
turn your eyes upon me without hate, and see how love has corroded
my very life. Three years ago I was a happy man--to-day I am not yet
thirty, and my hair is gray, and my face wrinkled. Life has no
charms for me, and yet I am too cowardly to die, and leave you to
another. Oh, Laura, look at me, and be merciful! Deliver me from the
hell in which your hatred has plunged me!"
"Nay--your sufferings are the purgatorial fires whereby you may
perchance be purified from the guilt of your treachery toward an
innocent girl. Marquis de Strozzi, now look at me. Am I, too,
changed since three years of misery unspeakable?"
"No," sighed he, "you are as beautiful and youthful as you were when
first I saw you in Paris."
"You are right," replied she. "I am altered neither in appearance
nor in heart. And do you know why? It is because Hope, bright-eyed
Hope, has sat day and night by my side, whispering sweet words of
encouragement, bidding me be firm; imparting to me strength to
endure the present, and to enjoy the future. I feel it in my soul
that he will come sooner or later to liberate me from my bondage."
"If he ever comes, I will murder him!" hissed Strozzi.
"You will try, but you will not succeed. God protects him, and he
wears the invisible armor of my love to shield him from your hate."
"Very well. Pray for him if you will; but, as sure as I live, I will
find his vulnerable heel!"
As he said this, Laura turned pale, and Strozzi remarked her pallor
with a malicious pleasure. "Ah! your faith is not strong! My
poisoned arrows will find the flaw, and upon him shall be avenged
every pang that you have inflicted upon my bleeding heart. You know
that he is here--I see it by your altered demeanor."
"Yes, yes, I know it."
"Be not too overjoyed thereat: for the daggers of my bravoes are
keen and sure, and the lagoons are deep, and give not up their
dead."
"You would not sully your soul with secret murder!" exclaimed Laura,
shuddering.
"That would I. He is my rival, and he shall be put out of my way--
that is all."
"No--that is not all. You dare not murder a prince, a hero upon whom
the eyes of all Europe are fixed in admiration. Such a man as he is
not to be put out of the way with impunity. Were you to murder
Eugene of Savoy, know that I myself would be your accuser; and your
uncle, the doge himself, is not powerful enough to save your head
from the executioner."
"What care I for the executioner's axe, who for three years have
been stretched upon the rack of your aversion? So I make sure that
he has gone before me--so I have the sweet revenge of sending him to
Tartarus, what care I how soon I follow him thither?"
"You are a monster!" exclaimed Laura.
"I am the work of your hands," replied Strozzi. "If I am a monster,
my perdition he upon your head. And now, mark me! I came hither to
have one decisive interview with you. Prince Eugene is in Venice;
you are aware of it, for you sent him a greeting from your balcony
this morning, as his gondola lay in front of the palace."
"Your spies are vigilant," said she.
"Yes, they serve me well, and they are ubiquitous. They mark each
smile and report every tear that tells of silent joy or grief upon
your face. They are with you when you pray; they watch you while you
sleep, so that your very dreams are not your own. Now you are my
wife, howsoever you may protest against the name, and you shall not
sully that name, be assured of it. If, by word or look, by movement
or sign, you allow Prince Eugene to suppose that you recognize him,
he shall expiate your disobedience to my will by death. I am afraid
that you do not believe me; you think that I make a mere threat to
terrify you into submission. Is it so?"
"Yes, marquis, it is so. You are treacherous and cruel; but, abhor
you as I may for the misery you have inflicted upon me, I do believe
you to be one degree above a bravo. You are not a coward--you would
not consent to be an assassin."
"You flatter your keeper, that you may disarm him."
"No; I speak the truth. I hate, but do not despise you to such a
degree as to believe your threats."
"So much the worse for you. I would enjoy the privilege of plunging
a dagger into his heart with my own hands; but I must deny myself
that satisfaction. It is safer to employ a bravo, and to pay him.
You know how dearly I loved my mother, do you not?"
"Yes, I have heard of it from your sister."
"Well--that portrait hanging over your divan is my mother's.
Doubtless, had you known it, you would have banished it from the
walls of your boudoir for hatred of her son."
"I have all along known that it is your mother. But I loved my own
too deeply ever to offer disrespect to yours. I have often raised my
imploring eyes to that mild face, and have poured out to her spirit
my plaint of her son's cruelty."
"Raise your eyes to it again, then, and inform her that it rests
with you whether her son shall become an assassin or not. For, by my
mother's soul, I swear that, if ever there comes to pass the most
trifling interchange of thought between Prince Eugene and the
Marchioness de Strozzi, he shall die--die, if I have to expiate the
deed upon the scaffold! Do you believe me now?"
"I must believe you," returned Laura, sickening with disgust. "But
while conviction despoils you of the last claim I supposed you to
possess to the name of a man, it does not terrify me for the life
you would destroy. God, who has protected him on the field of
battle--God, who has created him 'to give the world assurance of a
man'--God, who is the shield of the pure, the brave, the virtuous,
will not suffer the Prince of Savoy to fall under the dagger of your
hired bravi!" "Nous verrons.--And now, signora, let us speak of
other things. The carnival this year is to be of unusual splendor; a
number of foreigners of distinction have visited Venice to witness
it. Lucretia, without doubt, has apprised you of all this?"
"She has."
"So I presumed; for Lucretia is fond of gossip. She would gladly
induce you to go into society, knowing that a woman of your beauty
and extreme youth cannot appear in the world alone, and that she
would naturally be the person to accompany you. Would you like to
see the regatta?"
This proposal terrified Laura, for she comprehended that he was in
earnest when he threatened Eugene's life. The marquis read her
thoughts, and replied to them.
"I shall shun no occasion whatever that may justify me in keeping
the oath you heard me take a while ago. And, therefore, you are
welcome to appear at the regatta. The doge will be there in the
Bucentaur, attended by all the court. As you have refused to be
presented as my wife, you cannot take your proper place among the
ladies of rank. But it is not too late. If you wish, I can present
you to-day."
"No--no," cried Laura, "I do not wish it."
"Then perhaps you would like to go incognita. It will be many years
before another such regatta is seen in Venice."
"True, I would like to see the sight," said the poor young victim.
And to herself she added: "I might perchance see HIM."
"Be it so, then, signora; your wishes are my commands."
"But I would like to see without being seen," added she.
"Indeed!" exclaimed Strozzi, with a wicked sneer. "Then I will see
that your gondola is closely curtained. Will you allow me the honor
of accompanying you?"
"As if I were free to refuse," said Laura, with quivering lip.
"One thing more," said the marquis. "It is the custom for all who
join in the festivities of the carnival to appear in a costume of
some foregone century. May I commission my sister to select yours?"
"I would like to select for myself."
The marquis bowed his head. "As you please. The tradesmen of Venice
will be delighted at last to have a look at the beautiful wife of
the Strozzi."
Laura shrank visibly. "I will not go," said she. "Let the Countess
Canossa select my costume. It matters little to me: but be so good
as to see that the gondola is well curtained."
"I will not forget it," answered the marquis, as he bowed and left
the room.
Laura's eyes followed him until he had crossed her whole suite, and
had closed the door behind him. Then, yielding to the bliss of being
left a few moments alone, she opened her arms, and, kneeling before
her prie-dieu, poured out her heart in prayer to Heaven for Eugene's
safety. Then, throwing herself again upon the divan, she began to
dream. She saw her gondola approaching his; she saw her lover--her
spouse, and made one rapid movement of her hand. His gondola touched
hers; she flung aside the curtains and leaped into the boat with
him.
But as she dreamed, there floated over the water the sound of song.
This was no unusual sound on the Canale Grande, but the music was
not Italian; it was no languishing barcarolle, such as Venetian
lovers were wont to sing to their mistresses; the air was foreign--
the words were French. She heard them distinctly; they were the
words of her own, dear, native language!
"It is he!" cried she, springing out upon the balcony.
Yes, it was he; he had called her with an old familiar air, and,
while he looked up in rapture, the music went on, for the singers
were in a gondola that followed.
Laura was so wild with joy that she forgot the marquis, his spies,
and his threats. Snatching the first bouquet that presented itself,
she made an attempt to throw it to her lover. But she had not
calculated the distance, and it fell far short of its destination.
"An evil omen," murmured she, and then she remembered the horrible
threat of the marquis. She gave one ejaculation of terror, and
bounded back into her boudoir.
About fifteen minutes later, Strozzi entered the room. In his hand
he held a bouquet of beautiful roses, which he presented with mock
courtesy.
"Signora, you were so unfortunate as to drop your bouquet in the
lagoon not long ago. The mermaids will be glad to receive so fair a
gift from so fair a hand. Allow me to replace it."
"On the contrary, I must request you to take your roses away from my
boudoir. I do not like the odor of flowers, and I threw mine into
the water because their perfume oppressed me. I regret that you
should have taken so much useless trouble."
"And I beg pardon for interrupting your reveries," said Strozzi,
with a sarcastic smile, as he bowed and retired with his bouquet.
"Gracious Heaven, I was watched! Am I, then, given over to enemies,
and is there not one being here that I can trust?"
At this moment a door opened, and a young girl entered the room.
"Victorine!" exclaimed Laura, joyfully, "come hither. God has sent
you to me to shield me from despair."
The girl came smilingly forward, and, kneeling at her mistress's
side, looked affectionately at her, saying in Laura's own tongue:
"What ails my dear mistress?"
"Victorine," replied Laura, gazing earnestly into the maiden's eyes,
"Victorine, do you love me?"
Victorine covered her hand with kisses, while she protested that she
loved her mistress with all her heart. "Dear lady," said she, "did I
not leave Paris for love of her whom her royal highness cherished as
a daughter? Was I not sent to you by the Duchess of Orleans, that
you might have one true friend among your troops of enemies? And now
that I had hoped to have proved to my dear mistress my devotion, she
asks if I love her!"
"True, Victorine, I have no right to doubt your attachment. And
certainly I have proved that I trust you, by committing to your care
my letters to the duchess. Ah, Victorine, when will you bring me an
answer to those letters?"
"The answers cannot have reached Venice as yet, dear mistress," said
Victorine, soothingly. "But I came to tell you something. May I
speak?"
"Yes--speak--speak quickly!"
Victorine went on tiptoe to the door, and, having convinced herself
that no one was near, she came close to Laura, and whispered in her
ear: "Madame, one of the foreign princes has been here to call on
you."
"Who? who?"
"Prince Eugene of Savoy," said Victorine, as though she was afraid
the breeze might betray her.
Laura shivered, became deadly pale, and could scarcely gather
courage to say, "He was refused entrance?"
"Yes, the porter told him that the marchioness was in bad health,
and received no visitors."
"That was well. Go, Victorine, and tell the servants to convey
neither message nor card of Prince Eugene of Savoy to me. I will not
receive him. Go, go quickly, and then--"
"And then?" said Victorine, coaxingly.
Laura was silent for a while; then, putting her arms around
Victorine's neck, she drew the young girl's head upon her bosom.
"Try to find out where Prince Eugene is staying, and go to him. Say
that you come from the Marchioness Bonaletta, and you will be
admitted to his presence. Now tell him word for word what I shall
say to you. 'To-morrow the Marchioness Bonaletta will attend the
regatta. Her gondola will be closed, but whosoever wishes to
recognize it can see her as she descends the stair and enters it.
Let the gondola be closely followed, and when a hand holding a
nosegay of roses is seen outside the curtain, let the gondoliers be
instructed to come as close as possible to the hand, so that the two
gondolas collide. Then--let the prince await me.' Do you hear,
Victorine?"
"Yes, dear mistress, I hear, and will report your words faithfully."
"Tell him that Venice is alive with spies and bravi, and oh! bid him
be careful how he exposes himself to danger. Now go! and may Heaven
bless you for your fidelity to a wretched and betrayed woman!"
Victorine withdrew. But before leaving the palace, she betook
herself to the cabinet of the marquis, where they had an interview
of some length. No sooner was she dismissed, than she retreated to
her own room, drew out a purse of gold from her bosom, chinked its
contents, emptied them out on the table, and counted them with
rapture.
"Ten ducats! Ten ducats for each intercepted message," said she. "I
shall soon he rich enough to leave this abominable marsh of a
Venice, and return to my dear Paris!"
Having locked up her gold, and tied the key of her chest around her
neck, she directed her steps to the hotel of Prince Eugene.
CHAPTER V.
THE REGATTA.
Prince Eugene was watching the little French clock on the marble
mantelpiece of his dressing-room, wondering, in his impatience,
whether it ever would strike the hour of twelve, the hour at which
he was to witness the departure of the Strozzis for the regatta.
Mademoiselle Victorine had delivered her mistress's message, and the
heart of her lover was once more bounding with joy. His eyes flashed
with a light which, except on a day of battle, had never been seen
within their sad depths since the dreadful period of his parting
with Laura. Forgotten was all the anguish of those three long years;
forgotten all doubts, forgotten all fears. She loved him; she was
true to her vows, and he would bear her away from her ravisher to
the spouse that was hers before Heaven.
But how long--how unspeakably long--the hours that intervened
between him and happiness! He was wishing for some interruption that
would break this monotonous waiting, when the door opened, and
Conrad came forward.
"My lord, I have found a commissionnaire for you; one who professes
to know Venice and its golden book by heart."
"Introduce him at once: I wish to speak with him."
Conrad opened the door and signed to some one without, when the
commissionnaire advanced and bowed.
"Why are you masked?" asked the prince, who remembered the warning
which Laura had sent him the day previous.
"Excellenza, every Venetian of good character has a right to wear a
mask during the carnival."
"And every criminal can take advantage of the right," replied
Eugene. "Behind a mask every man has a good character, for nobody
knows who he is."
"I beg pardon, excellenza. The republican fathers, through their
sbirri, know every man in Venice. If you will take the trouble to
look around you in the market-place, you will see how now and then a
masker is touched on the shoulder, when his mask drops at once, or
he escapes among the crowd to avoid public exposure."
"Then, I suppose that a stranger has no hope of seeing the beautiful
women here?" observed Eugene, smiling.
"Pardon me; to-day, at the regatta, no masks will be worn, and your
excellency will see all the beauty of Venice, both patrician and
plebeian."
"Why, then, do YOU wear a mask?"
"I wear it habitually, having a fancy to go about incognito."
"Nevertheless, you must remove it now, for I cannot take a man into
my service incognito."
The man raised his left hand, withdrew the mask, and revealed to
sight a face that was colorless save where it had been marked with a
deep-red scar from temple to jaw.
"You are indeed conspicuous, and not to be mistaken by those who
have seen you once. Whence came this scar?"
"I received it two years ago, excellenza, at the taking of Prevosa."
"You have been a soldier, then?" asked Eugene, his countenance at
once expressing interest.
"I have, indeed; and but for the loss of my right hand by the sabre
of an infernal Turk, I would be a soldier still."
"You have written the conquests of the republic upon your body, my
friend," said Eugene, kindly. "But your mutilations are so many
orders of valor; they are the ineffaceable laurels which victory
places on a brave man's brow."
A slight flush overspread the sallow face of the ex-soldier, and his
eyes sought the floor.
Eugene contemplated him for several moments with the sympathy--even
the respect--which a military man feels for extraordinary bravery,
as attested by such wounds as these.
"With what manner of weapon were you cut in the face?" said he. "Not
with a sabre, for the scar is curved."
"It was not a sabre-cut, excellenza," replied the man, in a low,
tremulous voice. "I was in the breech, fighting hand to hand with a
Turk, whom I had just overthrown. While I was stooping over his
prostrate body, he drew forth a yataghan and gashed my face as you
see."
"I knew it was a dagger-thrust," replied Eugene. "Well, this scar
shall be your best recommendation to me, for I, too, am a soldier."
"Excellenza, I thank you, but I have other and weighty
recommendations from my employers. Moreover, here is my license as
commissionnaire from the Signiory."
So saying, he would have handed the prince a document with a large
seal appended to it, but Eugene waved it away.
"I prefer the license to serve that is written on your body, my
friend. You have been a brave soldier, you will therefore be a
faithful servant. You say that you are well acquainted with Venice?"
"Ay, indeed, signor; I know every palace and every den, every
nobleman and every bravo, in Venice."
"You are, then, the very man I need. Make your terms with my
secretary. But be loyal to me, and remember that the scar you had
received in your country's service was the only recommendation I
required when I took you into mine."
"Excellenza!" exclaimed the man, kneeling, and raising the prince's
doublet to his lips, "I will bear it in mind, and serve you
faithfully."
"I believe you, my brave! Rise and tell me your name."
"Antonio, signor."
"Antonio.--Well, Antonio, you accompany me to the regatta to-day."
"My lord," said Conrad, entering the room, "your gondola is below,
and his highness the Elector of Bavaria is here."
A deep flush of joy overspread Eugene's countenance as he, advanced
to welcome his friend. Max Emmanuel had chosen the gorgeous costume
of a Russian boyar. His dress was of dark-blue velvet, bordered with
sables, and buttoned up to the throat with immense brilliants. On
his head he wore a Russian cap, with a heron's plume fastened in
front by a rosette of opals and diamonds.
Eugene surveyed him with undisguised admiration. "You are as
gloriously handsome as a Grecian demi-god," cried he,
enthusiastically. "I pity the lovely women of Venice to-day, when
they come within sight of the hero of Buda."
"I absolve them all from tribute except one," returned Max.
"What! In love already!"
"My dear young friend, I saw yesterday on a balcony a black-haired
beauty far beyond pari or houri of my imagination!--majestic as
Juno, voluptuous as Venus, with eyes that maddened, and smile that
ravished me. Unless I find this houri, I am a lost, broken-hearted
man!"
"Then you have not yet begun your siege?"
"Impossible to begin it. The Duke of Modena was with me, and you
know what an enterprising roue he is. To have pointed her out to him
would have been to retreat with loss. So I was obliged to say
nothing: but I will see her again if, to do so, I have to reduce
Venice to a heap of ashes!"
"Peace, thou insatiable conqueror, or amorous ambition will
intoxicate you. You are certainly just the very cavalier to storm
and take the citadel of a woman's heart; but you are the Elector of
Bavaria, a reigning prince, and son-in-law of the Emperor of
Austria."
"My dear Eugene, no ugly moral reflections, as you love me! I am
here to enjoy the glow of the warm blood that dances through my
veins to sip the ambrosia that pleasure holds to my lips--in short,
I am, body and soul, a son of the short-lived carnival that begins
to-day. Don't preach; but pray if you like, for my success, and help
me in my need."
"Help you? I should like to know how I am to do that!" said Eugene,
laughing. "But stay--I have a man in my service who professes to
know everybody in Venice. So, if you should see your houri to-day,
point her out, and doubtless Antonio will tell us her name. Ah!
Twelve o'clock at last!--dome, come, let us go."