Had not Louis been forwarned by Wharton, and enabled to compare what
he saw, with what he heard, the events of the succeeding day were
calculated to lull him to security.
Elizabeth explained the delay of his marriage; and it was what the
Countess d' Ettrees had intimated, the death of Monsieur de Blaggay
having transpired. The Empress took upon herself the previous
concealment of the event; alledging to Louis, that she had done it, to
suffer no further impediment in the way of a ceremony so essential to
the happiness of her friend. She then insinuated, to her almost silent
auditor, what a proof she would regard it of his general devotion to
her, if he would urge Otteline, and petition the Emperor, to permit
the celebration of the marriage on the eighth day after the funeral
solemnity.
Louis ventured to say, that after so awful an event, the haste she
recommended, would seem so irreverent in the eyes of the world, he
could not persuade himself to commit such an outrage on propriety,
unless he might at the same time present some adequate apology to
society for his breach of its laws. While he spoke, it occurred to him,
how he might shew his innocence with regard to Maria Theresa, without
implicating even her happiness; (for he was well assured, that what he
was going to demand, would not be granted;) and he added, that he would
make his petition to the Emperor, provided Her Majesty would consent
that the Arch-duchess should be affianced on the same day. Elizabeth
started at this unexpected request; but, whatever were its motive, she
thought she could put it to silence for ever; and with a well-feigned
graciousness, replied, "yes; if you will stand the proxy!"
"I am ready Madam,--for I have sufficiently experienced the folly of my
presuming to decline it."
Baffled by this prompt assent; and astonished at the calmness with
which he continued to enforce the remonstrances of Spain on this head,
and on other delays of the Austrian cabinet,--she listened to him to
the end; and then rising from her chair, fixed her eyes on him, and
said.--
"Had I required any thing more to assure me of the nature of the man,
who has so coolly and comprehensively argued all these points; I should
find it in that coolness and those arguments on one of them. Marquis I
will reply to these subjects hereafter."
During his interviews with the different ministers, this day, he
could not but wish to have had a window in their breasts, to read
who amongst them were the enemies of his father. Observation on men,
however, had given him knowledge sufficient, to guess that the most
obsequious, the fullest in smiles and complacency, and the most
elaborate in compliment to the supreme minister in Spain, were the
persons whose names were most likely to be found in the confederation
against him. The president of the council, the crafty and luxurious
Routemberg, overpowered him with assurances of his peremptory demands
on the executive government for the fulfilment of every article in the
treaty; and, but for the information of Wharton, he should have quitted
the chamber in the fullest confidence of his father's entire influence
in the Austrian cabinet. The same game of finesse was played at his
own table; for there De Patinos had for some time assumed an air of
civility. But Louis could not trust the Spaniard's lurking and fierce
eye; neither could he relish the sycophants, who followed the tone of
their leader; yet he was polite to all: and a common observer would not
have guessed that treachery was on the one side, and antipathy on the
other. Louis had no suspicions mingled with his dislike; for he could
not suppose that young men, domesticated at his table, and sanctioned
by his father's patronage, could be cloaking a hidden arm to stab him
to the heart.
Notwithstanding these numerous avocations, the hours seemed to move
on leaden pinions till the sun set, and he descried the moon's fair
cressent silvering the gilded doom of Saint Michael's church. Then
was the moment of his appointment with, he believed, the only bosom
which beat true to him, in that wide metropolis; the only tongue that
spoke to him without guile; the only hand that would venture to shield
his father from the professing friends, who, like those who slew his
great ancestor, the Prince of Orange; pressed on him with caresses, to
destroy him more securely.
On the answer which Wharton was to bring him from the too well-informed
oracle of all this evil, depended the success of the conspiracy, or
its failure! In short, in a few minutes, he might have the safety of
his father, and the preservation of Europe in his hand. He could not
disconnect these two ideas in his mind; and when they were united with
the magnanimous friendship of Wharton, hope in that union silenced
every argument to fear.
The friend in whom he trusted did not make the heart sick by delay. He
was mounting the parapet, at the moment Louis appeared on the terrace.
"Brother of my soul!" cried the latter, as their hands met; "to meet
you thus, labouring for me and mine; proving the nobleness of that
misjudged spirit!--I would endure again, all the pain your information
gave me last night, to purchase to my father and my uncle, conviction
of this unexampled friendship!"
"Root the conviction in your own heart, de Montemar, and I care not who
plucks at the branches."
Louis urged his friend to the history of his embassy; and Wharton told
him, he had seen the written memorandum of the whole scheme against
his father. He informed him, there were persons at the Austrian
court that were to accuse Ripperda to the king of Spain, of a plan
of self-aggrandizement as bold as it was dangerous. He was to be
represented as playing a double game at Vienna and at Madrid; and that
the interests of both nations were alternately to bend, according
to the veering of his own personal views. He was to be charged with
clandestine communications with France and Portugal; and of being the
secret instigator of the late attempt to poison his royal master. His
object in so nefarious an act, was supposed to be the certainty he
had of being dictator of the kingdom, while under the sceptre of a
minor. In short, every wild, preposterous, and sanguinary instigation
of ambition, was to be alleged against him. The charges were to be
supported at Madrid, by a powerful majority of grandees; and should the
scheme go on, there could be no doubt of the impeachment of Ripperda
under a cloud of false witnesses; and most probably, the perpetration
of some iniquitous sentence against his life. The signatures at the
bottom of this memorandum, were hidden from Wharton's view, when he was
allowed to read it.
"For," added he, "the possessor will reveal them to no eyes but your
own. However, I read enough in the body of the document, to see that
Charles and Elizabeth, and her kinsman of England, are deep in the
plot."
The suspense with which Louis listened to this perfidious
confederation, was almost insufferable.
"And this it is," exclaimed he, "to put our trust in
princes!--Ungrateful, treacherous Elizabeth!"
Wharton seized the moment of speechless indignation which followed
this agonized apostrophe; and pourtraying in vivid colours, the utter
selfishness of Charles and the house of Brunswick, he urged Louis, by
every consequent argument, to abjure the worthless cause; and to take
a powerful and noble revenge, by embracing that of legitimacy, in the
rights of the Electress in Germany, and those of James Stuart, in the
land of his maternal ancestors.--The reasoning of Wharton was forcible
and clear, full of energy and conviction, and an eloquence, that might
have charmed an angel from its orb, '_to list his sweet and honey'd
sentences_.'
He urged, that the discovery of the plot to the King and Queen of
Spain, before it could be brought to bear against Ripperda, would
give him just the advantage of turning a full charged battery upon
the enemy who had planted it for his destruction.--In that instant of
proved fidelity to the royal pair, and in their proud shews of perfect
confidence in him, he might change their politics from the north to the
south pole.--A word from him to Philip, would revoke his guarantee to
the pragmatic sanction; the Electress's son would have a direct path to
the throne on the death of the Emperor; and a brave army of Spaniards
would put Philip in possession of Gibraltar. While this was transacting
on the continent, England itself might shrink under the foot of
Ripperda; for Wharton intimated, that by the armed assistance of some
powers, whose politics he had turned into the same direction, it would
be no difficult achievement to replace James Stuart on the throne of
his ancestors. "Here, Louis de Montemar", exclaimed the Duke, "is a
revenge worthy the descendant of heroes and of sovereigns! Though you
wear not crowns, you may dispense them; and Cæsar can do no more!"
Louis grasped the hand of his friend.--"Oh, Wharton! I am weary
of sovereigns, and crowns, and sceptres. They are the price of
men's souls; of all their earthly happiness, of all their future
felicity!--Talk not to me of embracing the cause of any one of them.
When I clasp the splendid nothings, they crumble into dust in my
hands."--
Louis walked forward with a rapid pace. His soul was tossed on the
billows of a tempestuous ocean, in the midst of which he saw his father
perishing.--He stopped abruptly. "But where is this document?--How can
I obtain it?"
"It is yours, on a condition; and with it the implement of your release
from Otteline!" "I care not for my own release, but for my father! my
betrayed, my virtuous father!--Name the condition."
Wharton did not answer immediately, but walked a few moments by the
side of his friend, with his eyes bent downwards; then, looking
suddenly up, while the bright moon shone full upon his varying
countenance, he gaily said:--
"Is there any thing it is possible for me to propose, that could move
you to precipitate yourself over that stone wall, as you did from the
rocks of Bamborough?"
"No;" replied Louis, with a wan and wintery smile; "nothing that you
would propose."
"Having met my novice at the Eleusinian mysteries," cried Wharton
laughing, "I marvel I should seem to question his initiation!--The way
is now plain before us.--Go with me to-night, when that blabbing duenna
in the sky is gone to bed, and you shall have the whole policy of
Austria in your bosom."
"Where?" said Louis, not understanding the Duke, and strangely doubtful
of his manner.
"That disclosure is beyond my credentials. But when you are there, the
awful secret of conspiracy will not be revealed in caverns, dungeons,
and darkness. You will find a place to take the grateful soul, and lap
it in Elysium!"
The pulse in Louis's temples beat hard; yet he was determined not to
anticipate, but make Wharton explain himself.
"I do not understand you; who is it I am to see?"
"A woman; a lovely, fond woman!"
The manner of his saying this, was a stroke, like that of an iron rod
on the heart of his friend; and he cast the hand from him, that clasped
his arm.
"What, for another leap?" cried the Duke; "but you are out of
practice, and may break more necks than your own!"
"And what is my resource?" desperately demanded Louis.
"A simple one; to smile upon a woman. A pleasant one; to be beloved by
one who can fix no bonds on you but those of love, while she bestows
herself upon you, and gives you the life and honour of your father!"
"With the loss of my own, and the perdition of my soul! Is this the
alternative I expected to hear from the lips of my only friend, in this
fearful extremity of my fate!"
Louis had covered his raging temples with his hand, and he hastened
forward with distracted swiftness.
"De Montemar! This is folly or deception," cried Wharton. "There
are virtues for every season of life; and I thought you had been
made sensible that it is the privilege of manhood to make all nature
subservient to his interest and his pleasure. What took you, night
after night, to the scenes in which I have met you? Anchorites are not
accustomed to pay those courts a second visit; and you are not the
better in my honest eyes, for preserving the cowl, when I know its vows
have been broken?"
Louis knew that he had deserved this inference; and he inwardly
reproached his father's policy, in thinking it wisdom to incur such
suspicion on his blameless life. How would the involuntary accusation
have been embittered, had he known that the Empress drew the same
conclusion! He would then have doubly felt, that his sacrifice to such
vile appearance, instead of propitiating his rivals, had dishonoured
him with his friends, and become an instrument in the hands of his
enemies. Humbled to the soul, he merely replied.
"Wharton, you injure me."
"It may be so; and I am sorry for it," answered the Duke, "though I
cannot guess how. I offer you the sublime duty of rescuing your father
from treason; and the enjoyment of a banquet, rifled from the sanctuary
of your deadliest foe! Can you be a man, and proof against such sweet
revenge?"
Louis strode on in perturbed silence. Wharton continued his arguments
with vehemence and subtle consistency, on the supposition that he must
admit his friend's repugnance to be sincere. Still, Louis did not
reply; but proofs of his contending soul convulsed the features his
agitated hand tried to conceal. The Duke, as well as his friend, had
much at stake in bringing this part of his negociation to bear. He
tried the effect of ridicule on the wretched and despairing Louis; and
to one of his arguments, he at last extorted a reply.
"I will not purchase even the life of my father, by my own conscious
guilt. If I am proof against my own heart, in so dear a cause, shall I
not be proof against the poor allurements of vanity and sense? And are
such arguments yours? Oh, Wharton! I cannot call that peculiarly manly,
which are the peculiar pursuits of the lowest of our species. Any man
may succumb to his appetites and his passions! You say most men do; and
that you, even you, sometimes find it policy and pastime to follow in
the track!" He paused, and then added with a piercing look, and a smile
of despair, "what, if the boy de Montemar has ambition to go beyond ye!"
"Yes; I know you do not want ambition," replied the Duke, with an
answering smile, "I remember, some dozen months ago, with that same
eagle glance, you likened yourself to Ammon's godlike son! He did not
reject the flaming brand that fired the palace of his enemies, nor the
lovely Thais that presented it!"
"Wharton," said Louis, looking on him with severity, "had Clytus been
such a counsellor, he would have deserved the javelin of his friend?"
"My breast is ready," cried the Duke, "if thou hast the heart to throw
it!"
"I would I could, and cut away the worser part of thine!" answered
Louis, "I have seen more of it to-night, than I wish to remember."
"But what message," returned Wharton, "am I to remember, to carry to
her, who is awaiting your slow appearance? Is she to give you herself,
your father's safety, and your own freedom? Or, do you reject all? For
_all_ you must accept, or none; and then the scrupulous de Montemar,
may go wash his hands of the name he has consigned to infamy; and
beatify the paternal head he relinquishes to the block!"
This demand was made with scornful seriousness; with a ruthless
application to the feelings of a son. Louis felt the firm
collectiveness of a man determined to live or die by one line of
action. He turned on Wharton with a fixed eye.
"Tell her," returned he, "that father and son may perish together; that
their names may be followed by falsehood to the scaffold and the grave;
but I never will purchase exemption from any one of these evils, by the
prostitution of my heart and my conscience to vice in man or woman!"
Wharton grasped his arm.
"What superstition is this? What madness?--This message would undo you!"
"With whom, Wharton?"
"With the woman you scorn. Her revenge would exasperate your enemies!"
"Let it!" returned Louis, "since she has bereft me of my
friend.--Wharton, we are no more to each other!"
"De Montemar?"
"In my extremest need, when I threw myself on your breast for counsel
and for aid; when I believed you Heaven's delegated angel, to save
my father and myself; you would have betrayed him to the dishonour of
being bought by the guilt of his son; you would have betrayed me to
hell's deepest perdition!"
As Louis spoke with the stern calmness of a divorced heart, Wharton
became other than he had ever seen him. With the fires of resentment
flashing from his resplendent eyes, he too collected the force of his
soul in the mightiness of a last appeal. He spoke with rapidity for
many minutes. He repeated, and redoubled his arguments; and then he
added in a calmer voice:
"My heart is a man's heart, and therefore is sensible to this stroke
from ungrateful friendship. But you now know that I can shame your
superstition, by bearing insult upon insult, when my patience may
recall you to yourself!"
"I am recalled to myself," returned Louis; "my superstition is, to
depend on God alone for the preservation of my father. If he fall, God
has his wise purpose in the judgement, and I shall find resignation.
For you, Wharton--that I have loved so long and so steadily--there may
be a pang there--when he I trusted above all men, has proved himself my
direst enemy!"
"Your enemy, de Montemar? your direst enemy? The words have passed your
lips, were engendered in your heart, and my ears have heard them! It
is easier to hate, than to love; to discard a friend, than to accept a
mistress; to plunge into the gulph of ruin, than to avoid it through
a path of happiness! Madman! Did I not pity the folly I marvel at, I
would rouse you by a tale. But no more. When you next hear of, or see
Philip Wharton, you will understand the import of your own words.--You
shall know what he is, when he proclaims himself the enemy of Ripperda
and de Montemar!"
Louis stood immoveable, with his eyes on the ground, while Wharton
vehemently uttered this denunciation. He remained some time, like a
pillar transfixed in the earth, after the Duke had disappeared. The
first thing that recalled him to motion, was the profound stillness
around, after the sounds of that voice, which till now, was ever to him
the music of heaven. The horrible conviction of all that had passed,
pressed at once upon his soul; the dear and agonizing remembrance of
how he had loved him; and raising his arms to the dark heavens with a
fearful cry of expiring nature, he threw himself upon the ground.
The falling dew, and the howling wind raised him not from that bed of
lonely despair. And when he did leave the dismal scene of this last act
of his miseries, it was like the spectre of the man who had entered
it.