"Spirit of men,
Thou heart of our great enterprise, how much
I love these voices in thee!"
BEN. JONSON.
"Love is ambitious, and loves majesty."
DECKER.
Upon an imposing hill, which rises from the Danube's banks, and frowns
over the city of Presburg, still stand the extensive ruins of a fine old
castle, which was destroyed by fire at the commencement of the present
century, but which, at this period of history, was generally occupied as a
residence by the rulers of Hungary, when they paid a royal visit to their
Hungarian capital; and in the large hall of state in this immense building
it was, that the Diet of the four orders of the kingdom, convoked by Maria
Theresa, had assembled on the eleventh of September--the morning following
that evening so eventful to Otmar and his young love.
At the upper end of this large apartment, a throne had been arranged for
the young Queen. In the spaces between the old portraits of the heads of
the House of Hapsburg, which adorned the walls, were now displayed
Hungarian banners. On either side of the throne, awaiting the arrival of
Maria Theresa, were several of her German ministers and household; and, as
it was well known that those immediately about her person had protested
energetically against her appeal to her Hungarian subjects, these German
servants of the Queen were regarded with no looks of good-will or sympathy
by those who filled the hall.
Upon the first step of the throne, and apart from those who surrounded it,
stood, on the right, the Count John Pallfy, the Palatin or Viceroy of the
kingdom, his handsome martial countenance, with that semi-oriental disdain
of all expression of emotion in the physiognomy, betraying none of those
anxious feelings which were natural as to the result of a crisis so
important; on the left, Count Louis Batthyani, the _Reichskanzler_ or
Chancellor. Immediately below the throne were ranged, on one side, the
bishops and prelates of the kingdom, to the number of sixty-seven, in
their rich ecclesiastical attire; on the other, the numerous magnates of
the realm, the princes, counts, and barons, to the amount of seven hundred
and eighty, glittering in all the marvellous pomp and splendour of the
Hungarian costume, and reaching in proud array far beyond the middle of
the hall--the lower part of which was thronged by a crowd of the lesser
nobles, and the deputies from the provinces, and from the royal free-towns
of Hungary. Brilliant and dazzling was the scene composed of this living
mass, with its thousand fantastic and bejewelled dresses; and wonderful to
look at the many fine energetic countenances of all ages of which it was
composed.
Among the nobles, towards the middle of the hall, stood Otmar, his
handsome face still pale from the excitement of the previous evening, and
a night passed in sleeplessness. It was in vain that he had sought to find
the trace of the ruffians who had made so strange an attempt to seize upon
the person of the mysterious object of his affections: and only late in
the night had he returned to his lodging, and striven to calm the anxiety
of his mind in a useless attempt at repose upon his couch. His brain
whirled with the confusion of his thoughts. All the past was involved in
mystery and conjecture. Who was the beautiful female, to whom he had so
quickly given all the first emotions and energies of his young heart?
Should he ever again behold her who had thus twice crossed his path, to
disappear as suddenly from before his eyes? Had she escaped the hands of
her ravishers? What had become of her? And who, again--he demanded with a
pang of bitter jealousy--was that young man who had twice been her
companion, and whom she had styled her friend? Thus agonized with a
thousand doubts and apprehensions, he could scarcely command his senses to
gaze upon the scene around, or to reflect upon the important purpose which
had called him, with the other Hungarian nobles, to that hall. The
troubles of his life, his doubtful fate, his dreary position in the world,
were all forgotten in the absorbing thoughts connected with her he loved:
all minor anxieties--such as his dismissal that morning, as he left the
house, from his poor lodging by his old landlord, in a manner which, had
he been able to think on other matters, might have appeared to him as
heartless as inconsistent--found no room in his tormented mind. The noise
of the trumpets, announcing the entry of the Queen; the opening of the
door, to the right of the throne, through which she passed; the murmur,
and partial confusion, which attended her ascending the steps, and placing
herself in presence of that crowded assembly, scarcely roused him from his
reverie.
But when he raised his eyes, he scarcely could credit their own evidence.
There she stood on high before him! The crown of St Stephen of Hungary was
on her lofty brow: the royal mantle covered her shoulders: the bejewelled
cimiter of the Hungarian kings was at her side. In her arms she held a
baby of about six months of age; in her left hand she clasped that of a
little girl. She was there in all her dazzling splendour of royal beauty.
And it was she!--she to whom his heart was given--she whom he had dared to
love!
For a moment the whole scene whirled before the eyes of Otmar: he
staggered as one struck by lightning: his pale cheek grew paler still: he
felt as if he were falling to the earth. How he found a tongue to speak,
he himself could not have told. But, with faltering voice, he turned to an
old Hungarian magnate by his side, and stammered--
"Is it possible? Is that--she--our King--is that?"
"Who should it be, _domine illustrissime_?" answered the person thus
addressed, with the Latin courtesy of the country. "Who should it be,
friend?"
Again Otmar found force to falter forth--
"And he, who has given her his hand to mount the throne--he who now stands
behind her, glittering in all the rich fancifulness of that outlandish
dress--who is _he_?"
"Humph!" replied the old Hungarian, in no very amiable tone of voice.
"That is her favourite German minister, the young Prince Kaunitz--a silly
fop! She might have better and less compromising servants about her
person, methinks. As you seem a stranger, _domine_," he pursued, unheeding
Otmar's agitation, "you may like to know that the old ecclesiastic, who
has taken the other place behind her, is our Archbishop Primate, the
Prince Emmeric Esterhazy, at whose summer palace she took up her
residence, _incognita_, on first arriving here."
"Kaunitz! her favourite minister, and she called him 'my friend!'"
muttered the young man, trembling with emotion.
"Yes! and they do say," continued his informant lightly, "that now her
husband, the Grand Duke of Tuscany, is absent with the remains of her
discomfited army, she and the young prince"--and he whispered in Otmar's
ear.
A pang of the bitterest feeling passed through the young noble's heart.
But that pang, by its very revulsion, gave him fresh energy.
"Calumny!" he exclaimed, angrily, to his companion, whom he doubted not to
be one of those disaffected to the cause of the persecuted Queen.
"Calumny!" But his voice was drowned in the loud murmur which arose on all
sides calling for silence.
Maria Theresa had risen from the throne, upon which she had seated herself
on her first entrance to calm her feelings; and she gazed, with evident
emotion, and with faltering purpose, upon the vast crowd before her. No
doubt that she saw a stern discouraging frown upon many a brow: no doubt
that she knew how deeply the seeds of discontent and disaffection had been
sown among her subjects--how great a majority was unfavourable to her
cause: and she trembled and faltered for a moment.
But the beauty, the dignity, and grace of the young Queen had already
worked their spell upon the susceptible natures of the Hungarians, who,
stern as they may be, are easily led away by enthusiastic impulses. A
flattering murmur of applause ran through the assembly.
Encouraged by this movement of sympathy, which her quickly sensitive
woman's heart felt rather than perceived, Maria Theresa lifted her head
more boldly, and advancing one step forward, with her little daughter
clinging to her dress, held forward in her arms the baby boy, whose
destinies afterwards fixed him on the imperial throne of Germany as Joseph
the Second.
All set speeches, all forms were forgotten by her in the trouble of the
moment.
"Hungarians!" she said, with quivering voice, in Latin,--"deserted by my
friends, persecuted by my enemies, attacked and oppressed by my nearest
relations, my only refuge, in my utmost need, is in your fidelity,
courage, and support. To you alone, with God, can I any longer look for
safety. To your loyalty alone can I confide the welfare of the son and
daughter of your kings. At your feet I lay my children. I come to you for
succour. Will you grant it me?"
Her voice trembled. She could not proceed. A pause ensued.
"_Vitam et sanguinem!_" responded a voice.
It was that of Otmar, who had listened, with beating heart, to the accents
of his adored Queen; whilst the blood had gradually risen into his pale
cheeks, and now flushed his animated countenance with colour.
"_Vitam et sanguinem!_" was shouted by almost every voice in the assembly,
as it caught up the cry.
"MORIAMUR PRO REGE NOSTRO!" again cried Otmar, drawing forth his sabre.
"MORIAMUR PRO REGE NOSTRO!" was re-echoed by a thousand mouths, as a
thousand sabres were waved on high, and flashed upon the air.
The enthusiastic feeling had been communicated as an electric shock
throughout the crowd. Spite of party feelings, party purpose, stern
resolves, it had proved irresistible. Before the Hungarian nobles was a
woman--a beautiful female in distress--and she their Queen! The burst of
loyal fervour was spontaneous, uncontrollable.
The bosom of Maria Theresa heaved with emotion at the sound of this wild
cry. For a moment she struggled with her feelings, strove to be a queen:
but her woman's nature gave way; and, sinking back on her throne, she
burst into tears.
The sight of this outbreak of emotion spoke again to each Hungarian heart;
and, with still wilder and louder shouts of frenzied enthusiasm, the cry
of "MORIAMUR PRO REGE NOSTRO!" rang again through the hall of the Castle
of Presburg, until the old walls trembled to their base. Tears sprang from
many of the sternest eyes, and rolled down many a withered cheek. But they
were tears of pity, admiration, and fury.
All rancour, discontent, political difference, purpose of treachery, had
been forgotten. The cause of Maria Theresa had been won!
Long it was before the tumult of the many voices ceased, or the flashing
sabres were restored to their scabbards. And when at length the murmur in
the hall was somewhat stilled, the aged archbishop advanced to the side of
Maria Theresa, who, with her eyes streaming with tears, stood up at once.
He attempted to speak in the name of the Hungarian nation in answer to her
appeal. But the old man's voice failed him; and only in broken accents,
which scarcely could be heard beyond the throne, could he utter a few
words of fervent devotion, and pray God to bless her.
In his turn also, the Palatin, Count Pallfy, stepped forward and spoke of
supplies and men. But his voice, also, was drowned in the enthusiastic
shouts which promised to the persecuted Queen the succour of the very
life's blood of her faithful Hungarians, and the aid of their fortunes to
the last florin. It could scarcely at last be heard, as the official
declaration was made of the opening of the Diet and of the sittings to be
held, at which the necessary measures to be taken to be debated.
Then again rose the shouts, as Maria Theresa attempted to thank her
faithful subjects. She could no longer speak; but she waved her hand to
them, with a graceful gesture, and a look of gratitude which betrayed the
depth of her feelings. Otmar's heart again beat tumultuously. He closed
his eyes, as if to shut out from his very heart the dangerous sight of her
who held over it so powerful a fascination. When he again looked up, she
had descended from the throne. She was gone.
Overpowered by the various conflicting feelings which had so powerfully
assailed him in the last short hour, the young noble followed
instinctively the crowd as it streamed out of the great hall; and it was
only when he found himself in a large ante-room, somewhat severed from the
general mass, that he stopped and threw himself down upon a bench near a
doorway, to collect his confused and scattered thoughts. He remained for a
time lost in a reverie, from which he was aroused by a tap upon his
shoulder.
Before him stood a boy, in a military dress, whose mien bore all the
boldness and pertness of a page.
"_Servus, domine!_" said the youth, with an impudent air.
"What want you with me?" asked Otmar sharply. "I do not know you, sir.
This is some mistake."
"It is none at all, if I read right your person," answered the boy pertly,
mustering Otmar from top to toe. "Are you not he who was last night in the
primate's garden? The description answers that of him I was bid to seek."
"I was in the primate's garden last night, of a truth," said the young
noble: "but"----
"Then follow me," continued the boy, with a nod of the head.
"Whither?"
"Where a lady calls you," laughed the page, with an impudent swagger. "A
young fellow of our age and blood needs no other bidding, methinks."
"What lady?" once more asked Otmar. But the boy only winked him to follow,
as a reply; and turning into a side-door, beckoned to him once more; and
then, seeing that the summons was obeyed, proceeded on, through several
passages and corridors, until, reaching a door, he pushed it open. Within
stood a female; and Otmar's heart, which had beat high with vague
expectations of what he himself scarce dared to divine, was suddenly
chilled, when he saw before him an elderly lady, altogether unknown to
him. But as she came forward to ask the boy whether it was the person he
was charged to seek, he became aware that it was not she into whose
presence he was to be introduced. The lady, in turn, signed to him to
follow; and after tapping gently upon an inner-door, and waiting for a
reply, opened it, and bade him enter.
The apartment into which the young noble had been thus ushered, seemed to
have been hastily fitted up with such resources of a lady's chamber as the
cumbrous and incommodious fashion of the day offered. At the upper end, in
a large high-backed chair, sat a female figure, behind whom a tirewoman
appeared in waiting.
Those hopes and expectations which, once or twice, Otmar had permitted to
float over his mind, as he had followed the page through the passages of
the castle, and had then dismissed from it as fantastic and improbable,
and yet again, in spite of his better reasonings, indulged, were now
confirmed, and still, to his dazzled sight, appeared impossible.
It was indeed Maria Theresa who sat before him.
The mantle had been disengaged from the shoulders, the cimeter ungirded
from her side, and the crown removed from her head: but she still wore the
rich dark dress, incrusted with gems, that proclaimed her royalty, but
which she needed not to stamp her "every inch" a queen. Her hair had been,
apparently, loosened by the removal of the diadem from her brow; and
powdered as it was, it fell in luxuriant ringlets over her neck and
shoulders. The glow of her recent emotion still remained upon her face,
and added to the natural grace of her beauty: and her lustrous dark-grey
eyes were still moist with her late tears.
No wonder that Otmar stood before her, doubly dazzled with her beauty as a
woman, and her majesty as a queen--bewildered that she, whom he had
presumed to love, and for whom, in spite of himself, his heart yet beat
wildly, should be his sovereign, and that he should stand thus in her
presence.
"Ah! is it you, sir--you, doubly my rescuer from evil!" said Maria
Theresa, rising from her chair, and advancing a few steps towards him.
"Welcome, to accept your Monarch's inmost thanks!" And she stretched out
her hand, which, although totally unpractised in the etiquette of courts,
Otmar, by an instinctive impulse, knelt down to kiss.
"Rise, sir!" she continued. "Were my gratitude alone to speak, it were for
me, your Queen, to kneel and kiss the hand that a second time has, through
God's providence, been the instrument of my deliverance from peril."
Otmar rose from his knees, a deep blush overspreading his handsome
countenance. The young Queen seemed to gaze upon him for a moment with
satisfaction; and then, waving her hand to her female attendant to retire,
she again addressed him.
"What can I do to serve you, sir?" she said--"you, who have thus twice
served me at the peril of your life. I am but a poor and a powerless
Queen," she continued, with a faint smile: "but a grateful heart may still
find means to recompense"----
"To live and die in your majesty's defence, is all your poor servant, who
has but done his duty to his Queen, although unknowingly, has to desire,"
was the young noble's reply.
"Nay, sir, we have too many obligations towards you," said the Queen, "to
allow ourselves to be quit thus. Can I do naught to serve you in return?"
she pursued, with a less dignified and more familiar tone. "You must not
allow so great a weight of thanks to lie upon my heart. Take pity on me!"
Otmar could with difficulty find words to speak. The tumult of his
feelings almost overpowered him, as he began to forget the queen in the
beautiful and loved woman before him. But he struggled with the impetuous
dictates of his heart.
"Madam!" he said, commanding himself, "I am a poor noble, left alone in
this wide world, almost without a friend, since my poor father's death,
which left me with involved fortunes, and without a prospect for the
future; and I was careless of life, until--until I had seen--your
majesty," he continued with emotion, whilst the blush upon the cheek of
the young Queen showed her perception that the homage paid was as much to
the woman as the monarch. "And now my only wish, as I have said, is to die
in your service and defence."
"Die! God forbid!" said Maria Theresa, with a woman's ready tear starting
to her eye. "Live, sir! and, if you will, to fight in our cause. Enter the
army. Rank shall be granted you. Your advancement shall be cared for. Live
to be again the friend and champion of the poor persecuted Queen, who
needs friends indeed, when all are set against her."
"Say not so, madam," interrupted Otmar, with fervour. "Have we not, one
and all, sworn to give our life and life's blood in your cause?"
"Yes," said the Queen, her tears now fully flowing, at the recollection of
the late scene of wild enthusiasm. "I have found friends among my
faithful, and my true--my gallant, noble Hungarians. Think you I did not
mark you, sir--you, who were the first to shout, 'For Maria Theresa we
will die!' Think you that my heart did not feel that you were, perhaps, a
third time, my friend in need? But I have enemies still. Calumny, I am
aware, miscolours my simplest actions. My very feelings may be
misinterpreted, my very tears, at this moment, in your presence,
misconstrued. Who can know what is the worth of friends better than those
who suffer from such odious attacks of enemies as I have suffered?" And
Maria Theresa clasped her hands before her eyes.
Otmar once more sank down at her feet deeply affected.
"But I must away with this weakness!" said the Queen, struggling to
recover from her agitation, and dashing away her tears with her fingers.
As she saw Otmar kneeling before her, his fine features fixed upon her
with the liveliest expression of pity and admiration, his handsome figure
bent to do homage to her loveliness and worth, her woman's feelings had
the mastery of her feelings as a queen, and, smiling upon him with a
smile, which shone all the more brightly through her tears--that smile,
with the power and fascination of which none knew better how to fetter
hearts than Maria Theresa--she hastily detached from her shoulders a
string of diamonds, and passed them over the young man's neck.
"This is no recompense, to reward your services with matters of sordid
value, sir," she said. "This is no gift to enable you to retrieve, however
slightly, your fallen fortunes. This is the chain of honour which I bestow
upon my champion and knight; for such you shall be in the eyes of the
world. Here, in Maria Theresa's chamber, you are to her the deliverer and
friend."
"Madam! my life, my heart, and soul are yours!" stammered the young man,
no longer able to control his feelings, under circumstances which made him
forget for a moment that distance which the sovereign herself seemed to
have overleapt.
Again Maria Theresa blushed slightly. In spite of her strong
understanding, her virtue, and her worth, she was not above those feelings
of coquetry which, joined to her admiration of beauty, often, especially
at an after period of her life, gave handle to the many unjust calumnies
of her traducers.
"Rise once more, my noble knight!" said the young Queen, with another
smile; "for we have dubbed you such. We will attach you to our especial
service, since such is your desire, and find a place for you in our suite;
although it be but badly paid in our state of disastrous fortune. But I
know you heed not that. I see it in that look, that would reproach me for
such a thought. You shall remain with us until you join our army," she
added with a sigh, "to fight in our cause."
"This honour, madam"--stammered Otmar, rising.
"Is not without its perils and its pains, good youth," continued Maria
Theresa. "You will have to combat envy, jealousy, ill-will within; for
such is the life of courts. Alas! I know it but too well. Without, you may
have often wearisome and dangerous services."
"None can be felt as such when it is you--your Majesty I serve," said the
young man with enthusiasm.
"I will--I do believe you, sir," replied the Queen. "I have said it once,
and I repeat it. Yours is the true nobility of heart. Ah! were they all
so--they who serve me and call themselves my friends! But enough of this!
Let your first service be to direct the search of our agents to the
discovery of the disguised enemies who made that bold attempt last night
to secure my person during my evening stroll--my poor moments of liberty!
Ah! France, I recognise there your treacherous designs! You did not know
who were your adversaries?"
"Madam," answered the young man, "I should recognise again the voice of
him who was my principal assailant; and who, if I mistake not, has already
crossed his sword with mine. But I know him not."
"I would not punish when I can forgive," said Maria Theresa, with a sigh.
"But the discovery of these complotters on my liberty, perhaps my life, is
necessary for the safety of my realm."
"If my zeal avail aught," said Otmar warmly, "their life shall pay their
treachery."
"No bloodshed, no bloodshed, as you love me, good youth!" said the Queen,
shuddering. "Blood enough is shed upon the battle-field for me and mine.
And who knows how far such blood should lie upon the conscience of a
miserable queen?--how far the Almighty will write it to her dread account
at the last great day of reckoning?" And, with that nobility of feeling
peculiar to Maria Theresa, she sank her head downwards in gloomy thought.
For a time she thus remained, as if forgetful of the presence of the young
noble; at length she again raised her head, cleared away the gloom upon
her features with a faint smile, and once more extending her hand,
said--"Now leave us, sir, but to return shortly hither. Already they may
cry scandal that I should have talked to one of such good mien so long.
But go not," she continued, as Otmar moved towards the door, "until I have
told you how my heart was pained, that the search of those who sought to
discover you, after the skirmish of last evening, was useless--how
anxiously I prayed, in the darkness of the night, that no ill might have
befallen my young, champion--how my very soul was gratified to see him in
the crowd before me, to know that he was safe! You must not think your
Queen heartless and ungrateful, sir. Now, go!"
With a wave of the hand, Maria Theresa dismissed from her presence the
young noble, who staggered from the chamber in a tempest of tumultuous
emotions.