THE DREAM OF LOVE.
The wedding-festival was over, and Vienna was resting from the fatigue
of the brilliant entertainments by which the marriage of the archduke
had been followed, both in court and city. And indeed the rejoicings had
been conducted with imperial magnificence. For eight days, the people of
Vienna, without respect of rank, had been admitted to the palace, to
witness the court festivities; while in the city and at Schonbrunn,
nightly balls were given at the expense of the empress, where the happy
Viennese danced and feasted to their hearts' content.
They had returned the bounty of their sovereign by erecting triumphal
arches, strewing the ground with flowers, and rending the air with
shouts, whenever the young archduchess had appeared in the streets.
The great maestro Gluck had composed an opera for the occasion; and
when, on the night of its representation, the empress made her
appearance in the imperial loge, followed by the archduke and his bride,
the enthusiasm of the people was so great that Gluck waited a quarter of
an hour, baton in hand, before he could begin his overture.
But now the jubilee was over, the shouts were hushed, the people had
returned to their accustomed routine of life, and the exchequer of the
empress was minus--one million of florins.
The court had withdrawn to the palace of Schonbrunn, there to enjoy in
privacy the last golden days of autumn, as well as to afford to the
newly-married pair a taste of that retirement so congenial to lovers.
Maria Theresa, always munificent, had devoted one wing of the palace to
the exclusive use of her young daughter-in-law; and her apartments were
fitted up with the last degree of splendor. Elegant mirrors, buhl and
gilded furniture, costly turkey carpets and exquisite paintings adorned
this princely home; and as the princess was known to be skilled both as
a painter and musician, one room was fitted up for her as a studio, and
another as a music-hall.
From the music-room, a glass door led to a balcony filled with rare and
beautiful flowers. This balcony overlooked the park, and beyond was seen
the city, made lovely by the soft gray veil of distance, which lends
such beauty to a landscape.
On this perfumed balcony sat the youthful pair. Isabella reclined in an
arm-chair; and at her feet on a low ottoman sat Joseph, looking up into
her face, his eyes beaming with happiness. It was a lovely sight--that
of these two young creatures, who, in the sweet, still evening, sat
together, unveiling to one another the secrets of two blameless hearts,
and forgetting rank, station, and the world, were tasting the pure joys
of happily wedded love.
The evening breeze whispered Nature's soft low greeting to them both;
and through the myrtle-branches that, hanging over the balcony,
clustered around Isabella's head, the setting sun flung showers of gold
that lit up her face with the glory of an angel. Bright as an angel
seemed she to her husband, who, sitting at her feet, gazed enraptured
upon her. How graceful he thought the contour of her oval face; how rich
the scarlet of her lovely mouth; what noble thoughts were written on her
pale and lofty brow, and how glossy were the masses of her raven black
hair! And those wondrous eyes! Dark and light, lustrous and dim, at one
moment they flashed with intellect, at another they glistened with
unshed tears. Her form, too, was slender and graceful, for Nature had
denied her nothing; and the charm of her appearance (above all, to an
eve weary of splendor) was made complete by the vapory muslin dress that
fell around her perfect figure like a silver-white cloud. The only
ornament that flecked its snow was a bunch of pink roses, which the
archduke with his own hand had culled for his wife that morning. She
wore them in her bosom, and they were the crowning beauty of that
simple, elegant dress.
Isabella's head rested amongst the myrtle-branches; her eyes were fixed
upon the heavens, with a look of ineffable sadness, and gradually the
smile had died from her lips. Her countenance contrasted singularly with
that of the archduke. Since his marriage, he had grown handsomer than
ever; and from his bright expressive face beamed the silent eloquence of
a young and joyful existence.
In his joy he did not see the painful shadows that were darkening his
wife's pale beauty. For a while, a deep stillness was about them.
Flooded by the gold of the setting sun, lay the park at their feet;
farther off glimmered the domes of St. Stephen at Vienna, and faint over
the evening air came the soothing tones of the vesper-bell.
"How beautiful is the world!" said Joseph, at length; and, at the sound
of his voice, suddenly breaking the stillness that had been so congenial
to her reveries, Isabella started. A slight shiver ran through her
frame, and her eyes unwillingly came back to earth. He did not see it.
"Oh, how lovely is life, my Isabella, now that the music of thy heart
replies to mine! Never has earth seemed to me so full of beauty, as it
does now that I call thee wife."
Isabella laid her soft hand upon her husband's head, and looked at him
for a while. At length she stifled a sigh, and said, "Are you then
happy, my husband?"
He drew down the little hand that was resting on his blonde curls and
kissed it fervently. "A boon, my beloved. When we are alone, let us
banish Spanish formality from our intercourse. Be the future empress
before the world, but to me be my wife, and call me 'thou.'"
"I will," replied she, blushing. "And I repeat my question, art thou
happy, my husband?"
"I will tell thee, dearest. There seems within me such a flood of melody
seeking voice, that sometimes, for very ecstasy, I feel as if I must
shout aloud all the pent-up joy that other men have frittered away from
boyhood, and I have garnered up for this hour. Again I feel intoxicated
with happiness, and fear that I am dreaming. I tremble lest some rude
hand awake me, and I look around for proof of my sober, waking bliss. I
find it, and then breaks forth my soul in hosannas to God. And when,
mingling among men, I see a face that looks sad or pale, I feel such
sympathy for him who is less happy than I, that I make vows, when I am
emperor, to heal all sorrow, and wipe away all tears. Then come great
and noble aspirations, and I long to give back to my people the
blessings with which they greeted thee, my own Isabella. This is not one
feeling, but the meeting of many. Is it happiness, dearest?"
"I cannot tell," replied she; "for happiness is a thing so heavenly in
its nature, that one hardly dares to give it a name, lest it take
flight, and soar back to its home above the skies. Let us not press it
too closely, lest we seek it and it be gone."
"We shall do as it pleases thee," said Joseph, snatching her two hands,
and pressing them to his heart. "I know that when thou art by, Happiness
is here, and she cannot go back to heaven, unless she take thee too."
And again he looked at his wife, as if he would fair have blended their
dual being into one.
"I wish to make thee a confession, Isabel," resumed he. "It is a great
crime, dearest, but thou wilt give me absolution, I know. As I look
back, I can scarce believe it myself, but--hear. When the empress gave
me thy miniature, beautiful though it was, I gave my consent to marry,
but my heart was untouched. When Count Bathiany departed on his mission,
I prayed that every obstacle might encumber his advance: and oh, my
beloved! when I heard that thou wert coming, I almost wished thee buried
under Alpine avalanches. When I was told of thy arrival, I longed to fly
away from Vienna, from rank and royalty, to some far country, some
secluded spot, where no reasons of state policy would force me to give
my hand to an unknown bride. Was I not a barbarian, sweetest, was I not
an arch-traitor?"
"No, thou wert only a boy-prince, writhing under the heavy load of thy
royalty."
"No, I was a criminal; but oh, how I have expiated my sin! When I saw
thee my heart leaped into life; and now it trembles lest thou love not
me! But thou wilt love me, wilt thou not? thou who hast made me so happy
that I wish I had a hundred hearts; for one is not enough to contain the
love I feel for thee!" [Footnote: These are his own words. Caroccioli
"Life of Joseph II."]
Isabella was gazing at him with a melancholy smile. "Dreamer!" said she,
in a low trembling tone, that sounded to Joseph like heavenly music--"
dreamer! the heart that through God's goodness is filled with love is of
itself supernaturally magnified; for love is a revelation from heaven."
"Sweet priestess of love! how truly thou art the interpreter of our
passion! For it is OURS, my Isabella, is it not? It is our love of which
we speak, not mine alone. I have confessed to thee; now do the same by
me. Tell me, my wife, didst thou hate the man to whom thy passive hand
was given, without one thought of thee or of thy heart's predilections?"
How little he guessed the torture he inflicted! He looked into her eyes
with such trusting faith, with such calm security of happiness, that her
sweet face beamed with tender pity, while her cheeks deepened into
scarlet blushes, as she listened to his passionate declarations of love.
Poor Isabella!
"No," said she, "no, I never hated thee, Joseph. I had already heard
enough to feel esteem for my future husband; and, therefore, I did not
hate, I pitied him."
"Pity him, my own, and wherefore?"
"Because without consulting HIS heart, he was affianced to an unknown
girl, unworthy to be the partner of his brilliant destiny. Poor Isabella
of Parma was never made to be an empress, Joseph."
"She was, she was! She is fit to be empress of the world, for all
poetry, all goodness, all intellect and beauty look out from the depths
of her lustrous eyes. Oh, look upon me, star of my life, and promise to
guide me ever with thy holy light!"
So saying, he took her in his arms, and pressed her to his tender, manly
heart.
"Promise me, beloved;" whispered he, "promise never to leave me."
"I promise," said the pale wife, "never to forsake thee, until God calls
me hence to--"
"Oh!" interrupted Joseph, "may that hour never strike till I be in
heaven to receive thee; for love is selfish, Isabella, and my daily
prayer is now, that thy dear hand may close my eyes."
"God will not hear that prayer, Joseph," replied Isabella; and as she
spoke, her head sank upon his shoulder, and her long hair fell from its
fastening, and, like a heavy mourning-veil, shrouded them both. Her
husband held her close to his heart, and as he kissed her, she felt his
tears drop upon her cheek.
"I do not know," said he, "why it is, but I feel sometimes as if a
tempest were gathering above my head. And yet, the heavens are
cloudless, the sun has set; and see, the moon rises, looking in her pale
beauty, even as thou dost, my love. She has borrowed loveliness from
thee to-night, for, surely, she was never so fair before. But all seems
lovely when thou art near, and, I think, that, perchance--thou lovest
me. Tell me, Isabella, tell me, dearest, that thou dost love me."
She raised her head, and met his passionate gaze with a look so sad that
his heart grew cold with apprehension. Then her eyes turned heavenward,
and her lips moved. He knew that she was praying. But why, at such a
moment?
"Tell me the truth!" cried he, vehemently--"tell me the truth!"
"I cannot answer thee in words," murmured Isabella, "but thou shalt have
music--love's own interpreter. Come, let us go into the music-room."
And, light as a fairy, she tripped before, opening herself the door,
though he strove to prevent her.
"No, this is MY temple, and my hands unclose the doors," said she, once
more self-possessed.
Her husband followed her, enchanted. She looked around at the various
instruments, and struck a few chords on the piano.
"No. This is too earthly. My own favorite instrument shall speak for
me."
So saying, she opened a case that lay on the table, and took from it a
violin.
"This," said she to her husband, "is the violin that came with me from
Italy."
"How, Isabella," exclaimed he, "dost thou play on my favorite
instrument?"
"The violin, to me, is dear above all instruments," replied she; "it
alone has tones that respond to those of the human heart." [Footnote:
The infanta, who played on several instruments, excelled on the violin.
Wraxall, vol. ii., page 390.]
With indescribable grace she raised the violin to her shoulder, and
began to play. At first her chords were light and airy as the sounds
from an AEolian harp; then the melody swelled until it broke into a gush
of harmony that vibrated through every chord of the archduke's beating
heart. As he stood breathless and entranced, she seemed to him like that
picture by Fiesole, of the angel that comforts the dying. This
picture had always been, above all others, the archduke's favorite, and
now it stood embodied before him, a living, breathing divinity.
The music died away to his ear, though still she played; but now it
seemed to stream from her eyes that shone like luminous stars, and flow
from her softly moving lips, that whispered to the spirits which now
low, now loud, laughed, sighed, or sobbed out their responses from the
magic violin.
Isabella was no longer a woman and his wife. She was a glorified spirit;
and now he trembled lest his angel should vanish, and leave him nothing
but the memory of a heavenly vision. His eyes filled with tears; a
convulsive sigh broke from his breast, and, burying his face in his
hands, he sank down upon the sofa.
A light shudder ran through Isabella's frame; her eyes, which had
wandered far, far beyond the portals that shut us out from heaven,
looked wildly around. Her husband's sigh had awakened her from a
blissful dream, and once more her weary heart sank desolate to the
earth. But with an expression of tenderest pity she turned toward him
and smiled. Then her music changed; it pealed out in rich harmony, fit
for mortal ears. She saw her complete mastery over the archduke's soul;
his eyes grew bright and joyful once more, and from his countenance
beamed the light of perfect contentment.
"Our epithalamium!" exclaimed he, overjoyed, and no longer able to
control his exultation, he darted from his seat, and clasped the dear
musician in his arms.
"I thank thee, my Isabella," said he, with a voice that trembled with
excess of happiness. "Yes, this is the voice of love; thou hast answered
me with our wedding-song. In this melody is drowned every bitter
remembrance of my life; the discords of the past have melted into
richest harmony--for thou returnest my love. A thousand times I thank
thee; this hour is sacred to me forever.
"Thou hast said that thou lovest me," continued the happy husband, "and
now I feel the power and strength of a god. I am ready for the battle of
life."
"But I think that I saw the god weep. Poor mortal friend, gods shed no
tears--tears are the baptism of humanity."
"Oh, gods must weep for joy, Isabella, else they could not feel its
perfection!"
"May Heaven grant that thou weep no other tears!" said the wife,
solemnly. "But hear," continued she, raising her little hand, "the
palace clock strikes eight, and we promised her majesty to spend this
evening with the imperial family circle. We must be punctual, and I have
scarcely time to dress."
"Why, wilt thou change that sweet simple dress? Art thou not always the
pride of the court? Come--thy muslin and roses will shame all the silk
and jewels of my sisters. Come!"
She laid her hand gently upon the arm that drew her forward, and
courtesied before him with mock ceremony.
"My lord and husband," said she, laughing, "although your imperial
highness has banished Madame Etiquette from our balcony, remember that
she stands grimly awaiting us by yonder door, and we must take her with
us into the presence of our august empress. Madame Etiquette would never
permit me to pass in this simple dress. She would order me indignantly
from her sight, and your highness also. Go, therefore, and don your
richest Spanish habit. In fifteen minutes I await your highness here."
She made another deep courtesy. The archduke, taking up the jest,
approached her, and, kissing her hand, replied:
"I obey your imperial highness, as your loyal husband and loving
subject. I shall deck myself with stars and orders; and in princely
splendor I shall return, as becomes the spouse of the archduchess of
Austria. Your highness's obedient servant."
And in true Spanish fashion, he bent his knee and kissed the hem of her
robe. Backing out of her presence he bowed again as he reached the door,
but catching her laughing eyes, he suddenly dashed right over Madame
Etiquette, and catching his wife in his arms, he gave her a last and a
right burgher-like kiss. The archduke was very happy, and the
archduchess--well! One day God will reward her!
As the door closed, the expression of her face changed. The smile died
from her lips, and her eyes were dim with tears.
"Poor boy!" murmured she, "he loves me, and I--I suffer him to believe
that I return his love, while--But I am right," said the devoted girl,
and she clasped her hands convulsively together.
"O my Saviour!" cried she "in mercy give me grace while I live, to be
true to the vows, that before thine altar, I have sworn to the Archduke
of Austria! It were cruel in me to wound his noble heart--cruel to awake
him from his dream of love! Let him at least be happy while I live; and
Lord give me strength that I faint not under my burden!"