THE MARRIAGE NIGHT.
The ceremonial was over. The empress herself had conducted the young
Queen of Rome to her apartments; and she had stood by her side, while
her tire-woman exchanged her dress of golden tissue for a light white
negligee of finest cambric trimmed with costly lace. With her own hand
Maria Theresa unfastened the myrtle-wreath and coronet of diamonds that
encircled her daughter-in-law's brow. She then kissed Josepha
affectionately, and, bidding her good-night, she besought the blessing
of God upon both her children.
And now the princess was alone in this vast apartment. On one side,
under a canopy of blue velvet embroidered with gold, was the state-bed
of the Queen of Rome. Close by stood the toilet of gold with its
wilderness of jewels and etuis, all the gifts of the empress. On the
walls of blue velvet hung large Venetian mirrors, filling the room with
images of that gorgeous bed of state. In the centre, on a marble table,
thirty wax-lights in silver candelabra illumined the splendor of the
scene. The heavy velvet window curtains were closed; but they threw no
shadow, for the park of Schonbrunn was illuminated by two hundred
thousand lamps, which far and near lit up the castle on this festive
evening with a flood of fiery splendor. [Footnote: Hormayer,
"Reminiscences of Vienna," vol. v., page 81.]
The Queen of Rome was alone, her bridesmaids and attendants had left
her, and she awaited her husband, who would enter her room through a
private door which, close to the bed of state, led to his own
apartments.
With beating heart and in feverish suspense, trembling with hope and
fear, Josepha paced her magnificent room. Heavy sighs broke from her
bosom, hot tears fell from her eyes.
"He will come," cried she, wringing her hands, "he will come and look
into my face with his heavenly blue eyes, and I--I shall cast down mine
like a culprit, and dare not confide my secret to him. O God! O God! I
have sworn to conceal my infirmity, for it is not contagious and will
harm no one--and yet my heart misgives me when I think that--Oh, no! no!
It will soon be over, and he will never have known it. Were he told of
it, it might prejudice him against me, and how could I bear to see those
beauteous eyes turned away from me in disgust? I will keep my secret;
and after--my love shall atone to him for this one breach of faith. Oh,
my God! teach me how to win him! I have nothing to bring to this
splendid court save the gushing fountains of my love for him--oh, my
father, why have I nothing but this to offer--why have I neither beauty
nor grace to please my husband's eyes--for I love him, oh, I love him
already more than my life!"
She started, for she heard a sound near the side door. Now the key
turned in the lock, and in another moment the king walked in. He still
wore the magnificent Spanish court-dress in which he had received the
homage of his marriage guests. The order of the Golden Fleece was on his
breast, and also the sparkling diamond cross of the imperial house of
Hapsburg. Josepha, blushing, recalled to mind her night negligee, and
dared not raise her eyes.
For a while they stood opposite to one another, Josepha, in painful
confusion; Joseph, his eyes bent with cold scrutiny upon her person. At
length he approached and touched her gently on the arm.
"Why do you tremble so?" asked he kindly. "Raise your head and look at
me."
Slowly she lifted her eyes, and looked at him with a gaze of entreaty.
"Now," said be, with a bitter smile, "am I so frightful that you have
reason to tremble at my coming?"
"I did not tremble from fear or fright," said she, in a voice scarcely
audible.
"Ah, you have no confidence in me," said he, "you wish to hide your
emotions from me. And yet madame, let me tell you that nothing but
mutual and perfect confidence will help us through this hour and through
life. Come, then. Josepha, I will set you the example. I will confide in
you without reserve. Give me your hand and let us sit together on yonder
divan."
She placed her trembling hand within his, and he led her to the sofa. A
flood of deep and silent joy overwhelmed her heart, as alone in that
royal apartment, which was hers, she sat by the side of this man whom
she had already loved with passion.
"First, madame, let me ask your forgiveness for accepting a hand which
was not freely bestowed by yourself, but was placed in mine by the
inexorable policy of the destiny that rules kings. In obeying the
commands of your brother, you have not only married one whom you did not
know, but perhaps you have been forced to stifle other wishes, other
inclinations."
"No," cried she, earnestly, "no. I have left nothing to regret, I have
made no sacrifice, I--"
"Yes, you have sacrificed your freedom, the most precious boon that
Heaven has bestowed on man, to become the galley-slave of policy and
princely station. Poor Josepha, I pity you!"
"Do not pity me," said Josepha, tearfully, "pity yourself, whose freedom
has been sacrificed to me. You have given your honored hand to a woman
whom you do not love, a woman who would be too happy--"
"Had she the power to free herself and me from this compulsory union,"
interrupted Joseph. "I believe you, for I read in your countenance that
your heart is good and noble, and gladly would contribute to the
happiness of your fellow-creatures. But we must both accept the destiny
which the hand of diplomacy has woven for us. The heads that wear the
crowns must also wear the thorns. But we will try to lighten the pain to
one another. You have become my wife without love, and I, too, have
become your HUSBAND--without love."
Josepha's head fell, she sighed, and murmured something which Joseph
could not hear.
He went on: "I do not come to you with vain pretensions of a man who
fancies he has won an honorable woman's heart because the priest has bid
them love one another. I will not take advantage of the rights which
either diplomacy or church has given me over you. Here at least there
shall be no dissimulation; here we shall both be privileged to avow
honestly and honorably that we are not lovers. Then let us be friends. I
come to you in all frankness, offering myself to be to you as a brother.
Perhaps it may come to pass that I win your love; perchance your
goodness and your worth may win my sad heart back again to life--the day
may come when we shall be able to say that we love each other. Let us
await this day, and soften the interval by mutual confidence and trust.
And should it ever come to us, Josepha, we will then seal with
heart-felt embrace the bond which the church has made between us to-day.
Take me, then, as brother and friend, and be to me a sister and
companion. Will you, Josepha?"
He reached out his hand, and looked at her with a glance of brotherly
kindness. She gave him hers with a mournful smile, and her eyes sought
the ground.
"Welcome, then, my friend and sister," said Joseph warmly. "Now for
unreserved confidence. You promise me that, do you not?"
"I promise," gasped the poor girl.
"And you will open your heart that I may read its every page?"
"I will--I promise to keep nothing from you." "I promise the same to
you, and perhaps this plant of friendship may one day bear the flowers
of love. You are inexperienced in the ways of court-life. You will need
a pilot to steer you safe amid reefs and breakers. I will be this pilot
to you, I will teach you what to suspect and to avoid. Above all, never
venture to have an opinion that does not coincide with that of the
empress. We are all a pious and well-brought-up family who see with her
eyes, and hear with her ears, and never dare confess that we possess
sight or hearing in our own persons. Recollect that you, too, must fall
in the line of puppets, and give up your senses to the empress."
"But in the depths of my own heart I trust that I may see with the eyes
of the King of Rome," replied Josepha with a smile. "For if I am to
learn from you, I must surely dare to use my senses."
"Yes; but let no one suspect that you learn any thing from me. In this
court we tread on flowers; and if one of our flowers chances to wither
we cover it over with a pater-noster, and that makes all right again."
"But suppose it will not be made right?" returned Josepha. "Suppose that
prayer should fail?"
"Gracious Heaven, what do I hear!" cried Joseph. "What profane doubt are
you so bold as to utter! You do not belong to the stupid, pious band,
who think that prayer cures all woes? Poor Josepha, let no one but me
hear such heresy from your lips--pray, pray; or make believe to pray; no
one will ever ask you whether your heart is in it or not. And if any one
seeks to know, answer nothing. Pray on, and mistrust every one."
"What! mistrust the generous friend whom kind Providence has given to me
this day!" cried Josepha with feeling. "That I can never do. You have
encouraged me to confide in you, and even had you not done so, you would
have won my confidence unsought. "
"I am glad that you think so," returned Joseph. "Let us begin at once,
then. Have you a wish that I have it in my power to gratify? Or have you
any thing in your heart which you will confide to me as a proof of your
faith in my friendship?"
Josepha started, and her cheeks grew white with fear. This question
awakened her from her short dream of hope and happiness, and she
remembered that she had a secret which it was her duty to reveal to her
husband. She looked furtively at him. Perhaps he had heard something,
and this was a trial of her truth. But no! His face was tranquil and
unsuspecting; there was nothing searching in the glance of his deep-blue
eyes. No! he knew nothing, and wherefore cloud the brightness of the
hour with a confession which might crush its promise of future bliss?
"Well," said Joseph kindly, "is there nothing on your heart that you
would confide to your friend?"
"No!" at last said Joseplia resolutely. "My life has been dull and
uneventful. It is only today that I begin to live; the sun of hope is
dawning upon my heart; I feel as if I might--"
"Hark!" said Joseph, "I think I hear some one coming. Yes; there is
surely a light tap at the door."
The king rose hastily and crossed the room toward the little side-door.
"Is any one there?" asked he in a loud tone of displeasure.
"Yes, your majesty," whispered a trembling voice, "and I pray you
earnestly to open the door."
"It is my valet Anselmo," said Joseph to the princess, while he withdrew
the bolt.
It was Anselmo, in truth, who, with mysterious mien, beckoned to his
lord to come out.
"Will your majesty condescend to step into the corridor, that I may
deliver the message with which I am intrusted?" said the valet.
"Is it so weighty, Anselmo, that it cannot lie upon your conscience
until morning?"
"Not one moment can I defer it, your majesty, for I was told that your
majesty's well-being and health depended upon my speed."
The king stepped outside and closed the door. "Who sent you hither,
Anselmo?" asked he.
"I do not know, sire, but I suspect. It was a female form enveloped in a
long black cloak, with a hood which concealed her face. She came from
the gallery which leads to the apartments of their imperial highnesses,
your majesty's sisters, and entered your majesty's own cabinet, which I
had left open while I was lighting your majesty hither."
"And what said she?" asked the king impatiently.
"She asked if your majesty had gone into the queen's apartments When I
told her that you had, she held out this note and said: 'Speed to the
king, and as you value his health and welfare, give him this note at
once.' She disappeared, and here, your majesty, is the note."
The king took the paper, which by the dim light of the corridor he could
not read.
"And who do you think is the mysterious lady, Anselmo?" asked he.
"Sire, I do not know. Perhaps your majesty will recognize the
handwriting."
"I wish to know, Anselmo, who YOU think was hidden under that cloak?"
"Well, then, your majesty," said Anselmo, in a whisper scarcely audible,
"I think it was the Archduchess Christina."
"I suspected as much," said the king to himself. "It is some intrigue of
hers against the Princess Josepha, whom she hates because I selected her
in preference to the sister of Christina's lover, the Elector of
Saxony." [Footnote: The Princess Christina was in love with the Elector
of Saxony; but the Emperor Francis was opposed to the marriage.
Christina used all her influence to bring about a marriage between her
brother and Mary Kunigunde the sister of her lover, hoping thereby to
pave the way for her own union with the handsome Albert. Failing in
this, she became the bitter enemy of the unhappy woman to whom Joseph
had given the preference.]
Perhaps Anselmo understood a few words of this soliloquy, for he
continued: "A courier arrived from Saxony, and I was told by my sister,
the tire-woman of her highness, that the Archduchess Christina had
received a packet of letters."
"Very well, Anselmo," said the king, "if to-morrow you should be asked
whether you delivered the note, say that I tore it up without opening
it. Do you hear?"
Dismissing the valet with a wave of the hand, he returned to the
princess.
"Pardon me," said he, "for leaving you, and allow me in your presence to
read a note which has just been mysteriously delivered into my hands. I
wish to give you a proof of my confidence, by entrusting you at once
with my secrets."
So saying, he approached the marble centre-table, and opened the letter.
What was it that blanched Josepha's cheek and made her tremble, as
Joseph smiled and looked at her? Why did she stare at him while he read,
and why did her heart stand still with fright, as she saw his expression
change?
He seemed shocked at the contents of the note, and when he raised his
eyes and their glance met that of Josepha, she saw them filled with
aversion and scorn.
"Madame," said he, and his voice had grown harsh, "madame, I asked you
in good faith whether you had anything to confide to my honor. I
expressed a desire to win your confidence. You answered that you had
nothing to tell. Once more I ask, have you any thing to say? The more
humiliating the confession, the more will I appreciate your candor.
Speak, therefore."
Josepha answered not a word. Her teeth chattered so painfully that she
could not articulate; she trembled so violently that she had to grasp
the back of an arm-chair for support.
Joseph saw this, and he laughed a hoarse and contemptuous laugh. She did
not ask him why he sneered. She threw herself at his feet, and raised
her arms imploringly.
"Mercy," cried the unhappy woman, "mercy!"
He laughed again, and held the paper before her eyes.
"Read, madame, read!" said he rudely.
"I cannot," sobbed she. "I will not read what has been written of me. I
will tell you myself all that I know. I will confide my secret to you; I
will indeed."
"You have nothing to confide, madame," cried Joseph. "With a sincere and
holy desire to perform my duty I asked for your friendship and your
confidence. I cast them both back, for you have allowed the hour of
trust to go by! Now it is too late! You are accused. Do not look to me
for protection; vindicate yourself if you can. Read this letter, and
tell me if the writer speaks the truth."
Josepha still knelt at his feet; but her arms had fallen in despair. She
knew that she had nothing more to hope from her husband: she felt that
she was about to be sentenced to a life of utter misery.
"You will not read?" said Joseph, as unnoticed, Josepha lay at his feet.
"If so, I must read the letter for you myself. It warns me not to come
too near to your royal person. It--"
"I will spare you, sire," exclaimed she, as with the energy of despair
she rose to her feet. "You will not let me speak, you shall see for
yourself!"
With a frantic gesture, she tore her dress from her neck and shoulders,
and heedless that she stood with arms and bosom exposed, she let it fall
to the floor, and bowed her head as if to receive the stroke of the
headsman's axe.
"Know my secret," said she, as she folded her hands and stood before her
outraged husband. "And now hear me. A few months ago I had a beloved
brother, whom I loved the more that he was unfortunate and afflicted.
From his childhood he had suffered from a malady which his physicians
called leprosy. The very servants deserted him, for it was said that the
disease was contagious. I loved my brother with devotion; I went to him
and nursed him until he died. God shielded me, for I did not take the
malady. But on my neck and back there came dark spots which, although
they are painful, are not contagious. My physicians tod me that my
strong constitution had rejected the leprosy, and these spots were a
regeneration of my skin, which would soon disappear. This, sire, is my
fatal secret; and now judge me. It is in your power to make me the
happiest of mortals, by granting me a generous pardon; but I will not
complain if you condemn and despise me."
"Complain if you choose, it is indifferent to me," cried Joseph, with a
hoarse laugh. "Never in this world shall you be my wife. If the hateful
tie that binds me to you cannot be unloosed, I will make you answerable
for every day of disgust and misery that I am forced to pass under the
same roof with you. If I am cursed before the world with the name of
your husband. I shall punish you in secret with my everlasting hate."
As if stricken by lightning, she fell to the floor. Her fallen dress
exposed to view her beautiful form. Her arms, which were folded above
her head, were round and white as those of a Greek statue; and as she
lay with her full, graceful shoulders bared almost to the waist, she
looked like Niobe just stricken by the wrath of a god.
Joseph was unmindful of this. He had no sympathy with the noble
sacrifice which her loving heart had offered to a dying brother. He saw
neither her youth nor her grace; he saw but those dark spots upon her
back, and he shuddered as she raised her arm to clasp his feet.
"Do not touch me," exclaimed he, starting back. "Your touch is
pollution. We are forever divorced. To day the priest joined our bands
together, but to-night I part them never more to meet. Farewell."
And hurling at her prostrate form the letter which had betrayed her, he
turned and left the room.