AN UNFORTUNATE MEETING.
Festival followed festival. The streets of the beautiful capital of
Tyrol were gay with the multitudes who thronged to the marriage of the
empress's second son.
It was the second day after the wedding. On the first evening the opera
of "Orpheus and Eurydice" had been triumphantly represented before the
elite of the city. A second representation had been called for by the
delighted audience, although at the imperial palace a magnificent mask
ball was to be given, for which two thousand invitations had been
issued. It was a splendid confusion of lights, jewels, velvet, satins,
and flowers. All the nations of the world had met in that imperial
ballroom; not only mortals, but fairies, sylphides, and heathen gods and
goddesses. It was a bewildering scene, that crowd of fantastic
revellers, whose faces were every one hidden by velvet masks, through
which dark eyes glittered, like stars upon the blackness of the night.
The imperial family alone appeared without masks. Maria Theresa, in a
dress of blue velvet, studded with golden embroidery, her fair white
forehead encircled by a coronet of diamonds and sapphires, walked
among her guests with enchanting smiles and gracious words. She leaned
upon the arm of the King of Rome, who, looking more cheerful than usual,
chatted gayly with his mother or with the crowd around them. Near them
were the Grand Duke Leopold and his bride, so absorbed in one another
that it was easy to see that they at least were happy in their
affections. Behind them flocked the young archduchesses, who were
enjoying the ball to the utmost. Whenever the empress approached a group
of her guests, they stood in respectful silence while she and her
handsome family passed by: but as soon as she had left them, their
admiration burst forth in every imaginable form of words. The empress,
who overheard these murmured plaudits, smiled proudly upon her young
daughters, who, even if they had been no archduchesses, would still have
been the handsomest girls in Austria.
While the empress, in the full splendor of her rank and beauty, was
representing the sovereign of Austria, the emperor, mingling with the
guests, was taking the liberty of amusing himself as ordinary mortals
love to do at a masked ball. On his arm hung a mask of most graceful
figure, but so completely was she disguised that nothing could be
ascertained with regard to her name or rank. Some whispered that it was
the emperor's new favorite, the Countess of Auersberg.
As the pair went by, the emperor overheard the conjectures of the crowd,
and he turned with a smile to the lady who accompanied him.
"Do not fear," said he; "there is no danger of your being recognized.
You are mistaken for another lady. I promised you that you should meet
Joseph here, and I will keep my promise. Let us try to make our way
through the crowd, that we may join him as soon as possible; for I feel
oppressed this evening, I know not why."
"Oh, then, your majesty, let me go back into the anteroom," said the
veiled lady. "I begin to feel all the rashness of my undertaking, and
although it has the sanction of your majesty and the empress, I feel
like a criminal, every moment dreading discovery. Let us go back."
"No, no," replied the emperor, "let us remain until the interview with
Joseph is over. I shall feel no better in the anteroom than here. I
never shall be well until I leave this beautiful, fearful Tyrol. Its
mountains weigh heavily upon my head and my breast. But let us sit down
awhile. I love to listen to the people's talk, when the court is not
by."
"But while your majesty is present the court is here," said the lady.
"Not so, my dear," whispered the emperor; "the empress and my children
are the court, I am but a private nobleman. Ah, there they come! See how
beautiful and stately the empress looks! Who would suppose that this
grown-up family were her children!--But she, she signs us to approach.
Take courage, and await me here."
So saying, the emperor hastened toward his wife, who received him with a
loving smile of welcome.
"Now, my son," said she, withdrawing her arm from Joseph, "I give you
your freedom. I advise you to mix among the masks, and to go in search
of adventures. We have done enough for ceremony, I think we may now
enjoy ourselves a little like the rest of mankind. If we were younger,
Franzel, we, too, would mix with yonder crowd, and dance awhile. But I
suppose we must leave that to our children, and betake ourselves to the
card-table or to the opera-house."
"If your majesty leaves me the choice," said the emperor, "I vote for
the opera."
The empress took his arm, while she turned to the Countess Lerchenfeld,
the governess of the archduchesses. "To the dancing-room, countess,"
said she; "the archduchesses may dance, but no masks must enter the
room. Now, my dear husband, follow me. Adieu, Joseph! To-morrow I expect
to hear what fortune has befallen you to-night."
"Your majesty forgets that Fortune is a woman," returned Joseph,
smiling, "and you know that I have no luck with women."
"Or you will not have it," said the empress, laughing, and leaving her
son to his thoughts.
"Or you will not have it," repeated a soft voice near, and Joseph,
turning, saw an elegant-looking woman, veiled and masked.
"Fair mask," said he, smiling, "although you have the qualities of Echo,
you have not yet pined away to invisibility."
"Perhaps, sire, my body is only the coffin of my heart, and my heart the
unfortunate Echo that has grieved herself to death and invisibility. But
perhaps your majesty does not believe in the power of grief, for
doubtless you are unacquainted with its pangs."
"And why should you imagine that I am unacquainted with grief?" asked
Joseph.
"Because your majesty's station is exalted above that of other men;
because God has blessed you with a noble heart, that is worthy of your
destiny--the destiny which gives you the power of making other mortals
happy."
"How do you know all this?"
"I see it," whispered she, "in your eyes--those eyes that reflect the
blue of heaven. Oh, sire, may never a cloud darken that heaven!"
"I thank you for your pious wish," replied the king sadly, "but if you
are mortal, you know that in this world there are no such things as
cloudless skies. Let us not speak of such serious matters; give me your
arm, and let us join in the mirth that is around us."
"If your majesty will permit me, I will while away the hour by relating
to you a sad story of life."
"Why a sad story, why not a merry one?"
"Because I came here for no other object than to relate this sad story
to yourself. I came to crave your majesty's sympathy and clemency in
behalf of a suffering fellow-creature."
"Can I do any thing in the matter?" asked the king.
"From your majesty alone do I hope for succor."
"Very well; if so, let me hear the story. I will listen."
"Sire, my mournful history will ill accord with the merriment of a
ballroom. If you will condescend to go with me to one of the boxes in
the gallery, I will there confide my secret to your ear, and there I
hope to soften your heart. Oh, sire, do not tarry; it is a case of life
or death."
"Well," said Joseph, after a pause, "I will go. After all, I am about to
have an adventure."
The mask bowed, and made her way through the crowd to a side-door which
opened upon the private staircase leading to the boxes. Joseph looked
with interest at the light and elegant form that preceded him, and said
to himself, "Truly an adventure! I will follow it to the end."
They were now in the galleries, from whence a beautiful view of the
ballroom was obtained. The lady entered a box, the king followed. The
sound of the music, and the gay voices of the dancers, came with
softened murmur to the ears of the king. He thought of the past, but
rousing himself to the exigencies of the present, he turned to the lady
and said: "Now, fair mask, to your narrative."
"Swear first to bear me to the end! Swear it by the memory of Isabella,
whom you so passionately loved!"
"Isabella!" cried Joseph, turning pale. "You are very bold, madame, to
call that name, and call it here! But speak. By her loved memory I will
listen."
She took his hand, and pressed it to her lips. Then she begged the king
to be seated, and took her place by his side.
"Sire, I wish to relate to you the history of a woman whom God has
either blessed or cursed; a woman who, if she were not most unfortunate,
would be the happiest of mortals."
"You speak as the Sphinx did before the gates of Thebes. How can one be
at the same time blessed and cursed?"
"Sire, it is a blessing to be capable of loving with passion; it is a
curse to love, and not be loved in return."
"And a greater curse," murmured Joseph, "to feign love and not to feel
it. I have been a victim of such hypocrisy, and never shall I outlive
its bitter memories."
"Sire," began the lady, "the woman of whom I speak would willingly give
a year of her life if the man she loves would but vouchsafe to her
thirsting heart one single glance of love. Think how wretched she must
be, when even the appearance of love would satisfy her. But do not
suppose, sire, that this woman is the victim of a guilty passion which
she dare not own. She is a wife, and the man she adores, and who loves
her not, is her husband."
"Why does he not love her?" asked Joseph quickly.
"Because," said the mask, in an agitated voice, "because she has sinned
against him. On the day of her marriage, although he nobly invited her
confidence, she hid from him a--a--malady. Oh, in mercy, do not go! You
MUST hear me" cried she; almost frenzied, "you swore by the memory of
Isabella to listen."
Joseph resumed his seat, and said roughly, "Go on, then."
"It was a crime," continued she in a voice of deepest emotion, "but she
has paid dearly for her sin. Her husband repulsed her, but her heart was
still his; he despised her, and yet she adores him. Her malady has long
since disappeared; her heart alone is sick; that heart which will break
if her lord refuse to forgive her the offence that was born of her love
for him! But oh, sire, he has no pity. When she meets him with imploring
looks, he turns away; her letters he sends to her unopened. Oh, he is
severe in his wrath; it is like vengeance from Heaven! But still she
loves, and still she hopes that one day he will be generous, and forgive
her another crime--that of not being blessed with beauty. For months she
has longed to tell him that she repents of her faults, that her
punishment is just; but, oh! oh! she begs for mercy. She was forbidden
to follow him to Innspruck, but she could not stay behind. His parents
gave their consent, and she is here at your knees, my lord and king, to
plead for mercy. Oh! has there not been enough of cruelty? See me
humbled at your feet; reach me your beloved hand, and bid me sit by your
side! "
She had sunk to the ground, and now tearing from her face the mask and
veil, the King of Rome beheld the death-like countenance of his despised
wife.
Joseph rose from his seat and looked at her with inexorable hate.
"Madame," said he, "thanks to the name which you used to force me into
compliance, I have heard you out. I married you without affection, and
you had been my wife but a few short hours when you turned my
indifference into undying hate. You come and whine to me for my love;
and you inform me that you are love sick on my account. If so, I dare
say that Van Swieten, who cured you of leprosy, can also cure you of
your unfortunate attachment. If you never knew it before, allow me to
inform you that YOUR love gives you no claim to MINE; and when a woman
has the indelicacy to thrust herself upon a man who has never sought
her, she must expect to be despised and humbled to the dust. And now,
madame, as I still have the misfortune to be your husband, listen to my
commands. You came here in spite of my prohibition; as you pass in the
world for my wife, you shall at least be obedient to my will. Go back
this night to Vienna, and never again presume to entrap me into another
interview like this!"
Without vouchsafing a look at the fainting woman who lay at his feet,
Joseph left the box, and descended to the ballroom. But what wail was
that, which, coming from the imperial banqueting-hall, hushed every
sound of music and mirth, and drove the gay multitude in terror from the
ballroom?
The King of Rome was hastily making his way through the terrified crowd,
when he was met by one of his own officers.
"I have been seeking your majesty," said he in a trembling voice. "The
emperor--"
"In Heaven's name, what of the emperor?"
"He is very ill, your majesty. On leaving the theatre, he was struck
down by apoplexy."
The king made no reply. He dashed on from room to room until he reached
his father's sleeping-apartment.
And there on the bed, that white, motionless body; that cold, insensible
piece of clay; that marble image without breath--was all that earth now
held of the Emperor Francis of Lorraine. He was dead, and his wish had
been granted. He had gone forever from the "beautiful, fearful Tyrol;"
and its mountains lay no longer heavily on his breast.