THE IMPERIAL ABBESS.
The funeral rites were over. In the crypt of the church of the
Capuchins, under the monument which, twenty years before, the empress
had built for herself and her husband, lay the body of Emperor Francis.
In this vault slept all the imperial dead of the house of Hapsburg. One
after another, with closed eyes and folded hands their marble effigies
were stretched across their tombs, stiff and cold as the bones that were
buried beneath. The eternal night of death reigned over those couchant
images of stone and bronze.
But Maria Theresa and her emperor had conquered death. Both rising from
the tomb, their eyes were fixed upon each other with an expression of
deepest tenderness; while Azrael, who stood behind with a wreath of
cypress in his hands, seemed to have transformed himself into an angel
of love that sanctified their union even beyond the tomb.
All had left the vault save the widowed empress; she had remained behind
to weep and pray. Her prayers ended, she drew her long black cloak
around her and strode through the church, unmindful of the monks, who,
on either side of the aisle, awaited her appearance in respectful
silence. She heeded neither their inclined heads nor their looks of
sympathy; stunned by grief, she was unmindful of externals, and scarcely
knew that she had left the vault, when her coach stopped before the
imperial palace.
Once there Maria Theresa passed by the splendid apartments which she had
inhabited during her husband's life, and ascending the staircase to the
second story of the palace, she entered upon the dwelling which had been
prepared for her widowhood. It was simple to coldness. Hung with black,
nothing relieved the gloom of these rooms; neither mirror, picture,
gilding, nor flowers were there. The bedroom looked sad in the extreme.
The walls were hung in gray silk; gray velvet curtains were drawn in
front of the small widow's bed; the floor was covered with a gray carpet
studded with white lilies, and the furniture was like the curtains, of
dim, dull gray velvet. [Footnote: Caroline Pichler, "Memoirs," vol. i.,
p. 20.]
As the empress entered this dismal room she saluted her ladies of honor
who had followed her, and now stood awaiting her commands at the door.
"Bring all my dresses, shawls, laces, and jewels to me in the
reception-room, and send a messenger to Prince Kaunitz to say that I
await his presence."
The ladies of honor left the room silently, and the empress, closing the
door, began again to weep and pray. Meanwhile her attendants were
occupied bringing up the costly wardrobe of their imperial mistress. In
a little while the dark rooms were brightened with velvet and silk of
every color, with gold and silver, with jewels and flowers.
The ladies looked with eager and admiring eyes at the magnificence which
had transformed this funereal apartment into a bazaar of elegance and
luxury, scarcely daring to speak the hopes and wishes that were filling
all their hearts. Suddenly their curious eyes sought the ground, for the
empress appeared and entered the room. What a contrast between this pale
figure, clad in simplest mourning, and the rich costumes which in the
days of her happiness had heightened her beauty; those days which seemed
to lie so far, far away from the bitter present
The empress laid her hand upon her heart, as if to stifle a cry of
anguish; then approaching the black marble table, she took up some of
the dresses that lay upon it.
With a voice softer and more pathetic than ever they had heard before,
she begged the companions of her happier days to accept and wear these
costly things as a legacy from the emperor. She then divied them as se
thought best; assigning to each lady what best became her and was most
appropriate.
Her ladies stood weeping around, while Maria Theresa besought each one
to pardon the trouble she had given in her joyous days, for the sake of
the misery she now endured. And as she entreated them to forget that she
had been imperious and exacting, they knelt weeping at her feet, and
earnestly implored her not to leave them.
The empress sadly shook her head. "I am no longer an empress," said she,
"I am a poor, humbled woman, who needs no more attendance, whose only
aim on earth is to serve God and die in His favor! Pray for the emperor,
char friends, and pray for me also."
Slowly turning away, she left the room and entered her cabinet, which
opened into the gray bedroom.
"And now to my last worldly task," said she, as ringing a silver
hand-bell she bade a page conduct Prince Kaunitz to her presence.
The page opened the door, and the prince came in.
The empress greeted him with a silent bend of her head, and exhausted,
sank into an arm-chair that stood before her writing-desk. Kaunitz,
without awaiting permission, took a seat opposite.
There was a long pause. At length Kaunitz said: "Your majesty has
honored me by commanding my presence hither."
"Yes, I sent for you because I have something of great importance to
say," replied the empress.
"I am all attention," replied the minister. "For it is worthy of your
noble self so soon to stifle your grief and to attend to the duties of
your crown. You have sent for me that we may work. And your majesty has
done well, for much business has accumulated on our hands since we last
held a cabinet council."
The empress shook her head. "Business no longer troubles me," replied
she; "I have sent for you to say that we are no longer to work
together."
"Does that mean that your majesty is about to dismiss me in disgrace?
Are you no longer satisfied with your minister?" asked Kaunitz.
"No, prince. It means that I myself must retire from the bustle and
vanities of this world. My hands are no longer fit to wield a sceptre;
they must be folded in prayer--in prayer for my emperor, who was called
away without receiving the sacraments of the church. My strength is gone
from me; my crown oppresses me; I can no longer be an empress."
"Were you made a sovereign by any power of yours?" asked Kaunitz. "Had
you the choice of becoming an empress or remaining an archduchess? What
did your majesty say to me when the insolent Charles of Bavaria tried to
wrest your imperial crown from your head?--'I received my crown from the
hands of God, and I must defend my divine right!' Floods of noble blood
were spilled that Maria Theresa might preserve her right; and does she
now intend to dim the glory of her crown by sacrificing it to her sorrow
as a wife?"
"I am tired of life and of the world, and I intend to take refuge from
their troubles in a cloister. Say no more! I am resolved to go, and the
palace at Innspruck shall be my convent. There, on the spot where he
died, will I make my vows; and as an abbess will I spend my life praying
that God may give him eternal rest. My vocation as a sovereign is at an
end; I resign my sceptre to my son." [Footnote: Coxe, "History of the
House of Austria," vol. v., page 188.]
"That means that your majesty will destroy with your own hands the
structure you had commenced; that you have grown faint-hearted, and are
unfaithful to your duty and to your subjects."
"I will follow the steps of my great ancestor, Charles V.," cried the
empress with energy. "I lay down my earthly dignity to humble myself
before God."
"And your majesty will be quite as unhappy as your ancestor. Do you
suppose that the poor monk ever was able to forget that he had been a
great prince?"
"And yet Charles V. remained for several years in a cloister." "But what
a life, your majesty! A life of regret, repentance, and despair. Believe
me, it is far better like Caesar to die pierced by twenty daggers on the
steps of a throne, than voluntarily to descend from that throne to enter
the miserable walls of a cloister."
"Better perhaps for those who have not renounced the world and its
pomps," cried the empress, raising her beautiful eyes to heaven. "But it
is neither satiety nor weariness of grandeur that has drive me to a
cloister. It is my love for my emperor, my yearning to be alone with God
and the past."
"But, your majesty," said Kaunitz with emphasis, "you will not be alone
with the past; the maledictions of your people will follow you Will they
hold you guiltless to have broken your faith with them?"
"I shall not have broken my faith; I shall have left to my people a
successor to whom sooner or later they will owe the same allegiance as
they now owe me."
"But a successor who will overturn all that his mother has done for
Austria's welfare. Your majesty laid the foundations of Austria's
greatness. To that end you called me to the lofty station which I now
occupy. Remember that together we pledged our lives and love to Austria.
Be not untrue to the covenant. In the name of that people which I then
represented, I claim from their emperor, Maria Theresa, the strict
fulfilment of her bond. I call upon her to be true to her duty as the
ruler of a great nation, until the hand of God releases her from her
crown and her life."
While Kaunitz spoke, Maria Theresa walked up and down the room with
troubled brow and folded arms. As lie ceased, she came and stood before
him, looking earnestly into his face, which now had cast aside its mask
of tranquillity, and showed visible signs of agitation.
"You are a bold advocate of my people's claims," said she; "a brave
defender of my Austria. I rejoice to know it, and never will take
umbrage at what you have so nobly spoken. But you have not convinced me;
my sorrow speaks louder than your arguments. You have termed me 'your
emperor.' I know why you have once more called me by that flattering
title. You wish to remind me that in mounting the throne of my ancestors
I lost the right to grieve as a woman, and pledged myself to gird on the
armor of manhood. Hitherto I have made it my pride to plan, to reign, to
fight like a man. I have always feared that men might say of me that my
hand was too weak to grasp the reins of power. But God, who perhaps gave
me the head of a man while leaving me the heart of a woman, has punished
me for my ambition. He has left me to learn that, alas! I am but a
woman--with all the weakness of my sex. It is that womanly heart which,
throbbing with an anguish that no words can paint, has vanquished my
head; and loud above all thoughts of my duty as an empress is the wail
of my sorrow as a widow! But I will show you, Kaunitz, that I am not
stubborn. I shall communicate my intentions to no one. For four weeks I
will retire to my cloister. Instead of naming Joseph my successor, I
will appoint him co-regent. If, after four weeks of probation, I still
feel that I can without guilt retire from the world, shall I then be
absolved from my oath, and suffered to lay down my crown without
reproach from my faithful minister?"
"If, after four weeks of unlimited power delegated to the Emperor
Joseph, your majesty still thinks that you have a right to abdicate,"
replied Kaunitz, "I shall make no opposition to your majesty's choice of
a private vocation, for I shall feel that after that time remonstrance
with you would be useless."
"Well, then, my novitiate shall begin to-morrow. Apprise the court and
the foreign representatives that I wish to meet them in the throne-room,
where in their presence I will appoint my son emperor co-regent."