ROSARY AND SCEPTRE.
The four weeks to which Maria Theresa had limited her novitiate had
almost expired. She still secluded herself from the world, and, in the
deep retirement of her palatial cloister, would suffer no mention of
worldly affairs in her presence.
In vain her confessor and her attendants strove to awaken her interest
to the dissatisfaction of the people with the wild projects of reform
that threatened the subversion of all social order. From the day of her
retirement, Maria Theresa had forbidden the slightest allusion to
politics. Her confesser had on one occasion ventured a hint on the
subject of the changes which were being made by the emperor, but the
empress had turned her flashing eyes upon him, and had reminded him
that, as the servant of the Lord, he was there to exhort and to pray,
not to concern himself about the trivialities of this world.
On another occasion the Countess Fuchs had presumed to mention the
changes in the imperial household. The empress interrupted her coldly,
saying that if she had not lost her relish for the vanities of the
court, the countess must absent herself until further orders.
This severity had put an end to all plans for inducing the empress to
resume the cares of empire. She was now at liberty to weep and pray
without distraction. Even her children, who came daily to kiss her hand,
were allowed no conversation but that which turned upon religion. When
the morning services were ended, they silently withdrew to their rooms.
For a few days past, the Archduchess Christina had absented herself from
this mournful levee. On the first day of her nonappearance the empress
had not appeared to remark her absence. But on the second day her eyes
wandered sadly from her prayer book to her children, and her lips seemed
ready to frame some question. Instead of speaking, she bent her head
over her rosary, and strove to pray with more devotion than usual.
Finally came a third day, and still Christina was absent. The empress
could no longer master her maternal anxiety, and as the Archduchess
Elizabeth approached to kiss her hand, she spoke. "Where is Christina?
Why is she not with you?"
"My sister is sick, your majesty," replied the archduchess. And as
though she feared to displease her mother by further speech, she bent
her head and withdrew.
The next day when the imperial children entered their mother's
apartment, her prayer-book was lying on the table, while she, pale and
agitated, was pacing the room with hasty steps. She received her family
with a slight motion of her head, and looked anxiously toward the door,
until it had closed after the entrance of little Marie Antoinette. Then
the empress sighed, and turned away her head lest her children should
see the tears that were gushing from her eyes.
But when mass was over, and little, Marie Antoinette approached her
mother, she took the child up in her arms, and tenderly kissing her
cheek, said: "How is Christina, my darling?"
"Sister Christina is very sick, imperial mamma," replied the child, "and
she cries all day long. But she loves you very dearly, and longs to see
you."
The empress put down her little daughter without a word, and as if she
thought to mortify her worldliness, she signed to all present to
withdraw, and falling upon her knees, prayed long and fervently. An hour
or two after she sent for her confessor. As he left her room and passed
through the anteroom, the attendants saw that his countenance looked
joyous in the extreme. They flocked to hear if there was any hope of
convincing the empress of the necessity of her return to the world.
"I think there is much," replied the father. "God be thanked, her
maternal love has overcome the dangerous lethargy into which sorrow had
plunged our beloved sovereign. For a time she was overcome by her grief
as a widow; but she begins to feel that her children have a right to her
counsels and care. Later she will recognize the claims of her people and
Austria will be saved from the mad schemes of that unbelieving dreamer,
her son."
"Do you really believe that her majesty will return to the throne'?"
asked the countess.
"I do. She besought me in trembling tones to tell her something of her
beloved child--and I did nothing to tranquillize her, --for she has no
right to seclude herself from her people. Maria Theresa is a greater
sovereign than her son will ever be, and Austria cannot afford to lose
her now. She will visit her daughter to-day. Tell the archduchess not to
fear her brother's opposition; for her mother, once resolved to return
to her people, will see that her own daughters are not made wretched by
a tyrannical brother. The princess will marry her lover."
"I hasten. How soon may we expect the empress?"
"She will surely be there before many hours. Solitude is not congenial
to Maria Theresa's heart; her active mind craves occupation, and her
grief requires it. Let us appeal to her affections through the illness
of her child, and complete reaction will ensue. If once we can persuade
her to quit her seclusion, the cloister-dream is over. Let us all work
in concert to restore her to the world. It is not the sovereign of a
great nation who has a right like Mary to sit at the feet of Jesus. Go
at once, Count Bathiany, and may God bless the efforts we are making to
restore our empress to her sense of duty. Church and state are alike
endangered by the fatal step she has taken."