MOTHER AND SON.
The dream was over--the blessed dream of philanthropy and reform! The
reins of power had been snatched from his hands, and Joseph was once
more consigned to a life of insignificant inactivity. Like a wounded
bird, whose broken wing no longer bears him aloft his heart fluttered
and fell--its high hopes dashed to earth. The old influences which he
hated, were at work again, and he had no recourse but absolute silence.
His deep humiliation, he was constrained to hide under a mask of
serenity; but he knew that his spirit was crushed, and night fell over
his stricken soul. Still, he struggled against the chill of his despair,
and with all the strength of his being he strove against misfortune.
"I will not succumb," thought he, "I will not be vanquished by this
secret grief. I will not be a cause of sorrow to my friends and of
triumph to my enemies--I will live and overpower misfortune. Since all
in Vienna is so dark, let me seek sunshine elsewhere--I will
travel!--Away from this stifling court, to breathe the free air of
heaven! Here I am an emperor without an empire; there at least I shall
be a man, to whom the world belongs, wherever his steed has strength and
speed to bear him. Yes, let me travel, that I may gird up my loins for
the day when the sun of royalty shall rise for me. It will come! it will
come! And when it dawns, it must find me strong, refreshed, and ready
for action."
The emperor made his preparations to depart, and then, in compliance
with the requisitions of court etiquette, he sought his mother, to
obtain her consent to his journey. Maria Theresa received her son with
that half-mournful tenderness which lent such an indescribable
fascination to her appearance and manners. She looked at him with a
smile so winning and affectionate, that Joseph, in spite of himself,
felt touched and gladdened; and the hand which his mother held out was
most fervently pressed to his lips. It was the first time they had met
in private since the empress had reascended her throne, and both felt
the embarrassment and significance of the hour.
"I have longed for this moment with anxious and beating heart, my son,"
said the mother, while she drew him toward her. "I know, my child, that
your heart is embittered toward me. You think that I would have been
wiser as well as kinder had I never left my widow's cloister. But
reflect, my dear son, as I have done, that my sceptre was given me by
the hand of God, and that it would be sinful and cowardly in me to give
it into the hands of another until He, in His wisdom, releases me from
durance."
Joseph looked with genuine emotion at the agitated countenance of his
mother. He saw the tears gather and fall from her eyes; he saw the
quivering lip, the trembling frame; he felt that her integrity was
beyond suspicion, her love for him beyond all question. The icy barriers
that had closed upon his heart, gave way; he felt the warm and sunny
glow of a mother's unspeakable love, and, yielding to the impulse of the
moment, he flung his arms around the empress's neck, while he covered
her face with kisses. "Mother, my dear mother!" sobbed he; and as if
these words had opened the floodgates of all the love which filled his
heart, he leaned his head upon her bosom, and was silent.
She smiled fondly upon him as he lay there; she returned his kisses, and
stroked his fair, high forehead with her loving hand.
"Have you come back once more to your mother's heart, my darling?"
whispered she. "Have you found your way back to the nest whence you have
wandered away so long, you stray birdling? Do you feel, my son, that the
mother's bosom is the resting-place for her children? Oh! promise me, my
heart's treasure, to trust and love me from this hour? We are human, and
therefore we are sinful and erring. I well know, dear boy, that I have
many failings. From my heart I regret them; and if in your short life,
as boy or man, I have grieved you, pardon me, dearest, for I have not
meant it in unkindness."
"No, mother,"' said Joseph, "it is I who should sue for pardon. My heart
is wild and stubborn; but I believe that it beats with a love as true
and warm for my empress as that of any other man in Austria. Have
patience with me, then, my mother, for I am indeed a wandering bird;
and, in my wild flight, the shafts of this life have wounded and maimed
me. But let us not speak of life--mine is a blasted one."
"Yes, my son, let us speak of your life, and of its misfortunes; for I
know that Josepha of Bavaria is its chiefest sorrow. I have heard
something of your unhappiness as a husband, and I pity you both."
"You pity her!" cried Joseph, hastily. "How does she deserve my mother's
compassion?"
The empress laid her hand gently upon her son's shoulder. "She loves
you, Joseph," said she, "and I cannot refuse my sympathy to a woman who
loves without hope of return."
"She loves me!" exclaimed Joseph with a laugh of derision. "Yes--and her
love is my abhorrence and my shame. Her ogling glances make me shudder
with disgust. When she turns upon me her blotched and pimpled face, and
calls me by the name of husband, the courtiers sneer, and I--I feel as
if I would love to forget my manhood and fell her to the earth."
"She is certainly ugly," said the empress, shaking her head, "but uglier
women than she have inspired love. And remember, Joseph, that you chose
her yourself. Besides, she has an excellent heart, if you would but take
the trouble to explore its unknown regions. Moreover, you will one day
be sole Emperor of Austria, and you should seek to give an heir to your
throne. If Josepha were the mother of your children, you would no longer
think her ugly."
"SHE the mother of my children!" cried Joseph, with such keenness of
hate, that the empress shuddered. "Do you think me capable of such a
degradation? You have not seen Van Swieten lately, or he would have told
you that this woman, in addition to her other attractions, is troubled
with a new malady."
"Van Swieten did not mention it to me."
"Well, then, your majesty, I will mention it. This so-called empress has
the scurvy."
"Oh, my son, my poor boy!" cried the empress, putting her arm around
Joseph's neck as though she would have shielded him from infection.
"That is a disgusting malady, but Van Swieten's skill will soon conquer
it."
"Yes; but neither he nor you will ever conquer my hate for her. Not all
the world could make me forgive the deception that was practised upon me
when she was allowed to become my wife. THIS woman the mother of my
children! No! No one shall ever force me to be the father of any thing
born of Josepha of Bavaria!"
The empress turned away and sighed. It was in vain. This was hatred
strong as death. "May God comfort you both!" said she, mournfully.
"Then He must put us asunder!" cried out Joseph, almost beside himself.
"Believe me, mother," continued he, "death alone can bring us
consolation; and may God forgive me when I pray that this atoning angel
may come to my relief! She or I! No longer can I bear this ridicule of
hearing this leper called an empress!"
"Travel, then, my dear son," said his mother. "Travel and try to enjoy
life away from Vienna. Perchance when you will have seen how little true
happinesss there is on earth, experience may come to your help, and
teach you to be less unhappy."
The emperor shook his head. "Nothing," replied he, moodily, "can ever
console me. Wherever I go, I shall hear the rattle of my prisoner's
chain. Let us speak of it no more. I thank your majesty for the
permission to leave Vienna, and I thank you for this bright and sacred
hour, whose memory will bless me as long as I live. You have been to me
this day a tender and sympathizing mother. May I henceforward be to you
a grateful and obedient son."
"You have not yet told me whither you desire to travel," said the
empress, after a pause.
"With your majesty's permission, I would wish to travel in Bohemia and
Moravia, and then I wish to visit the courts of Dresden and Munich. Both
sovereigns, through their ambassadors, have sent me urgent invitations."
"It would be uncourteous to refuse," said the empress, earnestly. "It is
politic for us, as far as possible, to bind all the German princes to us
by interchange of kindness."
"Since this is your majesty's opinion, I hope that you will also consent
to my acceptance of a third invitation. The King of Prussia has
requested to have an interview with me at Torgau."
The brow of the empress darkened.
"The King of Prussia?" said she, almost breathless.
"Yes, your majesty, and to be frank with you it is of all my invitations
the one which I most desire to accept. I long to see face to face the
king whom all Europe, friend or foe, unites in calling 'Frederick the
Great'--great not only as a hero, but also as a lawgiver."
"Yes," cried the empress, with indignation, "the king whom infidels
delight to honor. I never supposed that he would presume to approach my
son and heir as an equal. The Margrave of Brandenburg has a right to
hold the wash-basin of the Emperor of Germany, but methinks he forgets
his rank when he invites him to an interview. "
"Ah, your majesty," replied Joseph, smiling, "the Margrave of
Brandenburg, to our sorrow and our loss, has proved himself a king; in
more than one battle has he held the wash-basin for Austria's sovereign,
but it was to fill it with Austrian blood."
Maria Theresa grew more and more angry as she heard these bold words.
"It ill becomes my son," said she, "to be the panegyrist of the victor
whose laurels were snatched from his mother's brow."
"Justice impels me to acknowledge merit, whether I see it in friend or
foe," answered the emperor. "Frederick of Prussia is a great man, and I
only hope that I may ever resemble him."
The empress uttered an exclamation, and her large eyes darted lightning
glances.
"And thus speaks my son of the man who has injured and robbed his
mother!" exclaimed she indignantly. "My son would press his hand who has
spilled such seas of Austrian blood--would worship as a hero the enemy
of his race! But so long as I reign in Austria, no Hapsburger shall
condescend to give the hand to a Hohenzollern. There is an old feud
between our houses; it cannot be healed."
"But if there is feud, your majesty perceives that it is not the fault
of the King of Prussia, since he holds out the right hand of friendship.
I think it much more Christian-like to bury feuds than to perpetuate
them. Your majesty sees, then, how Frederick has been calumniated, since
he follows the Christian precept which commands us to forgive our
enemies."
"I wish to have nothing to do with him," said the empress.
"But, as I had the honor of saying before, the king has sent me a
pressing invitation, and you said just now that it would be uncourteous
to refuse."
"Not the invitation of Frederick. I will not consent to that."
"Not even if I beg it as a favor to myself?" asked Joseph fervently.
"Not even if I tell you that I have no wish so near at heart as that of
knowing the King of Prussia? Think of this day, so brightened to me by
the sunshine of your tenderness! Let the mother plead for me with the
sovereign; for it is not to my empress, it is to my mother that I
confide my hopes and wishes. Oh, do not drown the harmony of this hour
in discord! Do not interpose a cloud between us now."
The empress threw back her head. "You threaten me, sir, with your
displeasure? If there are clouds between us, see that they disperse from
your own brow, and show me the face of a loyal subject and a respectful
son. I will not consent to this visit to the King of Prussia; the very
thought of it is galling to my pride."
"Is that your majesty's last word?"
"It is my last."
"Then I have nothing further to say, except that, as in duty bound, I
will obey the orders of my sovereign," replied Joseph, turning deathly
pale. "I shall refuse the invitation of the King of Prussia, and beg
leave to retire."
Without awaiting the answer of his mother, he bowed, and hastily left
the room.
"Dismissed like a school-boy," muttered he, while tears of rage flowed
down his cheeks. "Two chains on my feet--the chains of this accursed
marriage, and the chains of my filial duty, impede my every step. When I
would advance, they hold me back and eat into my flesh. But it is of no
use to complain, I must learn to bear my fate like a man. I cannot rebel
openly, therefore must I be silent. But my time will come!"
He raised his head proudly, and with a firm step took the way to his
private apartments. He went at once into his study, where, on his
writing-desk, lay the letter of the King of Prussia.
The emperor seated himself at the desk, and, with a heavy sigh, took up
his pen. "Tell the king, your master," wrote he, "that I am not yet my
own master; I am the slave of another will. But I will find means some
day to atone for the rudeness which I have been forced to offer him in
return for his kindness." [Footnote: Hubner, "Life of Joseph II.," vol.
i., p. 87.--Gross-Hofflinger, vol. 1., p. 116.]