THE DEPARTURE.
The messenger had returned, the carriage waited, and Josepha had no
longer a pretext for delaying her visit to the vault. She must obey her
mother's behest--she must perform the horrible pilgrimage! Pale and
speechless she suffered her attendants to throw her mantle around her,
and then, as if in obedience to some invisible phantom that beckoned her
on, she rose from her seat and advanced rigidly to the door. Suddenly
she paused, and, turning to her maid of honor, she said, "Be so kind as
to call my sister Antoinette, I must bid her farewell."
A few moments elapsed, when the door opened and the Archduchess Marie
Antoinette flew into her sister's arms. Josepha pressed her closely to
her heart.
"I could not go, my darling" whispered she, "without once more seeing
you. Let me look, for the last time, upon that sweet face, and those
bright eyes that are lit up with the blue of heaven. Kiss me, dear, and
promise not to forget me."
"I can never forget, never cease to love you, sister," replied the
child, returning Josepha's caresses. "But why do you say farewell? Why
are you crying? Are you going to leave us already for that young king
who is to take you away from us? Oh, Josepha, how can you love a man
whom you have never seen?"
"I do not love the King of Naples, dear child," said Josepha, sadly.
"Oh, Antoinette! would you could understand my sorrows!"
"Speak, dear sister," replied Antoinette, tenderly. "Am I not twelve
years old, and does not the Countess Lerchenfeld tell me, every time I
do wrong, that I am no longer a child? Tell me, then, what grieves you?
I will keep your secret, I promise you."
"I weep," said Josepha, "because it is so sad to die before one has
known the happiness of living."
"Die!" exclaimed Antoinette, turning pale. "Why do you speak of dying,
you who are about to become a queen?"
"I shall never live to be a queen, my sister. The empress has commanded
me to visit the imperial vault. I go thither to-day; in a few days I
shall be carried thither, never to return. [Footnote: The princess's own
words. See "Memoires sur la Vie Privee de Marie Antoinette," par Madame
Campan, vol i., p. 38.] Farewell, Antoinette; I leave you to-day, but
I leave you for the grave."
"'No, no, no!" screamed the child. "You shall not go. I will throw
myself at the feet of the empress, and never rise until she has released
you, dear sister."
"Have you yet to learn that the empress never retracts her words? It is
useless. I trust go, and my death-warrant is signed."
"It shall not be!" cried Antoinette, beside herself with grief. "Wait
dear, Josepha, until I return. I go to obtain your release."
"What can you say to the empress, my poor little one?"
"I will beg for mercy, and if she will not listen, I shall rise and tell
her fearlessly, 'Your majesty, Josepha says that you have sentenced her
to death. No mortal has power over the life of an imperial princess; God
alone has that power. My sister must not go into the vault, for if she
does, she dies, and that by your hand.'"
And as the child spoke these words, she threw back her head, and her
eyes darted fire. She looked like her mother.
"I see, Antoinette," said Josepha, with a smile, "that you would not
submit tamely to death. You have a brave soul, my little sister, and
will know how to straggle against misfortune. But I--I have no spirit, I
can only suffer and obey; and before I die, I must open my heart to
you--you shall receive my last thoughts."
Marie Antoinette looked with tearful eyes at her sister, and sank, white
as a lily, on her knees.
"I am ready," said she, folding her hands, while Josepha bent forward,
and laid her hand, as with a blessing, upon Antoinette's soft blond
hair.
"When I am dead," said Josepha, "go to my sisters, and beg them to
forgive my unkind words. Tell them that I loved them all dearly. Say to
Maria Amelia that she must pardon my unsisterly conduct. It arose, not
from haughtiness, but from despair. For, Antoinette, I hated the King of
Naples, and well I knew what a miserable fate awaited me as his queen.
But there was no rescue for me, that I knew; so I tried to hide my grief
under the semblance of exultation. Tell her to forgive me for the sake
of the tears I have shed in secret over this hated betrothal. How often
have I called upon death to liberate me! and yet, now that the dark
shadow of Azrael's icy wing is upon me, I fear to die."
"Let me die for you, sister!" exclaimed Antoinette, resolutely. "Give me
the hood and mantle. I will cover my face, and no one will know that it
is I, for I am almost as tall as you. If I never return from the vault
alive, the empress will pardon you for my sake. Oh, I should die happy,
if my death would rescue you, Josepha."
And Antoinette attempted to draw off her sister's mantle, and put it
around her own shoulders. But Josepha withheld her.
"Dear child," said she, kissing her, "is it possible that you are
willing to die for me, you who are so young and happy?"
"For that very reason, Josepha," said Antoinette, "it might be well to
die. Who knows what sorrows the world may have in reserve for me? Let me
die to-day, dear sister, let me--"
At that moment the door opened, and the maid of honor of the Archduchess
Josepha appeared.
"Pardon me, your highness," said she deprecatingly. "A page of her
majesty is here to know if you have gone to the imperial vaults."
"Apprise her majesty that I am about to leave," replied Josepha, with
dignity. Taking Antoinette in her arms, she said, in a whisper: "You
see, it is I who must die. Farewell, dearest; may you live and be
happy!"
So saying, she tore herself away from the weeping child and hastened to
her carriage. Antoinette, with a shriek, rushed forward to follow, but
Josepha had fastened the door. The poor child sank on her knees and
began to pray. But prayer brought no consolation. She thought of her
sister dying from terror, and wrung her hands while she cried aloud.
Suddenly she ceased, started to her feet, and the blood mounted to her
pale face.
"The secret door!" exclaimed she. "I had forgotten it." She crossed the
room toward a picture that hung on a wall opposite, and touching a
spring in its frame, it flew back and revealed a communication with one
of the state-apartments. She sprang through the opening, her golden hair
flying out in showers behind her, her cheeks glowing, her eyes flashing,
and her heart beating wildly as she sped through the palace to the
empress's apartments. The sentry would have stopped her; but throwing
him off with an imperious gesture, she darted through the door, and all
ceremony forgetting, flew to the sitting-room of the empress, and threw
herself at her mother's feet.