THE LAST PETITION.
Maria Theresa paced her cabinet in visible agitation. Her face was sad
beyond expression, and her eyes turned anxiously toward the door.
"I tremble," murmured she; "for the first time in my life I mistrust the
deed I am about to do. All is not clear in the depths of my conscience;
the voice that whispers such misgivings to my heart, is one which shames
the worldly wisdom of my councillors. We are about to do a wicked deed,
and we shall answer for it before Heaven! Would that my right hand had
lost its cunning, ere ever it had been forced to sign this cruel
document! Oh, it is an unholy thing, this alliance with an unbelieving
king and a dissolute empress! And an alliance for what? To destroy a
kingdom, and to rob its unhappy people of their nationality forever!"
"But what avails remorse?" continued she, heaving a deep sigh. "It is
too late, too late! In a few moments Joseph will be here to exact my
signature, and I dare not refuse it. I have yielded my right to protest
against this crime, and--ah, he comes!" cried the empress, pressing her
hands upon her heart, as she heard the lock of the door turning.
She fell into an arm-chair and trembled violently. But it was not the
emperor who appeared as the door opened; it was the Baroness von
Salmour, governess to the archduchesses.
"Baroness!" cried the empress, "it must be something of most imminent
importance that brings you hither. What is it?"
"I come in the name of misfortune to ask of your majesty a favor," said
the baroness, earnestly.
"Speak, then, and speak quickly."
"Will your majesty grant an audience to my unhappy country-woman, the
Countess Wielopolska?"
"The Countess Anna!" said the empress, with a shudder. Then, as if
ashamed of her agitation, she added, quickly.
"Admit her. If the emperor comes, let him enter also."
The baroness courtesied and withdrew, but she left the door open; and
now was seen advancing the tall and graceful figure of the countess. Her
face was pale as that of the dead. She still wore her black velvet
dress, and the long veil which fell around her person, hovered about her
like a dark, storm-heralding cloud.
"She looks like the angel of death," murmured the empress. "It seems to
me that if those pale, transparent hands, which she folds over her
breast, were to unclasp, her icy breath would still the beatings of my
heart forever!"
The countess glided in like a vision, and the door closed behind her.
The empress received her with an affable smile.
"It is very long since I have seen you," said the proud Maria Theresa,
with an embarrassment to which her rank had hitherto made her a
stranger.
"I was waiting to be summoned by your majesty," replied the countess.
"And as I did not summon you, you came voluntarily. That was kind. I am
very glad to see you."
The lady replied to these flattering words by an inclination of the
head, and a pause ensued. Each one seemed waiting for the other to
speak. As the empress perceived, after a while, that the lips of the
pale countess did not move, she resolved to break the irksome silence
herself. In her own frank way, scorning all circumlocution, she went at
once to the subject nearest their hearts.
"I know why you are here to-day," said she, with a painful blush. "You
have heard of the fate which threatens Poland, and you have come to ask
if thus I fulfil the promises I made to you! Speak--is it not so? Have I
not rightly read the meaning of that lovely but joyless face?"
"It is so," sighed the countess, and her voice trembled with unshed
tears. "Yes, from the solitude wherein I had buried my grief since last
I saw your majesty, I have heard the fatal tidings of my country's woe,
and yet I live! Oh, why should the body survive, when the soul is dead?"
Her words died away upon her lips, and she seemed to grow paler and more
pale as though every drop of blood in her veins had stiffened and turned
to ice. But she heaved a sigh and rallied, for hope now touched her
heart, and the statue awoke to life.
"Ah, great empress," said she, with fervor, "I come to you, in whose
powerful hand lies the issue of my country's fate, whose mighty word can
bid us live, or doom us to death."
"Oh, were it so, you would not sue in vain!" cried the empress,
sorrowfully. "Had the fate of Poland lain in MY hands, she would have
risen triumphant from the arena, where she has battled so bravely for
her sacred rights!"
"Poland's fate lies in your majesty's hand!" exclaimed the countess,
vehemently. "You have not yet signed the warrant for my country's
execution; you are still innocent of her blood; your hand is still free
from participation in the crime of her enemies and yours! Oh, let me
kiss that hand and bless it, while yet it is spotless and pure as your
noble heart."
Hurried away by the might of the sorrow that overwhelmed her, the
countess darted forward, and throwing herself at the feet of the
empress, drew her hand fervently to her lips.
"Rise, dear countess Anna, rise," said the empress, soothingly. "I cannot
bear to see you at my feet, when I can do nothing to avert the fate of
Poland."
"Who, then, can help her, if not your majesty?" cried the countess. "Oh,
I did not come hither to reproach you; I came but to entreat you to
speak the word that will disenthrall my country!"
"I cannot do it; as God hears me, I cannot," repeated Maria Theresa, in
a voice of anguish. "I have striven against it with all my might. What I
have suffered for your countrymen, no one will ever know! The anxious
days and wretched nights that I have spent for their sakes, have
threatened my life." [Footnote: The empress's own words. See Raumer,
"Contributions to Modern History," vol. iv., p. 539.]
"I CANNOT!" echoed the countess, who seemed to have heard nothing but
these few words. "An empress!--an empress! who, with a wave of her hand,
sways millions of men, and is responsible for her actions to no earthly
power!"
"Save that which resides in the claims of her subjects upon the
sovereign, who is bound to reign for their good. I am responsible to my
people for the preservation of peace. Too much blood has been shed since
I came to the throne; and nothing would induce me to be the cause that
the soil of Austria should be crimsoned by another drop." [Footnote: The
empress's own words. See Wolf, "Austria under Maria Theresa," p. 527.]
"And to spare a drop of Austrian blood, your majesty will deal the blow
that murders a whole nation!" cried the countess, rising to her feet and
looking defiance at the empress. "In your egotism for Austria, you turn
from a noble nation who have as good a right to freedom as your own
people!"
"Countess, you forget yourself. By what right do you reprove me?"
"By the right which misfortune gives to truth," replied she, proudly,
"and by the right which your imperial word has given me to speak. For
now I recall to you that promise, and I ask where is the eagle that was
to swoop down upon the vultures which are preying upon Poland?"
"Oh, they have caged the eagle," said the empress, sadly. "God in heaven
knows how manfully I have battled for Poland. When I threatened
interference, the answer was this: 'We have resolved to dismember
Poland, and you shall not prevent us.' What, then, could I do? Declare
war? That were to ruin my people. Remain passive, while my enemies
enlarged their frontiers, so as to endanger my own? We then had recourse
to stratagem. We defended our soil inch by inch, and gave up when
resistance became fanaticism. We required for our share more than we
desired, hoping to be refused. But no! To my sorrow and disappointment,
even more was apportioned than we had claimed. Oh! the whole thing has
been so repugnant to my sense of justice, that I refused to take any
share in its arrangements, and all the negotiations have been conducted
by the emperor, Prince Kaunitz and Marshal Lacy." [Footnote: This
discourse is historical. See Wolf, p. 825. Raumer, vol. iv., p. 540.]
"And these are the ashes of the mighty promises of emperors and
empresses!" exclaimed the countess, bitterly. "Oh, empress, think of the
time when you shall appear before God, to give account of your deeds!
How will you answer, when the record of this day is brought before you?
For the last time I am at your feet. Oh, as you hope for mercy above, do
not sign the act that dismembers Poland!"
She was again on her knees; her beautiful eyes drowned in tears, and her
hands clasped convulsively above her head.
"Oh, my God!" exclaimed the empress, rising to her feet, "she does not
believe me." Then bending tenderly over the countess, she pressed her
hands between her own, and gently raised her to a seat.
"Do you not see how deeply I suffer, when I have no spirit to chide your
hard words to me? It is because I comprehend your sorrow, poor child,
that I forgive your injustice. And now, to prove my sincerity," added
she, going to her escritoire and taking from it a letter, "read this! I
was about to send it to Prince Kaunitz when your visit caused me to
forget it. Read it aloud, that I may know whether you understand me at
last."
The countess unfolded the letter and read:
"When my own empire was threatened, and I knew not where to lay my head;
when the sorrows of childbirth were overtaking me, I threw myself upon
God and my just rights. But to-day, when humanity, justice, ay--reason
itself, cry aloud against our acts, I confess to you that my anxiety
transcends all that I have ever suffered in my life before. Tell me,
Prince Kaunitz, have you thought of the evil example we are giving to
the nations of earth, when, for the sake of a few acres of additional
territory, we cast away our reputation, our dignity, and our honor?
"If I yield to-day, it is because I struggle alone, and no longer have
the vigor of mind to contend for right, as in years gone by I would have
done. I am overpowered, but I surrender with a bleeding heart."
[Footnote: This letter was written by Maria Theresa's own hand. See
Hormayer, "Pocket History of Our Native Land," 1831, p. 66.]
The countess remained looking at the parer for a time, then she raised
her tearful eyes to the face of the empress. "I thank your majesty,"
said she, deeply moved, "for allowing me to see this letter. It will
remain in history as a noble monument of Maria Theresa's rectitude. I
have no longer a word of blame for you; and once again, in love and
reverence, I kiss this hand, although I know that to-day it must sign
the death-warrant of unhappy Poland."
She drew near, and raised the hand of the empress to her lips. But Maria
Theresa threw her arms around the countess, exclaiming: "To my heart,
dear, unhappy one! I cannot save Poland, but I can weep with her
loveliest and noblest daughter!"
The countess, overcome by this unexpected tenderness, leaned upon the
bosom of the empress, and wept. Maria Theresa stroked her lustrous black
hair, and, as she kissed her marble cheek, the tears that had gathered
in her eyes, fell upon the head of the countess, where they glittered
like stars upon the darkness of the night.