THE PARTING.
The visit of the emperor was drawing to a close. He had tasted to its
utmost of the enjoyments of the peerless city. He had become acquainted
with its great national institutions, its industrial resources, its
treasures of art and of science. The Parisians were enthusiastic in his
praise; from the nobleman to the artisan, every man had something to say
in favor of the gracious and affable brother of the queen. Even the
fish-wives, those formidable dames de la haile, had walked in procession
to pay their respects, and present him a bouquet of gigantic
proportions. [Footnote: On this occasion Madame Trigodin, one of the
most prominent of the poissurdes, made an address on behalf of the
sisterhood. Hubner, i., p. 151.]
The emperor was popular everywhere except at court. His candor was
unacceptable, and his occasional sarcasms had stung the pride of the
royal family. The king never pardoned him the unpalatable advice he had
bestowed relative to the hospitals, the Invalides, and the military
schools. The queen, too, was irritated to see that whereas her brother
might have expressed his disapprobation of her acts in private, he never
failed to do so in presence of the court. The consequence was, that,
like the king and the rest of the royal family, Marie Antoinette was
relieved when this long-wished-for visit of the emperor was over. This
did not prevent her from clinging to his neck, and shedding abundant
tears as she felt his warm and loving embrace.
The emperor drew her close to his heart, whispering meanwhile, "Remember
that we must see each other in private. Send some one to me to conduct
me to the room in the palace which you call your 'asylum.'"
"How!" said the queen with surprise, "you have heard of my asylum? Who
told you of it?"
"Hush, Antoinette, you will awaken the king's suspicion, for all eyes
are upon us! Will you admit me?"
"Yes, I will send Louis to conduct you this afternoon." And withdrawing
herself from her brother's arms, the queen and the royal family took
leave of Count Falkenstein.
His carriages and suite had all left Paris, and Joseph, too, was
supposed to have gone long before the hour when he was conducted to the
queen's "asylum" by her faithful servant Louis. This "asylum" was in an
obscure corner of the Tuileries, and to reach it the emperor was
introduced into the palace by a side door. He was led through dark
passages and up narrow staircases until they reached a small door that
Louis opened with a key which he took from his pocket. He clapped his
hand three times, and the signal being answered, he made a profound
inclination to the emperor.
"Your majesty can enter. The queen is there."
Joseph found himself in a small, simple apartment, of which the
furniture was of white wood covered with chintz. On the wall was a
hanging etagere with books; opposite, an open harpsichord, and in the
recess of the window, a table covered with papers. The emperor hastily
surveyed this room, and no one coming forward, he passed into another.
Here he found his sister, no longer the magnificent queen whose rich
toilets were as proverbial as her beauty; but a lovely, unpretending
woman, without rouge, without jewels, clad in a dress of India muslin,
which was confined at the waist by a simple sash of pale lilac ribbon.
Marie Antoinette came forward with both hands outstretched. "I am
dressed as is my custom," said she, "when the few friends I possess come
to visit me here--here in my asylum, where sometimes I am able to forget
that I am Queen of France."
"You have no right ever to forget it, Antoinette, and it was expressly
to remind you of this that I asked for a private interview with my
sister."
"You wished to see this asylum of which you had heard, did you not?"
asked the queen with a shade of bitterness. "I have been calumniated to
you, as I have been to the king and to the French people. I know how my
enemies are trying to make my subjects hate me! I know that about these
very rooms, lewd songs are sung on the Pont-Neuf which make the Count de
Provence hold his sides with laughter."
"Yes, Antoinette, I have heard these things, and I came hither expressly
to visit this 'asylum.'"
"Well, Joseph, it is before you. The room through which you passed, and
this one, form my suite. The door yonder leads to the apartments of the
Princess de Lamballe, and I have never opened it to enter my retreat
except in her company."
"You had never the right to enter it at all. A retreat of this kind is
improper for you; and woe to you, Antoinette, if ever another man beside
myself should cross its threshold! It would give a coloring of truth to
the evil reports of your powerful enemies."
"Gracious God of Heaven!" cried the queen, pale with horror, "what do
they say of me?"
"It would avail you nothing to repeat their calumnies, poor child. I
have come hither to warn you that some dark cloud hangs over the destiny
of France. You must seek means to disperse it, or it will burst and
destroy both you and your husband."
"I have already felt a presentiment of evil, dear brother, and for that
very reason I come to these little simple rooms that I may for a few
hours forget the destiny that awaits me, the court which hates and
vilifies me, and in short--my supremest, my greatest sorrow--the
indifference of my husband."
"Dear sister, you are wrong. You should never have sought to forget
these things. You have too lightly broken down the barriers which
etiquette, hundreds of years ago, had built around the Queens of
France."
"This from YOU, Joseph, you who despise all etiquette!"
"Nay, Antoinette, I am a man, and that justifies me in many an
indiscretion. I have a right to attend an opera-ball unmasked, but you
have not."
"I had the king's permission, and was attended by my ladies of honor,
and the princes of the royal family."
"An emperor may ride in a hackney-coach or walk, if the whim strike him,
but not a queen, Antoinette. "
"That was an accident, Joseph. I was returning from a ball with the
Duchess de Duras, when our carriage broke, and Louis was obliged to seek
a hackney-coach or we would have returned to the palace on foot."
"Let it pass, then. An emperor or a king, were he very young, might
indulge himself in a game of blind man's buff without impropriety; but
when a queen ventures to do as much, she loses her dignity.
Nevertheless, you have been known to romp with the other ladies of the
court, when your husband had gone to his room and was sound asleep."
"But who ever went to bed as early as the king?" said Marie Antoinette
deprecatingly.
"Does he go to bed too early, Antoinette? Then it is strange that on one
evening when you were waiting for him to retire so that you and your
ladies might visit the Duchess de Duras, you should have advanced the
clock by half an hour, and sent your husband to bed at half-past ten,
when of course he found no one in his apartments to wait upon him.
[Footnote: Campan. 129.] All Paris has laughed at this mischievous prank
of the queen. Can you deny this, my thoughtless sister?"
"I never tell an untruth, Joseph; but I confess that I am astounded to
see with what police-like dexterity you have ferreted out every little
occurrence of my private life;."
"A queen has no private life. She is doomed to live in public, and woe
to her if she cannot account to the world for every hour of her
existence! If she undertake to have secrets, her very lackeys
misrepresent her innocence and make it crime."
"Good Heaven, Joseph!" cried the queen, "you talk as if I were a
criminal before my accusers."
"You are a criminal, my poor young sister. Public opinion has accused
you; and accusation there is synonymous with guilt. But I, who give you
so much pain, come as your friend and brother, speaking hard truths to
you, dearest, by virtue of the tie which binds us to our mother. In the
name of that incomparable mother, I implore you to be discreet, and to
give no cause to your enemies for misconstruction of your youthful
follies. Take up the load of your royalty with fortitude; and, when it
weighs heavily upon your poor young heart, remember that you were not
made a queen to pursue your own happiness, but to strive for that of
your subjects, whose hearts are still with you in spite of all that your
enemies have done or said. Give up all egotism, Antoinette--set aside
your personal hopes; live for the good of the French nation; and one of
these days you will believe with me, that we may be happy without
individual happiness."
The queen shook her head, and tears rolled down her cheeks. "No, no,
dear Joseph, a woman cannot be happy when she is unloved. My heart is
sick with solitude, brother. I love my husband and he does not return my
love. If I am frivolous, it is because I am unhappy. Believe me when I
tell you that all would be well if the king would but love me."
"Then, Antoinette, all shall be well," said a voice behind them; and,
starting with a cry of surprise and shame, the queen beheld the king.
"I have heard all," said Louis, closing the door and advancing toward
Joseph. With a bright, affectionate smile, he held out his hand, saying
as he did, "Pardon me, my brother, if I am here without your consent,
and let me have a share in this sacred and happy hour."
"Brother!" repeated Joseph, sternly. "You say that you have overheard
us. If so, you know that my sister is solitary and unhappy. Since you
have no love for her, you are no brother to me; for she, poor child, is
the tie that unites us! Look at her, sire; look at her sweet, innocent,
tear-stricken face! What has she done that you should thrust her from
your heart, and doom her to confront, alone, the sneers and hatred of
your cruel relatives? She is pure, and her heart is without a stain. I
tell you so--I, who in unspeakable anxiety have watched her through
hired spies. Had I found her guilty I would have been the first to
condemn her; but Antoinette is good, pure, virtuous, and she has but one
defect--want of thought. It was your duty to guide her, for you received
her from her mother's hands a child--a young, harmless, unsuspecting
child. What has she ever done that you should refuse her your love?"
"Ask, rather, what have I done, that my relatives should have kept us so
far asunder?" replied Louis, with emotion. "Ask those who have poisoned
my ears with calumnies of my wife, why they should have sought to deny
me the only compensation which life can offer to my royal station--the
inestimable blessing of loving and being loved. But away with gloomy
retrospection! I shall say but one word more of the past. Your majesty
has been watched, and your visit here discovered. I was told that you
were seeking to identify the queen with her mother's empire--using your
influence to make her forget France, and plot dishonor to her husband's
crown. I resolved to prove the truth or falsehood of these accusations
myself. I thank Heaven that I did so; for from this hour I shall honor
and regard you as a brother."
"I shall reciprocate, sire, if you will promise to be kind to my
sister?"
The king looked at Marie Antoinette, who, seated on the sofa whence her
brother had risen, was weeping bitterly. Louis went toward her, and,
taking both her hands in his, pressed them passionately to his lips.
"Antoinette," said he, tenderly, "you say that I do not love you. You
have not then read my heart, which, filled to bursting with love for my
beautiful wife, dared not ask for response, because I had been told that
you--you--but no--I will not pain you with repetition of the calumny.
Enough that I am blessed with your love, and may at last be permitted to
pour out the torrent of mine! Antoinette, will you be my wife?"
He held open his arms, and looked--as lovers alone can look. The queen
well knew the meaning of that glance, and, with a cry of joy, she rose
and was pressed to his heart. He held her for some moments there, and
then, for the first time in their lives, the lips of husband and wife
met in one long, burning kiss of love.
"My beloved, my own," whispered Louis. "Mine forever--nothing on earth
shall part us now."
Marie Antoinette was speechless with happiness. She leaned her head upon
her husband's breast and wept for joy, while he fondly stroked and
kissed tier shining hair, and left the trace of a tear with every kiss.
Presently he turned an imploring look upon the emperor, who stood by,
contemplating the lovers with an ecstasy to which he had long been a
stranger.
"My brother," said Louis, "for I may call you so now--seven years ago,
our hands were joined together by the priest; but, the policy that would
have wounded Austria through me, has kept us asunder. This is our
wedding-day, this is the union of love with love. Be you the priest to
bless the rites that make us one till death."
The emperor came forward, and, solemnly laying his hands upon the heads
of the king and queen, spoke in broken accents "God bless you, beloved
brother and sister--God give you grace to be true to each other through
good and evil report. Be gentle and indulgent one toward the other,
that, from this day forward, your two hearts may become as one!
Farewell! I shall take with me to Austria the joyful news of your
happiness. Oh, how Maria Theresa will rejoice to know it, and how often
will the thought of this day brighten my own desolate hearth at Vienna!
Farewell!"