THE GRATITUDE OF PRINCES.
The message of the empress had been received by Counsellor von Schrotter
with rapture. His heart throbbed so joyfully that its every beat sent
the quick blood bounding through his veins. The hour for acknowledgment
of his long-tried services had arrived. For years he had lived a life of
labor, research, and patient investigation. Among the deeds, parchments,
and dusty green tables of the chancery, his youth had faded to middle
age, and of its early hopes had retained but one single earthly
ambition: it was that of taking a place among learned men, and becoming
an authority of some weight in the judicial world. His pamphlets on the
Bavarian succession had lifted him to fame, and now among his countrymen
his name was beginning to be quoted as that of a great and accomplished
jurist. Nothing was needed to complete the measure of his simple joys,
save the approbation of the court, and some acknowledgment on the part
of his sovereign of the fidelity with which he had labored for so many
years in her behalf.
This precious tribute he was called upon to receive. He was to speak
himself with the Empress of Austria. So excited was he by the thought,
that the strong man trembled from head to foot; he was even more
agitated than he had been twenty years before, when he had received his
diploma as doctor of laws. Pale, but inexpressibly happy, he stood upon
the threshold of the empress's cabinet, and awaited her permission to
approach and kiss her beloved and honored hand.
Maria Theresa saw him and spoke not a word. She sat immovable in her
arm-chair, darting lightning glances upon the unconscious counsellor,
and growing every moment more enraged at the thought of his impertinent
researches, until the storm burst with all its fury upon his head. The
empress clutched the pamphlets which lay near her upon the table, and
rising from her chair, strode through the room to the door where the
unhappy author stood.
"Did you write these brochures?" asked she.
"Yes, your majesty," said Von Schrotter with a happy smile.
"Read the title-page."
Von Schrotter read: "The rights and measures of her imperial, royal, and
apostolic majesty in reference to the Bavarian succession."
"Now read the title of your first pamphlet."
"Impartial thoughts on the various questions arising from the succession
of Maximilian Joseph."
"You acknowledge the authorship of these two brochures?"
"I am proud to acknowledge them, your majesty."
"Whence it follows that you are proud to be the cause of the unholy war
which now rages throughout Germany," said the empress in a voice of
indignation. "It is you, then, whose pen has metamorphosed itself into a
sword wherewith to take the lives of thousands of good and honest men!
What right had you to publish impartial thoughts upon the Bavarian
succession? I suppose you had an idea that in so doing, you were
proving to the world what an important part you play in the affairs of
the nation!"
"Your majesty," stammered Von Schrotter, utterly at a loss to understand
his crime--"your majesty, through Prince Kaunitz, conveyed to me your
entire satisfaction with my researches into the imperial archives, and
the emperor himself requested me to write the second pamphlet."
"I am in no wise indebted to you for your complaisance," replied the
empress; "for your ink has changed itself into blood, and your stupid
vagaries, hatched in the comfortable quiet of your own room, have driven
my poor soldiers from their homes, out into the pitiless storm of
hardship, danger, and death. What right had you to meddle with the
difficulties of the succession? Did you expect that, in gratitude for
your valuable services to the crown, I would reward you with a title and
an estate in Bavaria?"
"No, your majesty," replied Von Schrotter, blushing, I was but doing my
duty as a jurist and civil officer of the crown."
"And do you suppose you have succeeded in proving any thing with your
rubbish?" asked the empress, scornfully. "Do you imagine that any one
word take the trouble to read your balderdash?"
"In defending the claims of the crown, I was performing an act of
sacrred duty toward my country," replied Von Schrotter, emboldened to
reply, by a just sense of the indignity offered him.
"Oh, yes, I know something of the vanity of authors," said the empress.
"They imagine themselves to be Atlas, each one with the world upon his
shoulders, which must certainly fall, if they are not there to uphold
it. I, however, take the liberty of judging that if they were all to be
blown to atoms, nobody would be the worse for their disappearance. What
has come of your writings? A paper war of such dimensions, that I think
the foul fiend must have plucked all the geese in Avernus, and have
thrown their quills at your heads. What with your imbecile pens, nobody
knows who is right!"
"But, your majesty, "remonstrated Von Schrotter, "discussion is
indispensable to the discovery of truth, and as I am sure that I have
contributed to this discovery, I cannot regret what I have done."
"Ah, indeed!" exclaimed the enraged empress. "You think you have
contributed to the discovery of truth! I will tell you to what you have
contributed, sir: you are the cause that the emperor became so
headstrong on the subject, that sooner than give up Bavaria he has
involved me in war; you are the cause that the whole world has had
something to say on the subject of our claims; whereas, had you held
your tongue, they might have passed for what they are not--just. You
are the cause that my days are spent in sorrow, and my nights are
sleepless; that in the despair of my heart, I have been reduced to write
to a woman whom I despise! Yes, of all this you are the cause, and more
than this--you will be guilty of my death; for I repeat to you that this
war has broken my heart, and will be the last nail in my coffin.
[Footnote: Maria Theresa's own words.] When my people, then, mourn for
my death (and I hope that they will regret me), you may boast of having
compassed it yourself; and from my grave I shall arise to--"
"No more, your majesty, no more! Spare me, in mercy," sobbed he, "if you
would not see me die at your feet!"
"And I presume you would consider it a great misfortune for Austria if
you were no longer able to unsheathe your goose-quill in her defence.
There is no danger of your dying from the wounds inflicted by my tongue;
but I am resolved that you shall carry their marks to the grave with
you. This is all I had to say to you; you are dismissed."
"But, your majesty," replied Von Schrotter, "I have something to say--I
must defend myself."
"You must defend yourself!" cried Maria Theresa, surveying him with a
look of ineffable disdain. "Defend yourself to God--I am not disposed to
listen to your defence."
"But, your majesty--"
"Peace!" thundered the empress. "Who dares speak when I have ordered him
from my presence? Go home, and ponder my words."
So saying, she walked back to her seat. But seeing that Von Schrotter's
lips were parted as if in an attempt to say something, she snatched her
bell, and rang it so loud that in its clang his words were lost.
"Counsellor Von Schrotter is dismissed," said she to the page. "Open the
doors, that he may pass."
Von Schrotter gasped out a convulsive sigh, and scarcely knowing what he
did, turned one last sad look upon his cruel sovereign, and bowing his
head, left the room.
When his tall, majestic form had disappeared from her sight, the empress
said:
"Ah!--that outburst has done me good. And now that I have driven away
humiliation by anger, I shall go and pray to God to bless the sacrifice
I have made to-day for the good of my people."
She rang the bell, assembled her ladies of honor, and with them entered
the private chapel which had lately been added to her own apartments.
She knelt before the first prie-Dieu that presented itself, and her
attendants knelt around her.
Whilst the empress was praying, Von Schrotter returned to the home,
which an hour sooner, he had left with a heart so full of hope and
ecstasy. He had not a word for his old house-keeper, who opened the door
to admit him; and motioning away the servant who would have shown him
into the dining-room, he ascended the staircase with slow, uncertain
steps, his hands clinging to the balustrade, his head so heavy that he
scarce could bear its weight. The servants stood below in sorrowful
amazement. They had never seen their master so agitated in his life
before; they could scarcely believe that this ghastly being was the
dignified and stately man who had left them but an hour before. Suddenly
they started, for surely they heard a loud laugh from the study, but
what a laugh!--so wild, so unearthly, that it sounded like the dreadful
mirth of a madman!--Then all was silent. Presently there came the sound
of a heavy fall.
"That is our master! Some misfortune has befallen liim," cried the
servants, hurrying up the stairs and bursting into the room. On the
floor, surrounded by the books which had been the pride and solace of a
harmless life, lay the counsellor weltering in his blood.
"He has broken a blood-vessel!" cried the house-keeper, with a sob,
while the other servant ran for a physician. The old woman raised her
dear master's head, and his bloody lips parted with a ghastly smile.
"This is the gratitude of princes!" murmured he almost inaudibly. "Such
is the reward of him who loves his country!"
"What is it, my dear, dear master?" faltered the faithful servant, in
vain seeking to penetrate the meaning of his words. "Why do you stare at
me so horribly? What has distressed you?"
He moved as though he would have raised his head. "This is Austria's
gratitude!" cried he in a loud voice; then, forth from his lips gurgled
the purple stream of life, and his words died into hoarse, inaudible
mutterings.
The physician came in, followed by the valet, and together they raised
the sufferer and placed him upon his bed. The doctor then felt his pulse
and his chest, and bent down to catch his breathings. He shook his head
mournfully and called to the weeping servants.
"He is dying," said he. "Some fearful shock that he has received has
induced a hemorrhage, which in a few hours will end his life."
Maria Theresa rose from her prayers, comforted and light of heart. And
as she left the chapel, the man whom she had crushed to the earth by her
unjust anger, drew his last sigh. [Footnote: This whole chapter is
historical. Hormayer "Austrian Plutarch," vol. vi.]