THE EMPEROR AND HIS MOTHER.
It was a day of double rejoicing in Vienna, at once the celebration of
peace, and of Maria Theresa's sixty-second birthday. For three months
the seven envoys of Austria, Prussia, Russia, France, Bavaria,
Zweibrucken, and Saxony, had been disentangling the threads of the
Bavarian succession. For three months Joseph had hoped and prayed that
the debates of the peace congress might come to naught, and its
deliberations engender a veritable war. But he was destined to new
disappointment. The love of peace had prevailed. Austria had renounced
all her inheritance in Bavaria, save the Innviertel, and had declared
her treaty with Charles Theodore to be null and void.
The people of Vienna were overjoyed. They, like their empress, preferred
peace to increase of domain; and they hastened to offer her their
sincerest congratulations. All the European ambassadors were in full
uniform, and Maria Theresa was seated on a throne, in all her imperial
regalia.
She was radiant with smiles, and happiness flashed from her still bright
eyes; but on this day of rejoicing there was one void that pained the
empress--it was the absence of her eldest son. Since his return to
Vienna, three months before, there had never yet been a word of
explanation between Joseph and his mother. He had studiously avoided
being alone with her, had never made his appearance in council, and when
documents had been presented to him for signature, he had no sooner
perceived the sign-manual of the empress, than he had added his own
without examination or comment.
It was this cold submission which tortured the heart of Maria Theresa.
She would have preferred recrimination to such compliance as this; it
seemed so like aversion, so like despair!
When the ceremonies of the day were over, the empress sent a messenger
to request the presence of her son, in her own private apartments. The
messenger returned, and a few moments after, was followed by the
emperor.
He entered the room, and his mother came eagerly forward, her two hands
outstretched to greet him. "Thank you, my dearest child," said she,
affectionately, "for coming so promptly at my request. My heart has been
yearning for my son, and I have longed all day to see my co-regent and
emperor at my side."
She still held out her hands, but Joseph, affecting not to see them,
bowed with grave ceremony. "I am neither emperor nor co-regent," replied
he; "I am but the son and subject of the empress, and as such I have
already congratulated your majesty with the rest."
"Were your congratulations for my birthday, or for the restoration of
peace, my son?"
"The birthday of my empress is, above all others, a day of gratulation
for you," replied Joseph, evasively.
"Then peace is not agreeable to you?"
"Pardon me, I have every reason to be satisfied. Have we not exchanged
compliments with all the powers of Europe, and have not the people of
Vienna sung ninety-nine thousand TE DEUMS in honor of the peace of
Teschen?" [Footnote: Joseph's own words.]
"I see that you do not approve of it, Joseph," said the empress, who was
anxious to come to an understanding on the subject.
"I was under the impression that I had signed all your majesty's acts
without giving any trouble whatever," was the cold reply.
"But you did it unwillingly, I fear, and thought of your mother as a
weak and timid old woman. Is it not so, my son?"
"When I signed the treaty I thought of my ancestor, Charles V. After a
disastrous campaign in Africa, he was obliged to return with his fleet
to Spain. He sailed, it is true, but he was the last man to go on board.
So with me--I signed the articles of peace, but was the last one who
signed." [Footnote: Ibid.]
"Have you nothing more to say on the subject? Are you not glad that
there is to be no bloodshed?"
"A son and subject has no right to sit in judgment upon the actions of
his mother and empress."
"But you are more than a subject, you are an emperor."
"No, your majesty; I am like the Venetian generals. In war, they
commanded the armies, and received their salaries from the republic.
When their campaigns were over, their pensions were paid and they sank
back into obscurity."
"Oh, my son, these are hard and bitter words," exclaimed the empress,
pressing her hands upon her heart. "I see plainly that you are
displeased because I have exchanged a doubtful war for an honorable
peace."
"I am not so presuming as to be displeased with your majesty's acts, and
if you have obtained an honorable peace, I wish you joy of it."
Maria Theresa sighed heavily. "I perceive," said she, disconsolately,
"that you are resolved not to let me see into your heart."
"Oh, your majesty," cried Joseph, with a bitter smile, "I have no heart.
Where my heart once was, there stands an open grave, and, one by one, my
hopes have all been buried there."
"I think it strange that the future Emperor of Austria should speak of
buried hopes."
"I said nothing of an emperor, your majesty, I spoke of poor Joseph of
Hapsburg and of his personal wishes. As regards the future emperor, he
of course has many hopes for Austria. First among them is the wish that
the epoch of his reign may be very far off! Second, is his desire to
serve his country. As we are now to enjoy the blessings of peace, and I
am on the list of your majesty's pensioned officers, I should like, if
it do not conflict with your views, to receive an appointment as
minister to some foreign power."
"Oh," exclaimed Maria Theresa, sorrowfully, "would you leave me so soon
again?"
"Yes, your majesty, I desire a long leave of absence."
"Whither would you then journey, my dear child?"
"I desire to visit the Empress Catharine."
"The Empress Catharine!" echoed Maria Theresa, starting and coloring
violently. "You would visit that woman?"
"Yes, your majesty. I would visit that woman as Baron Thugut did the
King of Prussia; with this exception, that I do not go secretly--I first
consult your majesty."
Maria Theresa would not notice this thrust of her son. She contented
herself with replying: "What object can you have in going on a mission
to Russia?"
"I propose to win the friendship of the empress."
"The friendship of that degraded woman! I do not covet it."
"And yet your majesty was the first to request her mediation in our
affairs with Germany. As you have raised the foul fiend, and he has come
at your call, you must abide the consequences, and accept him as a
friend. Since Russia is to have a voice in German politics, it is better
that she speak for us, than sustain our enemy, Prussia."
"But she has long been the ally of Prussia," objected the empress.
"So much the more incumbent is it upon us to disturb the alliance. To do
this, is the purpose of my journey to Russia. I repeat my request for
your majesty's consent."
For some moments Maria Theresa contemplated her son with inexpressible
tenderness. At length she said with a sigh, "You really desire, then, to
go to Russia?"
"Such is my wish, your majesty."
"Well, my child, since you desire it, I consent; but I do it
unwillingly. I wish to prove to my son how gladly I gratify him, when I
can do so without conflicting with my duties as a sovereign."
The emperor bowed, but spoke not a word. Maria Theresa sighed again, and
an expression of deep pain crossed her face.
"When do you expect to start?" said she, sadly.
"As soon as possible; for if I am not mistaken, the time is now
propitious for stepping in between Prussia and her beloved ally."
"Then I am to lose my dear son at once?" asked the mother, with tearful
eyes. "I fear he leaves me without a pang; and will seldom bestow a
thought upon the mother whose anxious heart follows his every movement
with love."
"I shall bestow my thoughts upon my sovereign, and remember that I am
pledged to obtain for her a powerful ally. But I have much to do before
I start. Above all things I must see Prince Kaunitz. I beg therefore of
your majesty the permission to retire."
"As the emperor pleases," said Maria Theresa, with quivering lip.
Joseph bowed, and without a word or look at his mother's sorrowing
countenance, turned toward the door. Up to this moment the empress had
controlled her distress, but she could master her grief no longer. She
looked at the emperor with dimmed eyes and throbbing heart; and in the
extremity of her maternal anguish, she cried out,
"Oh, my son, my precious boy!"
The emperor, who was opening the door, turned around. He saw his mother,
her tears falling like rain, standing close by with outstretched arms.
But he did not respond to the appeal. With another ceremonious bow, he
said, "I take leave of your majesty." and closed the door behind him.
Maria Theresa uttered aloud cry and sank to the floor. "Oh," sobbed she,
"I am a poor, desolate mother. My child loves me no longer!"