THE OATH.
Maria Theresa was no more. On the 29th day of November, of the year
1780, she went to rejoin her much-loved "Franz"--him to whom her last
words on earth were addressed. In her dying moments, her pale
countenance illuminated by joy, the empress would have arisen from the
arm-chair in which she sat awaiting her release. The emperor, who had
devoted himself to her with all the tenderness of which hid nature was
capable, held her bank.
"Whither would your majesty go?" asked he, terified.
Maria Theresa opened her arms, exclaiming, "To thee, to thee, I come!"
Her head fell back, and her dying lips were parted ones more. Her son
bent his head to catch the fluttering words, "Franz, my Franz--"
Maria Theresa was no more! The tolling of bells, and the roll of the
muffled drum, announced to Vienna that the body of their beloved empress
was being laid in the vault of the Capuchins, and that after so many
years of parting, she rested once more by the side of the emperor.
The iron doors of the crypts were closed, and the thousands and tens of
thousands who had followed the empress to her grave, had returned to
their saddened homes. The emperor, too, followed by his confidants Lacy
and Rosenberg, had retired to his cabinet. His face was inexpressibly
sad, and he paced his room with folded arms, utterly forgetful of his
friends, whom nevertheless he had requested to follow him, and who, both
in the embrasure of a window, were silently awaiting the awakening of
the emperor from his dumb grief.
At last he remembered their presence. Directing his steps toward the
window he stood before them, and looked anxiously first at one, then at
the other.
"Was I an undutiful son?" asked he, in a faltering voice. "I implore
you, my friends, make me no courtier's reply, but speak the plain,
unvarnished truth, and tell me whether I was an ungrateful son to my
noble mother. Lacy, by the memory of your own mother, be honest."
"By the memory of my mother, sire," said Lacy, solemnly, "no! You bore
the burden of your filial duty with exemplary patience, and bowed your
will to the will of your mother, even when you knew that she erred in
judgment."
"And you, Rosenberg?" asked Joseph, with a sad smile.
"My opinion, sire, is that you were a noble, all-enduring son, whose
heart was not hardened against his mother, although from your childhood
it had provocation to become so. Your majesty bore with more than any
other man would have done whose lips had not been locked by filial
tenderness."
"I was silent but resentful," said Joseph, mournfully. "I bore my
burdens ungraciously, and Maria Theresa was aware of it. I have often
been angered by her, but she has often wept for my sake. Oh, those tears
disturb my conscience."
"Your majesty should remember that the empress forgave and forgot all
the dissensions of by-gone years, and that in her last illness she
expressed herself supremely happy in your majesty's care and
tenderness."
"You should remember also, that with the sagacity which is often
vouchsafed to the dying, Maria Theresa confessed that she had
unwillingly darkened your majesty's life by her exactions, and in the
magnanimity of her regret asked your forgiveness."
"I have said all this to myself," replied Joseph, "I have repeated it
over and over in these wretched sleepless nights; but still the dagger
of remorse is in my heart, and now I would gladly give years of my life,
if my mother were living, that I might redeem the past by cheerful
submission to her every wish."
"Let the great empress rest in peace!" exclaimed Lacy. "She was weary of
life, and died with more than willingness. Your majesty must cherish
YOUR life, mindful of the vast inheritance which your mother has left
you."
"You are right, Lacy," cried Joseph, warmly. "It is a noble inheritance,
and I swear to you both to cherish it, not for my own sake, but for the
sake of the millions of human beings of whose destinies I shall be the
arbiter. I swear to be a good sovereign to my people. By the tears which
my mother has shed for me, I will dry the tears of the unfortunate, and
the blessing she left me with her dying breath, I shall bestow upon the
Austrians whom she loved so well. If I should ever forget this vow, you
are here to remind me of it. And now that my reign begins, I exact of
you both a proof of your loyalty."
"Speak, sire," said Lacy, with a bright and affectionate smile.
"Put me to the test," cried Rosenberg, "and I shall not flinch."
The emperor laid his hands upon the shoulders of his friends, and looked
at them with unmistakable affection. "Happy is the man who possesses two
such friends. But hear what I exact of you. I stand upon the threshold
of a new order of things. I am at last an emperor, free to carry out the
designs which for so many long years I have been forced to stifle in my
sorrowing heart. I am resolved to enlighten and to elevate my subjects.
But if in my zeal to do well. I should lack discretion, it is for you to
check and warn me. And if I heed not your warnings, you shall persist,
even if your persistence becomes offensive. Will you promise me to do
so, dear friends?"
"We promise," said both with one breath.
"God and the emperor have heard the promise. Give me your honest hands,
my best and truest friends. You, at least, I shall never doubt; I feel
that your friendship will be mine until the day of my death!"
"Your majesty is the youngest of us three," said Lacy, "and you speak as
if we would outlive you."
"Age is not reckoned by years," replied the emperor, wearily, "but by
wounds; and if I count the sears that disappointment has left upon my
heart, you will find that I have lived longer than either of you.
Promise, then, to be with me to the last, and to close my eyes for me."
"Your wife and children will do that for you, sire," said Rosenberg.
"I will never marry again. My nephew Francis shall be my heir, and I
shall consider him as my son. The Empress of Russia has consented to
give him her adopted daughter in marriage, and I trust that Francis may
be happier in wedlock than his unfortunate uncle. My heart is no longer
susceptible of love."
"And yet it beats with such yearning love toward mankind!" exclaimed
Rosenberg.
"Yes--my heart belongs to my people, and there is nothing left of it for
woman. For my subjects alone I shall live. Their souls shall be free
from the shackles of the church, and they shall no longer be led like
children by the hands of priests or prelates! You have tranquillized my
conscience, and I have received your vow of fidelity till death. With
two such mentors to advise me, I may hope, at last, to do something for
fame!"