THE COUNT IN THE PILLORY.
Crowds of people gathered around the street corners to read the large
hand-bills posted there. The bills announced that Count
Podstadsky-Liechtenstein had been condemned to three days of pillory, to
public sweeping of the streets, and ten years' detention in the house of
correction. Colonel von Szekuly to three days of pillory, and four
years' detention.
The guilt of the Countess Baillou not having been fully established, she
was pardoned by the emperor. But she was ordered to be present at
Podstadsky's exposition in the pillory, and then to leave Vienna
forever.
The people read these fearful tidings in dumb amazement and vague
apprehension of evil to themselves. Never had they so completely
realized the new order of things as at this moment. One of the
privileged, whom they had hitherto beheld at a distance in splendid
equipages, on elegant horses, in brilliant uniforms around the person of
the emperor, one of these demi-gods was to be trailed in the dust like a
criminal from the dregs of the populace. A count, in the gray smock of
the felon, was to sweep the streets, which, perchance, his aristocratic
foot had never trodden before. A proud Hungarian nobleman, a colonel of
the guard, was to be exposed in the pillory for three days. These were
terrible and startling events. Not a trace of exultation was upon the
gloomy faces of the multitude: this abasement of two men of illustrious
birth to an equality with boors, seemed an invasion of the conservative
principles of society. It was an ugly dream--the people could not
realize it. They must go to the spot where the sentence was to be
executed, to see if indeed Olympus had been levelled to the earth.
Hurried along by one common impulse, the silent multitude wound in a
long stream through the streets, until they reached the market-place
where the sentence was to be carried out. Neither idle curiosity nor
malice had led the people thither; it was a pilgrimage to the new era
which at last was dawning upon the world.
There, in the centre of the great open square, was the throne of infamy
upon which an Austrian nobleman was about to bid adieu to name, honor,
family, and the associations which had surrounded his boyhood, and to be
thrust into the revolting companionship of robbers and murderers!
Not a smile was seen upon those appalled faces; men whispered to one
another that the count was the only son of one of the proudest families
in Hungary; and that the countess, his mother, had died of her son's
shame. The eyes of the women filled with tears, and, for the sake of the
martyred mother, they forgave the guilty son. The weeping of the women
deepened the sympathies of the men; and they began to murmur against the
heartless emperor, who degraded an illustrious subject, and sent a noble
countess broken-hearted to the grave!
And now appeared the criminal. Culprit though he was, his beauty and air
of distinction were indisputable.
"Poor young man!" murmured the women, sobbing.
"He will not long survive his disgrace," said the men, sorrowfully. "He
looks like a ghost, and the emperor will soon have to bury him by the
side of his mother."
No one remembered that this man had committed an infamous crime; no one
thanked the emperor for having bestowed upon the Austrian people the
inestimable gift of equality before the law. The commoner himself felt
aggrieved at the monarch who had treated a nobleman no better than he
would have done a serf.
Count Podstadsky was still in the elegant costume of the day. Graceful
and distinguished in his bearing, he leaned his weary body, against the
stake that supported the scaffold on which he was to suffer the last
degree of public infamy. But now the executioner approached, holding a
pair of large glistening shears. He gathered the soft brown curls of the
count in his rough grasp, and very soon the glossy locks fell, and there
remained nothing but the shorn head of the felon. This done, the
executioner drew off the gold-embroidered coat which became the young
nobleman so well, and threw over his shoulders the coarse smock, which,
henceforth, was to designate him as a miscreant.
How changed, alas, was the high-born Carlo! How little this chattering
creature, disguised in serge, resembled the cavalier who had enlisted
the sympathy of the multitude! He was no longer a man, and name he had
none. His number, in scarlet list upon the left sleeve of his smock, was
the only mark that distinguished him from his brethren--the other
malefactors. But the fearful toilet was not yet at an end. The feet and
hands were yet to be manacled. As the handcuffs clicked around those
delicate wrists, the executioner looked up in amazement. Heretofore he
had been accustomed to hear the jeers and loud mockery of the multitude,
as they applauded the completion of the felon's toilet; but today there
was not a sound! Nothing to be seen but pale, sorrowful faces--nothing
to be heard but sobs and murmurs of sympathy.
Still one more torture! The executioner gave him the broom, the baton of
his disgrace, and he grasped its handle for support. He could scarcely
stand now!
At this moment, in fiendish contrast with the behavior of the people, a
loud, mocking laugh was heard. Shudderingly they looked around,
wondering who it was that could add the weight of a sneer to the supreme
misery which was rending their hearts. It came from above; and every
face, even that of the wretched Podstadsky, as uplifted in horror. He
caught at the stake, and his vacant eyes rested upon the house whence
the cruel laugh had issued. There, on a balcony, guarded by several men
in black, stood a beautiful young woman. She it was who had dealt the
blow. In the hour of his agony her rosy lips had mocked him!
"Arabella!" shrieked the despairing man; and with this cry he sank
insensible to the earth. [Footnote: Count Podstadsky did not long
survive his disgrace. His delicate body soon sank under the hardships of
his terrible existence. One day while sweeping the streets he ruptured a
blood-vessel and died there, with no mourners save his
fellow-criminals.--See Hubner ii., pp. 583-591. "Characteristic and
Historical Anecdotes of Joseph II." "Friedel's Letters from Vienna,"
vol. i., p. 68.]
While all this was transpiring at the market-place, an imperial
state-carriage had been hurrying through the streets until it stopped
before a gloomy house, of which the doors and window-shutters were all
closed. A footman, in the imperial livery, was seen to ring, and then an
old man in faded black livery opened the door. A few whispered words
passed between them; then a cavalier, in an elegant uniform, sprang from
the carriage and entered the house. The old butler went before, and
showed him up the creaking staircase, and through a suite of mouldy
rooms until they reached one with closed doors.
"So please your majesty," said the old man, "Count
Podstadsky-Liechtenstein is in there."
The emperor nodded. "Do not announce me," said he, and he knocked at the
door. A feeble voice from within responded to the knock, and the emperor
entered without further ceremony. A tall, venerable man in deep mourning
came forward and looked at him with hollow, staring eyes.
"The emperor!" exclaimed he, recognizing his unexpected guest.
"Yes, Count Podstadsky, it is I," said the emperor, bowing, as he would
have done before a mighty monarch. "I come to express my profound regret
for the great misfortune which has lately befallen you. No man knows
better than myself what grief it is to lose a beloved wife. And yours
was such a noble, such a devoted wife!" [Footnote: Hubner, ii., p. 391.]
"Devoted!" exclaimed the old count, sadly. "Alas, sire, there was
something on earth which was nearer to her heart than I, else she had
not died and left me alone. I loved nothing but her, and in losing her I
lose all that made life endurable. I would wish to die now; but I have
still a principle to defend--the honor of my family."
"We both have a principle to defend!" replied the emperor, deeply moved
at the excessive grief of which he was a witness. "The principle of
honor and justice--let us both teach the world that justice attacks the
individual criminal and not his family; and that the honor of a family
requires that justice should be satisfied. The name of
Podstadsky-Liechtenstein has ever been an illustrious one, and I desire
to prove to you my regard for your race. Give me your hand, count, and
let us be friends."
He extended his hand, and with quiet solemnity the old count took it and
looked up into his sovereign's face.
"I thank your majesty," said he, after a pause. "Your conduct toward me
is noble and magnanimous, and I shall be grateful for it to my latest
breath. You have acted as became a sovereign who has no right to set at
defiance the laws he has made. Had I been his judge, I should myself
have condemned the criminal who was once my son, and to-day is the
murderer of his mother. Years ago I sat in judgment over this
transgressor and when I did so, I lost my only child. As for the man who
to-day has suffered the penalty of his crimes, I know him no longer."
"And YOUR honor is unspotted," said the emperor. "Give me your arm,
count, and let me conduct you to my carriage. It is a lovely day. We
will take a drive together, and then dine at Schonbrunn. Come--I am
resolved that you shall spend this whole day with me. Give me your arm."
"Sire," whispered the old man, hesitating and looking gloomily toward
the window, "the day is so bright and the sun shines so fiercely, I fear
that my eyes cannot bear the glare. I beg of you allow me to remain at
home."
The emperor shook his head. "Nay, your eyes are not weak. You can bear
the fullest light of day; you have no need to hide your honored head
from the gaze of the world. Take courage, dear friend, and think of what
we both have said. Have we not our principles to defend? And must we not
both assert them courageously?"
"Your majesty is right," cried the old count. "I am ready to follow
you."
And while Carl Podstadsky, awaking from his swoon, looked up into the
face of the malefactor, who from henceforth was to be the companion of
his sleeping and waking, and the witness of his despair--while one of
along train of outlawed felons, he dragged his misery through the hot,
dusty streets, his father drove with the emperor to Schonbrunn, and
among all the brilliant guests who dined with him on that day, to none
was the emperor so deferential in his courtesy as to the old Count
Podstadsky-Liechtenstein.