Joseph II. and His Court Part 82

"I would rather be under obligations to a stranger than to a friend,"

returned the countess in a voice scarcely audible.

"But, Anna," cried the emperor, with a sudden burst of feeling, "you would rattler be obliged to the man whom you loved than to a stranger.

Oh, if you but loved me, there would be no question of 'mine or thine'

between us! It is said--I have betrayed myself, and I need stifle my pa.s.sion no longer; for I love you, beautiful Anna, I love you from my soul, and, at your feet, I implore you to give me that which is above all wealth or t.i.tles. Give me your love, be mine. Answer me, answer me.

Do you love me?"

"I do," whispered she, without raising her head.

The emperor threw his arm around her waist. "Then," said he, "from this hour you give me the right to provide for you. Do you not?"

"No, sire, I can provide for myself."

"Then," cried Joseph, angrily, "you do not love me?"

"Yes, sire, I love you. You predicted that my heart would find its master. It has bowed before you and owns your sway. In the name of that love I crave help for Poland. She cries to Heaven for vengeance, and Heaven has not heard the cry. She is threatened by Russia and Prussia, and if n.o.ble Austria abandon her, she is lost! Oh, generous Austria, rescue my native land from her foes!"

"Ah!" exclaimed the emperor, sarcastically, "you call me Austria, and your love is bestowed upon my station and my armies! It is not I whom you love, but that Emperor of Austria in whose hand lies the power that may rescue Poland. "

"I love YOU; but my love is grafted upon the hope I so long have cherished that in you I recognize the savior of my country."

"Indeed!" cried the emperor, with a sneer.

The countess did not hear him. She continued: "Until I loved you, every throb of my heart belonged to Poland. She, alone, was the object of my love and of my prayers. But since then, sire, the holy fire that burned upon the altar is quenched. I am faithless to my vestal vow, and I feel within my soul the tempest of an earthly pa.s.sion. I have broken the oath that I made to my dying mother, for there is one more dear to me than Poland now, and for him are the prayers, the hopes, the longings, and the dreams that all belonged to Poland! Oh, my lord and my lover, reconcile me to my conscience! Let me believe that my loves are one; and on the day when your victorious eagles shall have driven away the vultures that prey upon my fatherland, I will throw myself at your feet, and live for your love alone."

"Ah, indeed," said the emperor, with a sardonic laugh: "you will go to such extremity in your patriotism! You will sell yourself, that Poland may be redeemed through your dishonor. I congratulate you upon your dexterous statesmans.h.i.+p. You sought me, I perceive, that by the magic of your intoxicating beauty, you might lure me to sacrifice the lives of my people in behalf of yours. Your love is a stratagem of diplomacy, nothing more."

"Oh, sire," cried she, in tones of anguish, "you despise then?"

"Not at all; I admire your policy, but unhappily it is only partially successful. You had calculated that I would not be proof against your beauty, your talents, your fascinations. You are right; I am taken in the snare, for I love you madly."

"And do I not return your love from my heart?" asked she.

"Stay," cried Joseph, "hear me out. One-half your policy, I say, was successful; the other has been at fault. As your lover I will do any thing that man can do to make you happy; but my head belongs to my fatherland, and you cannot rule it, through my heart."

"Sire, I seek nothing that is inconsistent with Austria's welfare. I ask help for Poland."

"Which help might involve Austria in a ruinous war with two powerful nations, and leave her so exhausted that she would have to stand by and witness the part.i.tion of Poland without daring to claim a share for herself."

"The part.i.tion of Poland!" exclaimed the countess, with a cry of horror.

"Avenging G.o.d, wilt Thou suffer such culmination of human wickedness!

And you, sire, could you share in such a crime? But, no! no! no!--see how misfortune has maddened me, when I doubt the honor of the n.o.ble Emperor of Austria! Never would the lofty and generous Joseph stoop to such infamy as this!"

"If Poland must succ.u.mb, I will act as becomes my station and responsibilities as the sovereign of a great empire, and I will do that which the wisdom and prudence of my mother shall dictate to her son. But Anna, dear Anna," continued he, pa.s.sionately, "why should the sweet confession of our love be lost in the turbid roar of these political waters? Tell me that you love me as a woman ought to love, having no G.o.d, no faith, no country, but her lover; losing her ident.i.ty and living for his happiness alone!"

"I love you, I love you," murmured she, with indescribable tenderness; and clasping her hands, she fell upon her knees and raised her eyes to him with a look that made him long to fold her to his heart, and yield up his empire, had she requested it, at his hands.

"Help for Poland," prayed she again, "help for Poland, and I am yours forever!"

Joseph grew angry with himself and with her. "Love does not chaffer,"

said he, rudely. "When a woman loves, she must recognize her master and bow before his will--otherwise there is no love. For the last time I ask, do you love me?"

"More than life or honor."

"Then be a woman, and yield yourself to me. Away with nationality--it is an abstraction. What are Poland and the world to you? Here, upon my heart, are your country and your altars. Come, without condition and without reserve. I cannot promise to free Poland, but, by the bright heaven above us, I swear to make you happy!"

She shook her head mournfully, and rose from her knees.

"Make me happy?" echoed she. "For me there can be no happiness while Poland sorrows."

"Say that again," thundered the emperor, "and we part forever!"

"I say it again!" said she, with proud tranquillity, but pale as death.

"And yet, if I am not ready to sacrifice my own people for yours, you will not believe in my love! You are unwilling to give up an idle dream of Polish freedom; and you ask of me, a man and an emperor, that I shall bring to you the offering of my own honor and of my people's happiness!"

She said nothing.

"It is enough!" cried Joseph, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng with anger. "Pride against pride! We part. For the first thing I require of a woman who loves me, is submission. It grieves me bitterly to find you so unwomanly. I would have prized your love above every earthly blessing, had you given it freely. Conditionally I will not accept it; above all, when its conditions relate to the government of my empire. No woman shall ever have a voice in my affairs of state. If, for that reason, she reject me, I must submit; although, as at this moment, my heart bleeds at her rejection."

"And mine? MY HEART?" exclaimed the countess, raising her tearful eyes to his.

"Pride will cure you," replied he, with a bitter smile. "Go back to your fatherland that you love so well and I shall imitate you, and turn to mine for comfort. There is many a mourning heart in Austria less haughty than yours, to which, perchance, I may be able to bring joy or consolation. G.o.d grant me some compensation in life for the supreme misery of this hour! Farewell, Countess Wielopolska. To-night I leave Vienna."

He crossed the room, while she looked after him as though her lips were parting to utter a cry.

At the door he turned once more to say farewell. Still she spoke not a word, but looked as though, like Niobe, she were stiffening into marble.

The emperor opened the door, and pa.s.sed into the anteroom.

As he disappeared, she uttered a low cry, and clasped both her hands over her heart.

"My G.o.d! my G.o.d! I love him," sobbed she, and reeling backward, she fell fainting to the floor.

CHAPTER LXXII

FAMINE IN BOHEMIA.

The cry of distress from Bohemia reached Vienna, and came to the knowledge of the emperor. Joseph hastened to bring succor and comfort to his unhappy subjects.

The need great. Two successive years of short harvest had spread want and tribulation throughout all Germany, especially in Bohemia and Moravia, where a terrible inundation, added to the failure of the crops, had destroyed the fruits and vegetables of every field and every little garden.

The country was one vast desert. From every cottage went forth the wail of hunger. The stalls were empty of cattle, the barns of corn. The ploughs lay empty on the ground, for there was neither grain to sow nor oxen to drive. There were neither men nor women to till the soil, for there was no money to pay nor food to sustain them. Each man was alone in his want, and each sufferer in the egotism of a misery that stifled all humanity, complained that no one fed him, when all were fainting for lack of food.

"Bread! bread!" The dreadful cry arose from hundreds of emaciated beings, old and young, who, in the crowded cities, lay dying in the streets, their wasted hands raised in vain supplication to the pa.s.sers-by.

"Bread! bread!" moaned the peasant in his hut, and the villager at the way-side; as with glaring eyes they stared at the traveller, who, more fortunate than they, was leaving Bohemia for happier climes, and, surely, in grat.i.tude for his own rescue, would throw a crust to the starving wretches whom he left behind.