CHAPTER II.
THE DUMB MUSIC.
The court entered the theatre. The emperor's suite took possession of the boxes on either side of the one appropriated to the imperial family, while Leopold, followed by Prince Eugene, whom he delighted to honor, entered the imperial box.
"I wish to present our new field-marshal to the empress," said he to his courtiers.
The empress was seated in one corner of the box, busily engaged with a piece of embroidery. She was so absorbed in the mysteries of silk and golden stitching, that she scarcely remarked the entrance of the court. For a moment her eyes met those of the emperor, to whom she bowed and smiled; then, bending her head again, she resumed her work.
The emperor took a seat by her, and watched her flying fingers with affectionate interest. "Your majesty is unusually industrious to- day," said he, smiling, and touching the embroidery.
"I was merely beguiling the hour of expectation which has passed away with your majesty's presence, by completing a flower on this altar-cloth, intended for the chapel of the blessed Eleanor, my namesake."
"The blessed Eleanor must excuse you to-day if I claim your presence here," replied the emperor. "And let me implore you for a while to fold those busy hands, and give your attention to the music which has been gotten up for your especial gratification."
The empress quietly folded her work, and rose from her tabouret.
"Allow me to present to your majesty the youngest field-marshal in the army," said Leopold, signing to Eugene to advance.
"I congratulate your highness," replied the empress, while Eugene knelt and kissed her hand. "Are you, indeed, so very young, prince?"
"No, your majesty," said he, sadly. "I am so old, that I wonder my hair is not gray."
"Indeed! How old are you, then?"
"Your majesty, I am forty-six years of age," replied Eugene.
"Why, how can you say such a thing," exclaimed Leopold, "when everybody knows you to be just twenty-three?"
"Your majesty, are not the years of active service reckoned by the soldier as double?"
"Yes, assuredly, my young field-marshal."
"Then, my liege, I am forty-six years of age, for my life has been one long war with troubles and trials."
The empress looked sympathizingly into the deep, sad eyes of the young prince, and saw that he spoke the truth.
"Have you then had many sorrows?" asked she, gently.
"Ay, your majesty; I have struggled and suffered since childhood, for I have ever been a soldier of misfortune."
"But you are no longer one," said Leopold, laying his hand upon
Eugene's shoulder; "you have taken the oath of allegiance to
Austria, and misfortune has now no claim upon you."
Eugene looked up, and the face of the emperor was beaming with kindness. "Whatever betide, my liege," returned he, "I am yours for life, and Austria is my land of adoption."
"I am glad to hear it; and now there is but one thing wanting to make you a subject after my own heart. You must marry an Austrian wife that shall make you as happy a husband as myself, and transform earth into heaven, as her majesty has done for me. It is in commemoration of my own happiness that I have chosen the opera of 'Il Porno d'Oro' to celebrate the empress's festival. 'Il Porno d'Oro'—that is, a happy union—the golden apple of paradise."
And the emperor, enchanted to have turned the conversation to a subject which was to him of supreme interest, offered his arm to the empress, and conducted her to the front of the box.
As soon as their majesties appeared, the spectators rose and cheered them enthusiastically. The imperial pair took their seats, and behind them stood Prince Eugene, the only other occupant of the box.
The emperor now waved his hand as a signal to the marshal of the household, who, raising his gilded staff, conveyed the imperial command to the leader of the orchestra. "His majesty is graciously pleased that the opera shall commence," cried the lord-chamberlain.
The leader bowed to the emperor, and took his place, which was conspicuously raised above that of the other musicians.
"His majesty is graciously pleased to allow all present to be seated," was the second cry of the emperor's mouth-piece. And now was heard a rustling of ladies' silks, and of cavaliers' velvets, and the grateful spectators took their seats, while the emperor, with a look of extreme satisfaction, opened the score of the Porno d'Oro, laid it on the ledge of the box, and began to hum the overture.
"Have you your text-book?" asked he of the empress. "I ordered one for your especial use; a synopsis of the opera, with the principal airs only. I hope that you received it. This one is too heavy for you."
The empress pointed to a purple-velvet book at her side, and slightly bowed her head.
Leopold nodded, much pleased, and then gave his attention to the stage.
The audience breathlessly awaited the opening. The leader flourished his baton. The violins raised their bows, the haut-boys and horns were clapped to the mouths of their respective performers, bass- viols were seized, harps were clutched, and drumsticks were raised in the air.
Nevertheless, not a sound was heard from the orchestra!
The emperor looked up from his score, and there, to be sure, was the leader, his baton going from left to right—there were the violins busy with their bows; the wind instruments were blowing for dear life; the harpists were tugging at their strings; the drumsticks were going with all their might—and not a sound! The musicians might just as well have been so many phantoms.
The emperor, in his bewilderment, turned to the empress, who was so profoundly engaged with her score, that she murmured the words thereof half aloud.
"Do you hear the music?" asked her husband.
She started a little, and, blushing deeply, looked very much confused. "Yes, yes," replied she, absently; "it is very fine."
"I must then have lost my hearing," said Leopold; "for I hear nothing." And a second time ho glanced at the orchestra, where the music was proceeding with the utmost energy.
"I cannot unriddle the mystery," thought the emperor, "for the empress hears the music and pronounces it fine. Prince Eugene," added he, aloud, "Do YOU hear any thing?"
"Not a sound, your majesty."
The emperor, looking very much relieved, beckoned to the lord- chamberlain, and sent him to inquire into the matter.
The audience, meanwhile, were quite as astounded as their sovereign. However, after a time they began to whisper and smile; and finally, as the drummer performed an extra flourish with his drumsticks, a voice was heard to cry out, "Bravo! bravo!"
This was the signal for a general burst of laughter, which the marshal of the household, though he shook his baton furiously, was impotent to quell. While the merriment was at its height the lord- chamberlain returned, and his countenance was expressive of extreme indignation.
Leopold, who for a moment had forgotten his Spanish formality, and had retired to the back of the box, advanced eagerly to meet him.
"What says the leader?" asked he, hastily.
"The leader, your majesty, is in despair, and is as much at a loss to account for the eccentricity of his orchestra as the audience themselves. He says that the last rehearsal was perfectly satisfactory."
"Go, then, to the musicians. See the first violin, Baron von
Rietmann, and tell him that the overture must commence."
The lord-chamberlain went off on his mission, while Leopold, in undisguised impatience, stood at the door of his box waiting. The empress, apparently not cognizant of any thing around her, kept her eyes steadfastly riveted on her book. Prince Eugene had risen, and stood behind the emperor.
"What think you of this opera comique?" asked Leopold.
"It is past my comprehension, your majesty. I cannot conceive how they presume to—"
The emperor suddenly interrupted him. "I begin to apprehend the difficulty," said he, laughing. "My musicians are all of high rank, and, as noblemen and artistes, they have a twofold pride. They know perfectly well that I cannot do without them, and they occasionally take advantage of the fact to annoy me. They have some cause of complaint, I confess, and—Ah! What says Baron Rietmann?"
"My liege,"—replied the chamberlain, pale and breathless.
"Do not look so terrified," said Leopold; "what says the baron?"
"Your majesty, I am ashamed to be the bearer of his message," sighed the chamberlain. "He says their instruments will be dumb until the arrears due the orchestra for the last three months are paid!"
At this the emperor burst into an audible fit of laughter; then, remembering himself, he glanced anxiously at his impassible empress, to see if she had overheard him. No; she was perfectly unconscious of any thing but her book.
"Rietmann is a bold fellow," said Leopold at length, "but he is a great artiste, and I forgive his presumption. He is quite correct, however, as regards the orchestra. The imperial treasury has been drained for the army, and nothing remains for my musicians."
"Your majesty must order the army to refill the treasury at the expense of the enemy," said Eugene, with a smile. "It is said that the grand-vizier has immense treasures in Belgrade."
"Capture them all, field-marshal, for we are sorely in need of them. But let us try first to compromise with these musical rebels here.— Go, my lord-chamberlain, to Baron Rietmann, and say that the arrears due the orchestra shall be paid to-morrow, and thereunto I pledge my imperial word.—Now, Prince Eugene, let us resume our seats. I presume that my golden promises will restore the dumb to speech."
And so they did. Scarcely had the lord-chamberlain whispered the emperor's dulcet words into the baron's ear, before a signal passed between the musicians, and the overture began. [Footnote: This scene is historical.—See "Life and Deeds of Leopold the Great."]
The scenic effect of the opera was beautiful. The fountains were of real water, and graceful naiads disported within their marble basins; and there was lightning and thunder; there were transformations of men into animals, and finally, there was a golden apple which fructified into a bewitching fairy. She sang so delightfully that the emperor, in his enthusiasm, let fall his score, and applauded with all his might.
The fairy was encored, and as she was about to repeat her aria, the emperor turned to the empress and requested leave to be allowed the use of her text-book for a few minutes. In his eagerness he did not remark her exceeding confusion; but as, taking the book from her hands, he gave a glance at its pages, lie uttered an exclamation of surprise.
And no wonder! For, instead of an opera-score, he found a prayer- book!
"I hope your majesty will excuse me," stammered the empress. "In absence of mind, I brought my prayer-book instead of the score."
"And your majesty was praying for us," replied Leopold, half-vexed, half-amused. "But in our sinful way, we, too, are praying; for surely music such as this is both prayer and praise; and He who taught the nightingale her song, must surely rejoice to hear from human tongues the strains which He has revealed to inspired human genius!"
CHAPTER III.
THE RETIREMENT OF THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF.
The imperial army, in five divisions, had marched to the Turkish frontier. They had traversed Transylvania, taking, on their way, the fortresses of Grosswardein, Sziget, and Canischa; and, farther on their victorious march, Peterwardein and Illock.
The Turks had pursued their usual mode of vengeful retreat, tracing their march with fire and blood, and, wheresoever they were forced to surrender, leaving to the victors naught but the smouldering ruins of the strongholds from which they had been driven.
The imperialists were eager to invest Belgrade; but their general- in-chief was ill; and for several days they had watched in vain to see the hangings of his tent drawn aside, and hear the welcome order to march.
Finally a courier arrived from Vienna, and it was rumored that instructions had been received to advance. The troops were all the more hopeful that, immediately after the dismissal of the courier, the Duke of Lorraine had sent a messenger to Field-Marshal the Prince of Savoy, requesting his presence at headquarters.
The prince obeyed the summons without delay, and, entering the tent, found the adjutant and the duke's physician, sitting together, discoursing mournfully to each other of the illness of the beloved commander.
"I fear," said the surgeon, "that his highness is attacked with nervous fever; his symptoms indicate it. He passed a restless night, and is suffering from intense headache. He must not be excited; he can therefore see nobody."
"But he has sent for me," objected Eugene.
The surgeon shook his head. "Your highness has heard my opinion, and, if you approach him, it must be on your own responsibility."
"I am a soldier," replied Eugene, smiling, "and must obey orders. I have been sent for by the general, and must at least be announced."
At this moment the hangings of the inner tent were drawn aside, and
Martin, the duke's old valet, came forward.
"Am I wanted?" asked the surgeon.
"No, sir," replied Martin. "His excellency bade me see if the—Ah! There he is! Your highness, the duke begs your presence at once, and requests these gentlemen to leave the tent until his conference with your highness is at an end. He is very nervous, and the least rustling affects his head."
"Just as I feared," sighed the surgeon. "Martin, in one hour I shall return, to change the cold compress."
Eugene entered the sleeping apartment of the duke, and his pleasure at being admitted to see his commander, was changed into anxiety, when he beheld the pale, careworn face of the duke, and saw his head enveloped in bandages.
"Martin, have they left the tent?" inquired he, languidly.
"Yes, your highness; and I shall remain and keep watch that no one may enter."
"Do it, good Martin, for indeed I do not wish to be disturbed."
Martin disappeared, and the duke, removing his bandages, rose from the couch, and sank into an arm chair.
"We are alone, and I may as well dispense with all this; it is needless."
"Then, your highness, God be thanked, is not sick?" exclaimed
Eugene.
"Yes, I am sick," replied the duke, sadly, "but not in the sense in which my physician supposes. A malady of the mind is not to be cured by compresses."
"Have you bad news?" asked Eugene, with tender sympathy.
"Ah, yes," sighed the duke. "Bad news for him who, loving his fatherland more than self, is withheld from willing sacrifice by the unworthy strivings of ambition with duty. But of that anon. I have sent for you to confer of the affairs of the Austrian army; for I know that I can count upon your sincerity, and trust to your discretion."
"Your highness knows how unspeakable is the love I bear you; you well know that it is the aim of my life to imitate, though I may never hope to rival, your greatness."
"I thank you for your honest affection, dear Eugene," replied the duke, looking fondly into the speaking face of his youthful worshipper. "I thank God that you are here, to complete what I am forced to leave unfinished."
"Your highness would forsake Austria!" cried Eugene, alarmed.
"Ask rather, my son, whether Austria has not forsaken me," was the mournful reply. "It is of this that I would speak with you. You are the only officer in the army that does not bear me ill-will; and to your sound and impartial judgment I am about to submit the question of my resignation."
"Resignation!"
"Yes; but first let us talk of the campaign which is before us. You know that its main object is the capture of Belgrade."
Eugene bowed assent.
The duke laid his finger on a topographical chart that lay on a table close by. "Here is the key which opens the door to Turkey. Unless we obtain this key, our past victories are all without significance, and for years we have been pouring out Christian blood in vain."
"But we shall take Belgrade," cried Eugene. "We have sixty-six thousand well-armed men, all eager for the fray."
"And the Turks have one hundred and fifty thousand."
"But they are not a consolidated army, and we must prevent them from uniting their forces."
"True; and for this end I have sent Prince Louis of Baden to Bosnia with six thousand men, that he may keep them busy at Gradiska. But the long march has exhausted his troops, and he has written to ask for re-enforcements. I must grant them; and to-morrow I send him four thousand men. How many does that leave us?"
"About fifty thousand, general."
"Suppose the enemy oppose fifty thousand to our ten, in Bosnia, there still remain to him twice as many as we can oppose to him."
"Yes; but they are not commanded by a Duke of Lorraine," exclaimed Eugene, with enthusiasm. "A great general outweighs the disparity of numbers."
A sad smile played about the duke's features. "I am not indispensable to Austria's success," said he. "My men will fight as bravely under another commander as they have done under me; but I do not say that I relinquish them to that other without a pang."
"Has such a question been raised?" asked Eugene, sadly.
"You are too close an observer not to have suspected it. Do you remember my telling you that I would be obliged to succumb to the hatred of my enemies?"
"Yes, your highness."
"I did not overrate their influence. Even those who hate each other forget their hatred, to persecute me. And yet I have never done them the least wrong. There is Prince Louis of Baden—I have shown him every mark of distinction in my power, and yet he hates me."
"Too true," sighed Eugene. "And I confess that since I have known it, I love him less."
"You are wrong. He is merely an echo of his uncle, who has some right to hate me, for to me he owes the loss of his place as president of the war department. He was not fit for the office, and I convinced the emperor of his incapacity. This, I allow, to be a ground of dislike. But there is another distinguished officer, too, that hates me. What have I done to Max Emmanuel?"
"You have not only given him every opportunity to gain renown, but often have I admired your magnanimity when he has conspicuously paraded his ill-will."
"I thank you for that avowal, Eugene; for well I know how unwillingly you blame the elector. And he deserves your friendship, for he loves you sincerely. He has a noble heart, although I have not been able to win it; he is a fearless hero, and a great military chieftain. It is a pity that we were contemporaries. Were I to die to-day, no man would be louder in my praise than he; but I live, and he cannot brook a rival."
"Nay, your highness, he is not so presuming as to suppose that he is worthy to supplant you."
"He is about to supplant me, Eugene. I forgive him; for he is young, ambitious, and conscious of his own genius, which, while I enjoy the chief command, is hampered by a subordinate position. He is just as capable as myself; but I do not feel that he is my superior, and therefore it pains me to be obliged to resign my command to him."
"You do not think of such a thing! What would be the effect of your retirement upon the troops?"
"They would cry out, as the Frenchmen do, 'Le roi est mort, vive le roi!' I am not self-deceived as to the ephemeral nature of military popularity. It is always directed toward an object present and tangible, and speedily consoles itself for the loss of one idol by replacing it with another. But now, listen to me. A courier has just arrived from Vienna. The president of the war department declares himself unable to put any more troops in the field; he has neither money nor munition more. The emperor writes under his own hand that he has several times called upon the Elector of Bavaria to join his command, and place himself at the head of his Bavarians."
"And he has refused!" cried Eugene.
"No. He has accepted, but conditionally only. Can you guess his conditions?"
Eugene turned pale and stammered: "Your highness, I cannot—I hope that I do not—"
"Well, I see that you have guessed. He demands the chief command of the entire army."
"But if the emperor, as a matter of course, refuses this unreasonable and presumptuous demand?"
"Then he withdraws his troops. Peace—peace! I know that you love the elector: let us not discuss his acts, but consider their bearings upon the welfare of Austria. For months the emperor has been trying to arrange matters, but all in vain. Count Strattmann, the last envoy, who had a long personal interview with Max, says that he will not retreat from his exactions. He assumes the chief command, or his troops are this day ordered to Bavaria."
"The emperor will never yield. He ought not to yield."
"The decision of this difficulty has been left with me. Max is close at hand, in Essek, awaiting my determination. And now, Eugene, what answer shall I send him?"
"There is but one. The Austrian army cannot spare the Duke of
Lorraine."
"But still less can it spare the Bavarian troops. How many men did you say that we counted in all?"
"Fifty thousand, your highness."
"And of these, how many are from Bavaria?"
"Eight thousand infantry," said Eugene, with a sigh.
"And four thousand cavalry. In all, twelve thousand; and let us do him justice: the troops of the elector are an admirably disciplined and efficient body of men. Now, if we lose this number, our forces are reduced to thirty-eight thousand. Can we confront a hundred thousand Turks with such a handful?"
Eugene spoke not a word. His face was bent over the chart, but it was easy to see that he was powerfully agitated. After a long silence, the duke pointed with his finger to the spot on the map which the prince had apparently been examining.
"This tear is my answer," said he. "We cannot spare the Bavarians."
"Too true," murmured Eugene, "too true."
"Then the general must sacrifice his ambition to the national welfare; he must retire from his command."
"Oh, no! Not yet. Let ME go to the elector. We are intimate friends, and I will persuade him to retract his unrighteous exactions."
"You will not succeed. Moreover, I would not accept the sacrifice. Could we have done without his troops, I would joyfully have retained my command; but we have no right to ask of Max Emmanuel, who cannot be spared, to yield to me, who can be spared. I repeat it, then: I accept no sacrifice from the elector, nor will I be outdone by any man in magnanimity. The wound smarts, I am not ashamed to confess it; but my duty is too clear before me for hesitation; and in its fulfilment I have great consolation. To you, dear Eugene, this hour will afford a valuable lesson."
"Ay, indeed," replied Eugene. "It will teach me high resolve and holy resignation. If I ever should be tempted to envy the greatness of a rival, I will remember the day on which my friend's mad ambition deprived an army of its great and renowned commander."
"You are not apt to have rivals, Eugene, for you will surpass all your contemporaries in military genius. As for me, I retire, but I shall probably find other opportunities of using my sword for Austria. If—as God grant!—we should be victorious again this year, the King of France will show his teeth, and perhaps the laurels I have lost on the Save I may recover on the Rhine. And now, son of my heart, farewell! God be with you, now and evermore!"
He embraced Eugene with affection, and, returning to the table, rang for Martin. The old man answered the summons, whereupon the duke began at once to give orders for his departure.
"Say to the surgeon that my head is worse, and that I crave his attendance. Then see the imperial couriers, and send them hither."
"The surgeon is here," said that individual, coming forward. "But what do I see? Your highness has risen?"
"Yes, doctor, for I am too ill to remain in camp any longer, and we must start to-day for Innspruck, where you will find me an altered man, and the most submissive of patients."
"Thank Heaven!" replied the surgeon, "for your highness needs rest."
"I will take as much as is needful," said the duke. "And now," added he to Eugene, "will you do me a last favor?"
"What can I do for your highness?"
"Seat yourself at my escritoire, and write what I shall dictate."
Eugene took up his pen and wrote:
"INSTRUCTIONS FOR MY OFFICERS:"
"My health being too weak to allow of my remaining any longer in active service, I am compelled to resign the command of the imperial armies to another. My successor, his highness the Elector of Bavaria, is at Essek, and will he with the army in a few hours. Until his arrival, I appoint Field-Marshal Count Caprara my representative. God protect the emperor and his brave army!"
"Thank you, prince," added the duke. "Now be so good as to reach me your pen, that I may sign my name."
When his signature had been appended to this short proclamation, the duke, sighing heavily, said, "Eugene, do you know what I have just signed? My death-warrant!"
"Oh, my general!"
"Hush! Here come the couriers."
The duke bade them welcome, adding, "Did his imperial majesty charge you with any letter subject to my order?"
"Yes, your highness. We have one to the Elector of Bavaria, which, according as your highness commanded, was to be delivered to the elector, or returned to his majesty."
"Hasten to Essek, and deliver it to the elector.—And you, baron," said he, addressing the other courier, "return to Vienna, and say to the emperor that, as you were leaving the camp, I was departing for Innspruck; and, that you may be able to speak the truth literally, you shall see me go. If I mistake not, Martin is coming to say that my travelling-carriage awaits me."
"Yes, your highness, we wait for nothing but your commands."
"Then let us depart. Doctor, you will bear me company as far as
Innspruck, will you not? Give me your arm, Prince Eugene."
With these words, he put his arm around the prince's neck, and, supporting himself on that slender frame, the duke, who was a man of tall stature, left his tent, and walked slowly to the carriage.
Behind him, in solemn silence, came the physician and the two couriers. At the door of the chariot he let his arm glide away from Eugene's neck, gave him one last fond look, one last friendly pressure, and then was gone!
The prince followed him with his eyes, until the chariot had disappeared from view. Then, sad and solitary, he returned to his own tent.
"And thus I am doomed to lose all that I love!" was his bitter reflection. "The Duke of Lorraine—Laura!—Oh, my Laura, how light to me were other losses, wert thou but here to smile me to forgetfulness!"
And, with his head bowed down between his hands, Eugene forgot all time, to dream of his love. For several hours he sat thus—his spirit all unconscious of the day, the hour, the place—when suddenly he was aroused from his reverie by a familiar voice.
"Eugene," cried Max Emmanuel, "where are you? The whole army is shouting me a welcome, and my friend has no greeting for me! He waits until I force myself into his tent to claim his congratulations!"
"I was not aware that your highness had arrived. I—I—"
"And is this my welcome!" cried the elector, disappointed. "Are you displeased with me for superseding your master and hero?"
"Yes, proud, ambitious Max, I am grieved; for you are right, he was my master and my hero."
"Proud, ambitious, am I? Yes, I acknowledge it, and acknowledge it without shame. The day for hero-worship has passed away, and that of heroic action has dawned for both of us. Forgive me if I have usurped the place of your demi-god; and, in his stead, accept your friend and companion-in-arms. Think of the pledge we made before Buda, and refuse me not the advantage of your support. Without you. I cannot capture Belgrade; with you, I feel that I am invincible. Will you not sustain me?"
"I will, dear Max, and, sorely though you have grieved me, I bid you welcome."
CHAPTER IV.
THE FALL OF BELGRADE.
Two months had passed away since Max Emmanuel assumed command of the imperial army. During this time the besiegers had dug trenches and thrown up embankments; had demolished fortifications, and thrown bridges across the Save, with a view to attacking the Turks both in front and rear. The latter had been obliged to look on while all this had been progressing, impotent, in spite of their valor, to stop proceedings. Of course they had thrown bombs and sprung mines under the feet of their enemies, but nothing dismayed the Austrians, and finally they were prepared to assault the city.
The duke had twice called upon Achmed Pacha to surrender. The first summons, sent by a Turkish prisoner, was laconically answered by the gibbeting of the unfortunate messenger within sight of the Austrian camp. To the second, Achmed Pasha replied by a thousand greetings to the brave Duke of Lorraine; adding that the siege would terminate as it pleased God.
"And we are here to carry out His will," observed the duke, laughing. "The miners must cease their work neither day nor night; they may be relieved, but must not stop. Tell them that if they work me a passage to the fortress by the 16th of September, I will give to each one of them from this day forward a gratuity of two ducats a day."
On the 15th of September the Turkish commander was a third time summoned to surrender. This last summons was treated with contemptuous silence. It had been delivered to Achmed Pacha, while, accompanied by his Janizaries, he was on his way to the mosque. When he had finished its perusal he addressed two of his officers that were walking on either side of him.
"What answer would you advise me to make to the Christian commander- in-chief?" asked he of the first. "In the name of Allah and the Prophet, I call upon you to speak according to your convictions."
The two Janizaries exchanged glances of uneasiness; but Achmed
Pacha's stern, handsome face was inscrutable in its composure.
"We are sorely pressed," replied the officer, mustering courage to speak. "Unless Allah work a miracle in our favor, we must succumb; it seems to me, therefore, that a useless defence will but exasperate the enemy."
Achmed Pacha turned to the other. "And you?" said he, mildly.
"Most illustrious leader of the armies of the faithful," said the second officer, quite reassured as to consequences, "if you insist upon hearing the candid opinion of the least of your servants, I must venture to say that our garrison is exhausted and spiritless. Allah has forsaken us, and it were better to stop further effusion of blood by an honorable surrender."
Achmed's eyes now darted fire, and the angry blood rushed to his pale brow. He signed to a third officer to advance.
"You have heard these traitors," said he in a loud, distinct voice. "Off with their cowardly heads, and bear them through the city on pikes, while a herald shall come after you, crying out to all who choose to profit by the warning, 'Such is the fate of the traitors that counsel submission to the Christian!'"
The officers were thrown to the ground, and, in a few moments, their headless trunks lay stretched on the earth, while their heads were borne aloft through the streets of Belgrade.
"Justice is satisfied," said Achmed Pacha, solemnly; "now let us betake ourselves to prayer. Let us thank Allah, who has turned away the perils by which we were threatened, and is preparing for the faithful a great triumph over their unbelieving foe. The grand- vizier is at hand with re-enforcements, and ere long the Christians will be put to ignominious flight."
This declaration of the general soon made its way to every house in the city, and caused universal joy. The soldiers crowded around their chief and swore to defend Belgrade until the grand-vizier arrived.
"And the Sultan will reward you all," said Achmed. "The booty will be left to the soldiery, and the commander of the faithful will pour out the treasures of his generosity from the horn of his beneficence. The defenders of Belgrade will be the nearest to his throne and his heart, and to your children shall descend the honors he will confer! Now come and let us praise Allah for the glory you are about to win!"
And with this flourish of promises, Achmed Pacha entered the mosque. Once there, he fell upon his knees, and prayed after the following fashion—:
"Allah, forgive me the lies which I have just uttered before the gates of Thy holy temple. Allah, make true my words: send hither, I implore Thee, the help I have ventured to promise to my unhappy garrison; for the two unfortunates whom I have just executed were the speakers of truth; if a miracle is not vouchsafed to us, we are lost."
In the Christian camp Max Emmanuel was making ready to storm the city; and his troops, with beating hearts, were eagerly awaiting the signal to begin the assault.
"You are really going to commence your attack?" asked the Duke of
Mantua of the elector.
"Not only to commence, but to finish it," was the reply. "Before the sun sets, Belgrade must be ours."
"Very flue and sententious," replied the duke, with a shrug, "but, unfortunately, impracticable."
"Well—nobody can deny that your highness is a FAR-SEEING warrior," said Max, laughing, and remembering Mohacz. [Footnote: The Duke of Mantua had promised to come to the assistance of the emperor. In 1637 he visited the imperial camp, where he was received with every mark of consideration. On the morning of the battle of Mohacz, as the troops were about to make the attack, he came up to General Caprara, and in the coolest manner asked from what point he could best observe the fight. The general replied, "Your highness must join the staff of the commander-in-chief if you wish to look on without being mixed up in the general engagement."—"But the staff are in constant danger, as well as the rest," was his answer, "and I might be struck by a ball or a bomb-shell."—"Oh!" cried Caprara, "you wish to look on without endangering your life! Then go upto the top of yonder mountain." The duke went, and remained there until the battle was ended.] "You have an eagle-glance for a field of battle, and I propose to renew for you to-day the spectacle which last year you enjoyed looking on, while the rest of us were fighting."
"Think you that Belgrade is a bee-hive, and that the Turks are to be smoked therefrom, like a swarm of bees?"
"I think that Belgrade is peopled by Turks, not bees; and yet I shall smoke them out of it this very day. Will you bet me five thousand ducats that I do not?"
"Yes, I take the bet; and although five thousand ducats is a considerable sum, I sincerely hope I may lose it. I shall make, haste to return to my villa, whence I can look on the assault, while I pray for the success of your arms."
"We shall have unspeakable comfort in the thought," cried the elector, galloping off to join his staff.
"A pious Moses that," said he to Prince Eugene. "I am really glad that he has again taken his leave. I lose all my pride of manhood when I look upon such a poltroon, and think that we are of the same species."
"He is a natural curiosity," said Eugene, "a mere exception to his race. I rather enjoy the contemplation of such a sporadic case of cowardice."
The attack was to begin at five points simultaneously. When the fifth courier had reported his division to be in readiness, the elector, giving orders to his staff which dispersed them for a while, turned to Eugene and began in a low voice:
"Eugene, I feel like a lover who has just become a husband. My heart beats with anticipation of bliss, and is all aflame with desire."
"I should think you had clasped Bellona to your heart so often, that you would have learned to accept her favors without excitement or anxiety," returned Eugene, playfully.
Max glanced at the calm and self-possessed prince, and replied: "You shall teach me self-control, dear Eugene, for you have wonderful mastery over your emotions. Did I not know what a warm heart is throbbing under that composed demeanor, I should imagine Prince Eugene to be a mere compound of wisdom and self-possession; and yet I know that, at this very moment, that heart is burning with love for one who, in the hour of battle, is dearer to him than ever. Eugene, this is a moment of solemnity enough for me to ask you whether Laura lives?"
"I do not know," murmured he, nervously grasping his reins, and becoming very pale. "I have no news, and yet, if she were dead, my heart would tell me so; I believe, then, that she is alive, and, should I fall to-day, there hangs a medal lion around my neck (her dear portrait), which must be sent to her. Say that I died loving her beyond all power of speech to convey; that for her love, I bless and thank her, trusting that she will forgive me for having been the cause of all her misfortunes. I am grateful to you, Max, for having spoken of her to me. If I die, this is my last will."
"Enviable saint, that has but one legacy and one love! I shall take very good care not to entertain you with the history, in many volumes, of all my various loves. But the last of them you can greet for me, should I fall to-day; and you will do it cordially, for she is Laura's sister-in-law. Tell my beautiful Lucretia that I have been happy in her love; and, although I would not have her mourn for me, I hope she will sometimes waft me a thought or a gentle sigh. And now—to arms, and to victory! You promise to fight at my side, do you not?"
"Yes, Max—nothing but death shall part us, until Belgrade is ours."
"Give me your left hand, while, with the right, I give the signal for the attack."
So saying, the elector held aloft a silken flag, which fluttered for a moment, and then boldly caught the breeze.—There was a short silence; then every Christian gun proclaimed defiance to the Turk.
Early in the action, General Scarffenberg was mortally wounded; but he had carried his point of attack, and with his dying eyes he saw the Austrians mount the breach, and drive away the enemy at the point of the bayonet. The bastion once reached, the men, almost reeling with fatigue, paused for a moment to regain breath. The enemy taking advantage of the halt, returned and poured out such numbers of fresh assailants that the Christians from sheer exhaustion began to falter, and were about to be driven back, when Prince Eugene, seeing their danger, sprang forward to General Sereni, and called for re-enforcements.
Placing himself at their head, the bastion was recaptured, and the
Austrians rushed eagerly forward to follow up their success.
But just beyond the breach lay a deep, wide trench, behind which the enemy had fortified themselves, and were now pouring out a murderous fire.
"The line of these breastworks must be broken," said the elector.
But the question was—how were they to be broken? Not a path was to be seen conducting thither: and the imperialists, hurried forward by the eager troops behind, who were unaware of the impediment in front, seemed to have no alternative but that of inevitable death or retreat.
Retreat! odious word, which the officers could not bring their lips to pronounce. And yet there was no possibility of advancing; and to remain stationary was to offer themselves for massacre. The soldiers were so closely packed together that they could make no use of their weapons, while the Turks were shooting them down like so many birds in a battue. The elector stood by the side of the breach, and called a hasty council of his officers.
"We have done enough for to-day," said General Sereni. "We can intrench ourselves behind the breach, and renew the attack to- morrow."
"The men are exhausted," urged another. "We will surely capture the fortress to-morrow."
The elector had listened in perfect silence to the various changes rung on the same idea; but he was not altogether convinced. He now turned to Eugene, who spoke not a word, but gazed sharply from the trench to the serried ranks of Turks on the opposite side. He raised his eyes with a mournful, questioning look, to the face of the perplexed commander. Their glances met, and a smile of perfect understanding passed between them.
The elector hurried forward to the brink of the trench; behind him came Eugene. Both drew their swords, and, brandishing them above their heads, Max Emmanuel called out in clear, distinct, and ringing tones:
"Comrades, look, and follow me!"
Then the two heroes sprang into the trench, and the troops rushed forward to follow them. Many dislocated their limbs, as they leaped down; but such as escaped without broken bones went onward, fighting like tigers.
Suddenly an arrow pierced the cheek of the elector, and his face was covered with blood.
"You are wounded, dear Max!" cried Eugene, affrighted.
The elector laughed, and, drawing out the arrow, replied, "Not at all; this is Bellona's first kiss."
And, like a furious lion, he dashed ahead, and avenged the kiss by many a stout blow of his sword.
The Janizaries were driven from their breastworks, but, ere they went, one of them, astonished at the prowess of Eugene, whom he took to be a lad, was determined to make short work of the insolent boy that was slaying right and left like another David.
He raised his brawny arm, and smiled contemptuously upon so puny an adversary. But when he would have dealt his blow, it was parried by a thrust of such power that he reeled and almost lost his balance. In his fury he raised his cimeter and cleft the helmet of the prince in twain.
For a moment Eugene was dizzy, though uninjured; but, quickly recovering his senses, he made a lunge at the Janizary and ran him through the body. Without waiting to see him die, the prince drew out his sabre and darted onward. The imperialists shouted and cheered him as he went, but the Turks, too, had witnessed the deed, and more than one musket was vengefully aimed at the slayer of the Paynim Goliath. One—one, alas! has reached the mark. It has pierced his foot, and he is no longer in a condition to make another step. Heaven be praised that the Turks have taken flight, and that the Christians have possessed themselves of the trench! Eugene has the comfort of knowing that he will not he a captive, and this assurance gives him strength to drag himself within speaking distance of a group of soldiers.
"Bear me away, if you please," said he; "I cannot walk."
Two of them hastened to his relief, and bore him tenderly away to the spot where a field-surgeon was attending to the wounded.
The town and citadel have fallen; nothing now remains to the Turks but the castle, from the windows of which a white flag is proclaiming their defeat and surrender. But the Christians do not see it; and the elector, followed by his victorious troops, rushes, sword in hand, to the prison wherein the Christian prisoners are confined. The dungeons were crowded with fugitive Turks, who had betaken themselves thither as the safest place to be found. They cried for mercy, and it was granted them. Their lives were spared, but they were prisoners. Achmed Pacha was among them. He came forward and bent the knee before his conqueror.
"Allah has willed it," said he, "and may his name be praised! General, thou hast prevailed, and I am thy prisoner. I ask but one favor of thee. Give me no Greek or Rascian for my master; let me serve a German."
The elector smilingly raised him, and explained that Christians did not enslave their prisoners of war. "You have defended yourself heroically," added he, "and we honor a brave enemy. The Emperor of Germany alone is the arbiter of your fate."
"Allah will decide what that fate is to be," was the pious response of the Mussulman.
The Elector of Bavaria has won his wager; but what cares a victorious hero for ducats or dastards like the Duke of Mantua?
"Where is Eugene?" was his first inquiry. And, not seeing him among his followers, he darted out of the castle in search of his friend.
The question passed from man to man, until one was found at last to answer it. The prince was in the hands of the imperial surgeons, who were vainly endeavoring to extract the ball.
The elector dragged one of them aside. "Is he dangerously wounded?" asked he, anxiously.
"He may not die of the wound," was the surgeon's reply; "but it will be tedious and very painful."
"He will live!" cried Max, wiping away a tear, and hastening to the litter whereon Eugene was lying.
He bent over him, and gently touched his forehead.
Eugene raised his large, melancholy eyes, and looking upon the beaming face that encountered his, he pointed to the wound, around which the blood had already coagulated, and said:
"Happy Max, whom Bellona has kissed! Me she has trodden under foot."
CHAPTER V.
THE MARCHIONESS.
"Strozzi, take my advice, and give up this miserable life. Of all earthly bores, solitude is the greatest."
"No, Barbesieur, in solitude I find my only comfort," returned Strozzi, with a weary sigh. "Here, at least, Laura is indubitably mine; here she is Marchioness de Strozzi."
"She is Marchioness de Strozzi throughout the entire world. as I am ready to prove, who saw your hands joined together, and heard your reciprocated vows in Paris."
"Yes, yes; but you know that she denies the marriage, and persists that she is the wife of Eugene of Savoy."
"She is a sentimental fool," cried Barbesieur, with a coarse laugh. "And devil take me but I would cure her of her folly were she my wife! If she will not love you, man, why do you not force her to fear you?"
"Fear me! Her soul knows not fear. Have I not tried to intimidate her over and over again? and every threat I hurl, she thrusts back into my teeth, as though her spirit were defended from harm by some invisible, enchanted armor."
"And you love her! You, the master and jailer, creep about, with sallow cheek and sunken eye, while your prisoner is the very impersonation of hopeful happiness. At every unexpected step she listens with a smile; if a cloud stray across the window, she mistakes it for the shadow of deliverance! Verily, my excellent father, who sent me hither to find out whether you were slowly killing his daughter by your cruelty, will scarcely believe me when I tell him what a beneficial effect has been produced upon her by your wholesome restraint. You must know that, although not remarkable for his social virtues, Monsieur Louvois has intervals of puling sensibility, at which times he reproaches himself with the part he took in the comedy of your marriage, and, since Prince Eugene has grown famous, almost repents that he did not accept that fascinating individual for his son-in-law. He is beginning to be absolutely afraid of the little ex-abbe."
"And I too fear him," said Strozzi, gnashing his teeth. "He bears a charmed life, or he would not see the light of heaven to-day. I thought I had him beyond all power of rescue, once in Venice. So sure was I that he must die, that I hastened to Laura and announced his demise. That night I took her away, hoping by change of scene to induce forgetfulness, where hope, of course, was extinct. One day, in Milan, a group of men were talking of some recent victory of the imperialists, and to my amazement I heard the name of the Prince of Savoy among those who had most distinguished themselves."
"Was Laura with you?" asked Barbesieur.
"Alas, she was! And her beautiful face was transfigured with joy. I felt as if I could have swooned with jealousy. I hurried her home, and in half an hour she was on the road to this castle. Here I knew that no news could ever reach her of the world or its heroes; here I could leave her, and fear not to absent myself, for this is a lonely forest, no strangers ever wander hither, and I have good, watchful dragons to guard my treasure. I posted then, with all speed, to Venice, entered the palace at night, and made my way to the secret prison of which you have heard, to see for myself if it could possibly be true that Eugene of Savoy was living."
"Did you find any one?"
"Of course, some man was bound to be there: else he could not have escaped. Conceive my fury when I recognized my own hired bravo, Antonio, who must have betrayed me, and remained instead of the prince. I opened a niche in the wall, kicked his rotten carcass into the lagoon, and, more wretched than ever, returned to this hell wherein I languish, while paradise is within sight."
"How long do you intend to make a voluntary Tantalus of yourself."
"I shall stay until she forgets Prince Eugene, and loves me."
"I wish you joy; meanwhile I shall await your bulletins at my delightful residence—your generous gift. I must remain until the arrival of my father's couriers; and, having seen them off with the glad tidings of my fair sister's flourishing condition, I will be off for Bonaletta. I wonder which of us two she hates the more? Come—we may as well go at once to her rooms, that my visit may be over."
So saying, Barbesieur put his arm within that of the marquis, but the latter, drawing back, pointed to the clock on the mantel.
"It is too early: she never permits me to come before eleven."
"And you—her husband, suffer such impertinent dictation from your vassal—your wife!"
"I dare not thwart her by any intrusion of myself except at her will. If I were to lay my hand on her, she would kill herself, like another Lucretia, to save her honor. And if I contradict her by coming before my time, she will start and grow pale, perhaps faint, and be sick; and oh, Barbesieur! the idea of losing her, makes me frantic."
"As you please," returned Barbesieur, with a shrug and a loud laugh. "But as I am not pining for a sight of her beauty, I shall go rabbit-hunting, while you stay at home and look wistfully at what you dare not take."
So saying, Barbesieur shouldered his gun, whistled to his dogs, and went off to the chase; while Strozzi, his eyes on the dial of the clock, awaited the hour for visiting his inapproachable wife.
The marchioness was in an apartment situated in the centre of the wing which her affectionate husband had fitted up for her incarceration. No one that entered this magnificent suite would ever have imagined that it was a prison. The walls were covered with hangings of satin and gold; the floors were hidden by Turkey carpets as soft as turf; the windows were festooned with curtains of velvet and lace; and their recesses filled with tall Venetian mirrors. Paintings of value adorned the walls, and frescoes ornamented the ceilings; while every object of vertu that was known to the age, lay in elegant profusion about this luxurious abode.
And yet it was veritably a prison, wherein the Marchioness de Strozzi was confined "because of her hopeless lunacy," and the windows thereof were guarded by a strong trellis-work of iron, which might clearly be seen through their panes, while without, in an anteroom, two she-dragons kept watch over the doors which led from the prison to the world without.
The parlor of Laura's habitation opened into a boudoir which led to the bedroom. This apartment was as sumptuously fitted up as the others, but its windows were similarly guarded. Opposite, and beyond the parlor, was a small room occupied by the duennas, so that the prisoner could not leave her apartments without encountering one or both of them.
Tonietta, the second lady's maid, was busy with her needle when the marquis entered, and began his usual routine of inquiries.
"How is the marchioness to-day? Is she quiet and well-disposed? Has she breakfasted? Does her health seem good?" and so on.
The woman's lip curled, but she controlled herself and made reply. "Her ladyship is as usual. She has played on the harp, sung, and taken her chocolate. But she was unusually cheerful while we were occupied with her toilet, and I do not like this humor."
"Why, why?" asked Strozzi.
"Because it is a very sudden change—too sudden to portend good. She has always been reserved, and showed no disposition to be friendly. All of a sudden, she becomes talkative and gay."
"So much the better. That proves that she is becoming accustomed to her lot."
"It might prove just the contrary," returned the duenna, with a crafty glance at her master. "It might be intended to blind us, or it might prove that she has hopes of escaping."
"Great God!" shrieked Strozzi, "you terrify me. What hope can she possibly indulge of escape?"
"I do not know, but I like not her cheerfulness, nevertheless. However, be under no apprehension, my lord; we keep strict watch, and there is no mode of egress save through one of these two doors. I am not afraid during the day—but at night! Who knows? Your lordship was wrong to allow her to sleep in a room without us, and to permit her to fasten her door against us."
"She would have it so," sighed Strozzi; "but what does it signify?
Had she wings, she could not fly out of her prison."
And, with these words, he passed into the parlor.
Laura sat by a window before her easel, and was so absorbed with her work that she was, or affected to be, unconscious of her husband's entrance. Not daring to advance, he stood in the doorway, devouring her with his eyes, almost mad with desire to clasp her to his heart. She, on her side, sat painting, and humming a song, her blue-satin dress defining the graceful contour of her bust and slender waist, then swelling out beneath into rich folds that shimmered like silver under the sunbeams that fell upon them from the window above. The long lace sleeves drooped in gossamer waves over the dress, leaving bare her round, fair arms, firm and white as those of the Venus of Milo. Her hair was gathered into a Grecian knot behind, and her delicate profile, illumined by the morning sun, was so marvellous in its beauty, that Strozzi's eyes filled with tears as he gazed, and his sallow, sunken cheeks glowed with mingled love and hate.
He made a few steps forward, and encountered the cold glance of her splendid eyes, and saw the slight bend of her haughty head, as she became aware of his presence.
"What brings you hither, sir?" said she. "But I need not ask. You have come to satisfy yourself by ocular demonstration that your prisoner has not flown up the chimney. You need not trouble yourself to remain—I am here."
"Prisoner, say you, cruel Laura! Tis I that am a prisoner; prisoned by your coldness, and yet I love you—I love you to madness!"
"You are quite right thus to define your love; and perchance it may lead you to that lunacy which is your lying pretext for incarcerating me alive in this lonely castle."
"Oh, I fear it, I fear it!" cried he, despairingly, "for day by day my reason fails me. Have mercy, have mercy!"
"Mercy! You who would have taken the life of the man I love. You are an assassin, whose just portion would be the scaffold. But enough why renew each day the mournful duo of your love and my contempt? Let me be silent and wait."
"Wait! Oh, then, there is hope for me, and you bid me not despair!"
"You!—I spoke of myself; for, as there is a just God above us, I believe that He will open the doors of my prison, and send His angel to deliver me."
"Then you arc entirely without sympathy."
"Entirely—for the man that obtained possession of my person by a fraud, and who, for five long, bitter years, has laden me with the chains of this lie which he calls our marriage."
"I know that you have suffered, and I have wept for your sufferings, while I have been impotent to lessen them. Speak but the word—say that you are that which, by the laws of God and man, you have been for these five long years, and I open your doors and restore you to freedom. I ask you not to love me; but I implore you to accept my love, and acknowledge yourself to be my wife; for well I know that, the acknowledgment once made, you are too honorable, too virtuous, to sully the name you are willing to bear. Oh, Laura, my peerless Laura! I will make amends for all that I have inflicted upon you through the madness of my love. I have wealth unbounded—a noble name, high station: all shall be yours. See—I am at your feet. Call me your husband, and henceforth I live to be your willing slave!"
"Never!" exclaimed she, starting from her seat, and receding in horror from his touch. "My body you hold in bondage, but my spirit is free; and it is away from this gloomy prison, far away, mingling with that of my spouse before Heaven, my Eugene, my lord and husband."
"Silence!" shrieked Strozzi, starting to his feet. "Silence! or you will drive me mad! And be assured that as long as you defy me, just so long will I hold you in bondage."
"You may not live forever, marquis, for the Strozzis, like other men, are mortal; and death, perchance, may liberate me, without your permission. But live or die, as you choose; I shall find means to rejoin Eugene, and this conviction gives me strength to endure your persecutions."
"The Marchioness Bonaletta is too proud and chaste to be the mistress of any man," returned Strozzi, with some return of courtesy.
"What do you know of me?—I counsel you not to build your hopes upon any estimate you may have formed of my notions of honor, for they will sorely deceive you, if you do."
Before the marquis had time to reply to these defiant words, the door opened, and Barbesieur, holding a letter in his hand, entered the room.
Laura frowned, and asked Strozzi by what right her room was thus invaded by a stranger. "I do not desire his presence," she said. "Be so good as to conduct him to your own apartments."
"I am not so easily conducted, most amiable sister," returned Barbesieur. "I have come to deliver a message from your father, after which I shall take my leave without the least regret. We are about to go to war with Germany, and I am about to receive a general's commission in the French army, so that I have no time to lose in forcing my company upon you."
"You a general's commission! You that were once publicly disgraced by—"
"Your marriage has long ago consoled me for that trifling mishap," interrupted Barbesieur, "and in Paris nobody has ever presumed to think less of me on account of it. I think that, in every way, the sufferer there from was the valiant Eugene. And, by-the-by, that leads directly to the business that brought me hither. That Emperor of Austria has been entirely too lucky in war to please the King of France; and Max Emmanuel, whom we had expected to win over to our side, is the commander-in-chief of the imperial armies. Max—your quasi brother-in-law, Strozzi; for doubtless you are aware that Lucretia, the left-handed electress, is the first person in importance at the Bavarian court."
"May she be damned for it!" muttered Strozzi, between his teeth.
"Not on her head as much as on yours rests the shame of Lucretia's act," said Laura, reproachfully.
"Ah!" cried Strozzi, a gleam of joy darting athwart his meagre face, "you acknowledge, then, that a woman is disgraced who loves a man whom she cannot marry!"
"A truce to this nonsense, my turtle-doves," interposed Barbesieur. "I bring you tidings which henceforth render such discussions superfluous. Listen to me, both of you. My father has sent me a bit of news which, coming direct from the Marquis do Villars—that is, from Munich—is positive and authentic. Here it is."
Laura turned away her head that they might not see her emotion, while Strozzi besought Barbesieur not to be so long-winded.
"Well, I will gratify you both. Belgrade is taken; Prince Eugene, as usual, was foremost in the fight; but unhappily for some people, and happily for others—"
Here Barbesieur paused to enjoy the agony of his sister's suspense. Her face he could not see, but her trembling figure gave evidence of the poignancy of her anguish.
"Well—" said Strozzi, "what befell him?"
"Something not at all uncommon—he was killed."
Laura turned quickly around and caught the diabolical glance of
Barbesieur's eyes. "I—I do not believe it," murmured she.
"Did you say that you had the original letter from the Marquis?" asked Strozzi, eagerly.
"Yes, here it is; the marchioness can see for herself."
Laura took the paper and glanced hurriedly over its contents. She raised her eyes to heaven in thanksgiving. "He is not dead," said she, almost inaudibly.
"Then you have read very carelessly," returned Barbesieur. "The letter says, 'so dangerously wounded that he was transported in a dying condition to Vienna,'"
"Had he been dying, he would not have been transported to Vienna," exclaimed Laura, with a smile of returning hope. "No, no! Had Eugene been dead, the air I breathe, the clouds that I watch as they pass by yonder grated windows—my heart, whose beatings are responsive to his—every thing in nature would have revealed the terrible truth. Eugene lives—and lives to fulfil his great and glorious destiny. Pardon me, O Lord, that, for a moment, my faith was weak!"
She looked so transcendently lovely as she spoke, that Strozzi's heart sank within him. He turned his face away, and groaned.
"My charming sister is easily consoled, you perceive," said Barbesieur to Strozzi. "And now that, according to her own interpretation of the marriage ceremony, she is widowed, I hope to hear before long that you have effectually dried up her tears. Come- -let us leave this hopeful widow to herself."
"I come," replied Strozzi, "for you must take some refreshment before you go. Until the hour of dinner I take my leave, marchioness."
"Marquis," said Laura, following him to the door.
Strozzi dropped Barbesieur's arm, and returned to her at once.
"You have something to command?" said he, humbly.
"I do not wish to dine to-day," said she. "It will be useless, then, for you to return."
"I cannot deny myself that pleasure," was the reply.
Laura constrained herself to soften her tone, and to implore. "Only this one day," said she, in trembling tones. "I need repose—quiet— "
"To weep out the first pangs of widowhood," interrupted Barbesieur, with one of his coarse laughs. "Come, Strozzi—let her cry it out to-day, she will be all the more smiling for it to-morrow."
"Then as you please," said Strozzi, bowing respectfully. "I will not return until to-morrow before noon."
"Tell my turnkeys that they need not disturb me," said Laura. "Let me be veritably and entirely alone."
"You cannot dispense with their help," objected the marquis.
"I can and will dispense with their presence," returned Laura. "And may I ask of you, as a guaranty that I shall not be disturbed, to leave the keys inside? The bolts without are secure, and the women can watch by the doors to see that I do not attempt to escape."