For Sceptre and Crown: A Romance of the Present Time. Vol. I.

An hour afterwards the seconds had arranged all that was needful. The next morning, in the earliest dawn, two carriages were seen driving to a secluded spot at the farther end of the Prater.

Count Rivero and Herr von Stielow, with the seconds and a surgeon, walked over the dewy ground of a small grassy opening amongst the trees.

Two crossed swords marked the barrier. The pistols were loaded, and each combatant placed himself ten paces from the barrier. Lieutenant von Stielow was very pale; his face bore traces of a sleepless night, and there were dark circles below his eyes. Yet his expression was calm, almost joyful.

His second, an officer of his regiment, stepped up to him and handed him the pistols.

"There is yet time," he said, "for a little word of apology, and all mischief will be avoided."

"You know I am always ready to bear the consequences of my words and actions," replied Herr von Stielow; "to draw back now would be unworthy and cowardly. But make yourself easy--I, at least, will do no mischief."

He did not take a step forward, but raised his pistol, lowered it slightly, and fired.

Lieutenant von Stielow's képi flew from his head--the ball had hit the upper rim.

The lieutenant raised his arm, took aim for a moment, but, as the seconds could see, much too high, and the ball flew two feet above his adversary's head.

"Count," said the lieutenant, with calm courtesy, "what honour and custom amongst those of our position required, is now accomplished. I beg to apologize for my words of yesterday."

The count came forward hastily, a look of great satisfaction shining in his eyes, as a master who is well pleased with the conduct of a pupil. And with dignity, but great kindness, he offered the young lieutenant his hand.

"Yes," said von Stielow, "I must beg for one word more, and that I may say it to you alone."

The count bowed, and they walked together into the wood, out of the hearing of the seconds.

"Count," said the lieutenant, and his lip trembled slightly, "what I have to say--what I have to request, will, I fear, seem extraordinary to you, but I hope you will reply to my question as frankly as I ask it. Before we had exchanged shots it would have been a new insult; now I venture to put it as from one man of honour to another."

"How do you stand with--that lady?" asked Herr von Stielow; "you have a perfect right not to reply, but if you will answer me, you will do me a favour I shall never forget," he added warmly.

The count considered for a moment, and fixed his calm gaze on the eyes of the young man who stood before him anxiously awaiting his reply.

"I will answer you," he said; and he drew from the pocket of his over-coat a letter-case, and taking from it a letter, handed it to Herr von Stielow.

He looked through it. He smiled, half sorrowfully, half contemptuously. The count's dark eye rested on him with deep sympathy.

"One more request," said the young officer, "which can only be justified by the strange position in which we are placed."

"Will you lend me this letter? I give you my word of honour not to retain it more than an hour, and that no eyes, save those of a certain lady, shall see it," said von Stielow.

"And now, sir," said the count, in a deep resonant voice, "permit me to request your friendship. I am older than yourself, and many of life's circumstances, which are still strange to you, lie before me like an open book, and the book of life cannot be read without pain and sorrow. The hand of a friend, of an older and experienced friend, is a great protection--mine is always at your service."

And with a frank and noble movement Count Rivero offered the young officer his hand. Stielow seized it, not without emotion.

"I have behaved like a foolish child," he cried, with candid heartiness, "and I have to thank you for much; perhaps, for a happy change in my life."

Herr von Stielow went home, seated himself at his writing table, and placed three bank notes, each for a thousand gulden, in a large envelope; he added the letter with which Count Rivero had entrusted him. He sealed and addressed the packet, then he rang.

"Take this immediately to Madame Balzer in the Ringstrasse. Give it into her own hands," said he to the servant.

Then he stretched out his arms with a deep-drawn breath, and threw himself into an arm chair.

"The meteor has vanished for ever!" he cried; "now shine kindly upon me, thou pure, fair star, whose clear light smiles so peacefully."

His eyes closed; Nature claimed her rights after the wakeful night and the excitement of the morning.

Late in the afternoon of the same day, some of the guests whom we met formerly at Countess Mensdorff's, were assembled in a large and elegant drawing-room of a beautiful old house in the Herrengasse, in Vienna.

The small fire burning in the marble fire-place cast glowing reflections on the polished parquet floor. A hanging lustre, with three branches, shed an agreeable light over the room, and here and there sparkled upon the gold frames on the walls containing the family portraits. Opposite the fire-place stood a large table, upon which was a beautiful bronze lamp with a large blue glass shade, and the high-backed chairs and sofas were covered with dark blue silk.

The mistress of the house, Countess Frankenstein, sat on a sofa near the table. She was an elderly lady of that type of the Austrian aristocracy which so strongly recalls the old French noblesse of the ancien régime, but possesses also the Austrian kindliness and Austrian national feeling, a combination which makes the higher circles of society in Vienna so peculiarly attractive.

The lady's partially grey hair was carefully arranged; a high dress of rich dark silk fell around her in heavy folds, and beautifully-set old diamonds gleamed in her brooch, her ear-rings and bracelet.

On a low chair at her mother's side sat the young countess, in a beautiful toilette, which showed she was going out later in the evening.

They spoke of the great question of the day, and the whole party were much excited by the ever-increasing certainty of the war about to break out.

"I was with Mensdorff this morning," said Count Clam Gallas; "he told me he could count the days before the declaration of war. After we, as was only right, summoned the confederation to decide upon the fate of the Duchies, General von Manteuffel marched into Holstein."

"But that is war!" cried Countess Frankenstein; "and what has happened? What has Gablenz done?"

"Gablenz is here already," replied the count, "and his troops are returning; we are in too small numbers there, and too much scattered, to do anything. We are daily expecting orders to join the army in Bohemia. Count Karolyi will be recalled from Berlin, and in Frankfort the decree will be published for the mobilization of the whole of the Army of the Confederation against Prussia."

"At last then," cried Countess Clam Gallas, "upstart Prussia will receive due punishment, and all the evil the Hohenzollerns have done to our Imperial House will be avenged."

"But how about Hanover?" asked Countess Frankenstein. "Is not Gablenz to remain there with his troops?"

"Incredible!" cried Countess Frankenstein and Countess Clam Gallas in one breath.

"What is it, countess?" asked Count Clam Gallas; "our ladies must not sigh when we mount horse, and draw the sword for the honour of old Austria."

"I am thinking of the poor things whose blood must flow," said the young countess, and she looked up as if she saw a picture of some scene of horror.

The door was thrown open, and Lieutenant Field Marshal Baron Reischach announced.

The Baron entered, smiling and cheerful as ever. He saluted the ladies in his knightly style, with the familiarity of an old acquaintance.

"You have grown, Countess Clara," said he jestingly; "this child really looks over our heads."

"We old cripples must stay at home," said Reischach, sadly, and a look of grave melancholy passed over his jovial countenance, but soon vanished again. "I saw Benedek before he started for Bohemia," he then said.

"He has started," said the Baron, "and he is now on the road that leads to the Capitol or to the Tarpeian rock. He expressed that in a different way, certainly, but not less excellently."

"Tell us how he expressed it," cried Countess Clam Gallas; "it was no doubt one of those strong speeches which no one but himself would ever think of."

"'In six weeks,' said he thoughtfully, 'I shall either be on a pedestal, or not even a dog will snarl at me!'"

"Excellent!" cried Countess Clam Gallas; "and does he believe in the 'pedestal?'"

"Not very much," replied the baron; "he does not trust the spirit and the order of the army, and he does not trust himself."

"He may judge of himself as he will," cried Count Clam Gallas vehemently; "but the army he has no right to mistrust. The army is excellent, and its order exemplary; though truly, if General Benedek continues to treat the officers, and especially the noble officers, as he has commenced, and always to take the part of the common soldiers and the sub-officers, order will not last long."

And the count with an angry movement pushed away the chair on which he had leant, and paced up and down the room.

"It is certainly not my place," after a few moments, he said somewhat more calmly, "to call in question his majesty's choice of commanding officers, but I cannot feel great confidence in this Benedek and his method. The feelings that dwell in the hearts of the old Austrian nobility he cannot understand, and his so-called liberal principles destroy discipline. It may be very well in an army like the Prussian, where every one is a soldier--I understand nothing about that; but for us it will not answer; still less will it answer to attempt novelties which will place the army in opposition to their officers on the eve of a great war."

The count had spoken with much warmth. No one replied, and there was a momentary silence. Baron von Reischach interrupted it by exclaiming--

"No," replied Countess Clam Gallas, "what is it? a fresh success of Wolter's, or a new eccentricity of Gallmeyer's?"

"A duel? and between whom? do we any of us know them?" asked Countess Frankenstein.

"It was between our little Uhlan von Stielow," said Baron Reischach, "and that Italian Count Rivero whom you will remember well; he was here some time back with the Nuncio."

"How very extraordinary!" exclaimed Countess Frankenstein; "has Count Rivero been here long?"

"And in twenty-four hours a rencontre took place with Herr von Stielow?" asked Countess Clam Gallas.

"It appears," said the baron, "that a lady is in the case. You have surely heard of the beautiful Madame Balzer?"

The young Countess Frankenstein stood up and walked to the darkest part of the drawing-room to a flower-table. There she bent over the flowers.

"I have heard the name of this lady in connexion with Herr von Stielow," said Countess Clam Gallas.

"Not that I heard," replied von Reischach, "but I fear for our friend Stielow; Count Rivero is well known as an excellent shot. But where is our young countess?" he said, breaking off suddenly and turning his head towards the other end of the drawing-room.

She was still bending over the flowers. Her mother gave her a quick anxious look. She came slowly back to the light, with a freshly gathered rose in her hand. Her face was very pale and her lips tightly closed.

"I have plucked a rose," she said, in a voice that trembled slightly, "to complete my toilette."

"Ah! I forgot the Countess Wilezek's soirée," cried Countess Clam Gallas rising, "you will wish to prepare, and I must go home first."

"Mamma," said Countess Clara at last, "I do not feel well, and I would rather stay at home."

"My child," she said, "remember, I pray, what will be said if you do not appear to-night, especially as you have already been seen."

The young lady supported her head with her hand; a sob echoed through the silence of the room, and her slender figure trembled, tears fell on the rose in her bosom.

Countess Frankenstein looked amazed, her daughter rose quickly; a deep blush glowed on her face, she sank back in her chair, and her eyes still swimming in tears were fixed on the door. The footman took the silence of the countess for consent, as it was her custom to receive at that hour, and disappeared.

He was as cheerful as ever; no trace of the emotions of the morning appeared on his face, only his former expression of good-humoured carelessness had gone; a grave, an almost solemn earnestness was seen in his whole bearing, his eyes shone with a calm brilliance. His unusual earnestness made him look more handsome than before.

He walked towards the ladies. Countess Clara cast down her eyes and played with her handkerchief. Her mother received the young officer with perfect calmness.

"We have not seen you for some time, Herr von Stielow," she said; "where have you been disporting yourself?"

"Our duty is more strict than it was, countess," said von Stielow, "and leaves us but little time--war seems decided upon, so we ought to get a little accustomed to some of its inconveniences."

"Herr von Reischach has just been here, and he spoke of you," said the countess.

"What did he say?" cried von Stielow anxiously; "he told, I fear, some malicious history?"

And his eyes sought the young countess, who continued to look down, and who made no movement.

"He caused us to fear that something had happened to you," said the countess, glancing at him from head to foot, "but I see he was mistaken."

Herr von Stielow smiled, but it was not the merry laugh he would have given a short time before at the lucky termination of a duel; it was a serious happy smile.

"Herr von Reischach takes too great an interest in me," he said, "and the fears he expressed on my behalf are groundless."

"I have never been introduced to her," replied the young officer in a tone of regret.

"At least you will accompany us there, will you not?" said the countess rising; "I have a slight alteration to make in my toilette; my daughter is quite ready and will entertain you until I return."

Countess Frankenstein left the room without heeding the appealing looks of her daughter. The two young people were left alone. They were silent. At last Stielow approached the young lady's chair:--

The young countess raised her eyes and looked at him with surprise, while an expression of pain appeared on her lips. The light fell on her face as she lifted her head, and he saw that her eyelids were slightly red.

"No," said the young lady firmly, "I have a headache. I have begged mamma to leave me at home this evening."

"Countess Clara," he said, in the same earnest, gentle voice, "I wish to give you an answer to a question--an explanation," he stammered, "of a conversation we had at Countess Mensdorff's. I have never since spoken to you alone."

"This is scarcely a time to answer questions," she said, with a half scornful, half melancholy smile, "which I have already forgotten."

"I thank you for your trust in me, Countess Clara," he said. "I give you my word of honour I am free--free as the air and light, from every chain."

"Yes, Countess Clara, you understand me," he cried vehemently, "though I have not told the whole truth. I am free from a fetter which was unworthy; but I seek a chain to bind me for ever to my happiness--a chain that I can wear without a blush."

She was extremely agitated. She looked at him for a moment before she again cast down her eyes, and in that look he thought he read an answer to his hopes, for, with a happy smile, he came a step nearer to her.

"I cannot explain," he interrupted, "to a strange lady, only to her who gives me the right to consecrate my life to her, and to have no secret from her."

"Good Heavens! Herr von Stielow," she cried, still more embarrassed, "I ask you seriously to explain."

She walked towards the door by which her mother had left the room. He hastened to her, and seized her hand.

"Clara," he cried again, in a low, earnest tone, "you wear a rose on your breast. In olden days, ladies gave to the knight whose love and service they accepted for ever, a gift, to be a sacred talisman in battle, and to be with them in death. We, too, are on the eve of bloody days. Clara, will you give me that rose?"

"It is the symbol, then, of her who dwells in my heart, and who will dwell there for ever," he cried, and added, in an imploring tone, "Clara, I am worthy of the rose!"

She fixed her eyes on his, and gazed at him for several moments. Then she raised her hand slowly, unfastened the rose from her dress, and held it towards him, blushing and trembling, as she cast down her eyes.

He walked passionately towards her, seized the rose, and covered the hand that held it with kisses.

"Clara," he said, firmly and gravely, "this flower will fade, but the happiness you have given me will bloom in my heart as long as it continues to beat. Heaven, I thank thee!" he cried, "I have found my star!"

Without speaking a word, she leant her beautiful head on his breast, and wept gently.

Countess Frankenstein entered. At the rustle of her dress, her daughter hastened to her, and threw herself into her arms. Herr von Stielow approached the old lady.

"Countess," he said, "I can only repeat to you what I said to your daughter in my great happiness. I have found my star. May it not light the heaven of my life for ever?"

"I leave the answer to my daughter," said she; "and will abide by her decision."

"Then may God bless you!" said the countess, as she gently put her daughter from her, and held out her hand in her turn to the young man, who kissed it respectfully.

"Now," cried the countess, "we must go. We shall see you to-morrow, Herr von Stielow. To-day you will only afford us your protection to Countess Wilezek's."

"No, my child," said her mother, "people would make remarks, and you know I like everything to be done in the correct manner. It is the foundation of all true and lasting happiness."

"Well, then," cried Herr von Stielow, "adieu until to-morrow; my newly-risen star will light up the night until the dawn!"

His betrothed gave him a smile. There was a half troubled, half roguish question in her look.

He raised the rose he held in his hand, pressed it to his lips, and hid it beneath his uniform upon his breast.

The countess rang. A servant brought the ladies' mantles. Herr von Stielow accompanied them in their carriage to the palace of Countess Wilezek, in Wallnerstrasse. After he had taken leave of them, he walked dreamily through the evening streets of the capital.

Clear merry voices rang through the open windows of the Café Daun. The numerous officers of every branch of the service congregated there rejoiced at the prospect of war, and many cheerful voices rang out into the night, destined soon to be mute for ever.

Von Stielow hesitated for a moment before the entrance of the Café Daun, but the noisy mirth of his comrades did not suit his present mood.

He walked on. He thought over all that had occurred, and rejoiced at the quarrel which had brought him freedom.

He pursued his way along the Graben, by the rothe Thurmstrasse, and, sunk in sweet dreams, he followed the banks of the Danube. He was near the Aspern bridge. A man in a dark cloak came up to him.

"God bless me! Herr von Stielow," he cried, accosting the young officer, "you were going along as if you had become a philosopher, and were seeking the stone of wisdom."

"Good evening, dear Knaak," replied the lieutenant, holding out his hand to the well-known and favourite comic actor of the Karl Theatre, "what brings you here? Is the theatre over already?"

"I do not act to-night," replied Knaak, "and I am just going to the Hôtel de l'Europe, where all our people are to be. Come too, and laugh with us a little."

Herr von Stielow thought for a moment. He felt a repugnance to going home; he was too excited for serious conversation; how could he better pass the evening hours than with these cheerful people, who, in their merry thoughtlessness and happy natures, form an eternal world of youth in the midst of serious life.

"Well, dear Knaak, I will come with you, to see if these warlike times affect the humour of the Karl Theatre."

"My dear sir," replied Knaak, "all the Krupp cannons added to all the needle guns in the world, could not disturb us,--that is to say," he added, gravely, "if we were all together. I, for my own part, am often sad enough when alone: for I am a North German by birth, and all my early recollections lie north; but now I am in heart an Austrian, and the war which is before us makes me very wretched."

"It must be so with many of us," replied von Stielow; "my home, too, lies in the north. It is a melancholy war,--although, as a soldier, I cannot but rejoice that this sword, which has so long been dragged over the pavement, is at last to be used in earnest."

A slight sigh did not quite harmonize with this warlike zeal; perhaps he thought of the newly risen star of his life, and feared it soon might set in bloody clouds.

They had reached the large Hôtel de l'Europe, which, with the Crown Prince Hôtel, occupies the whole length of the Asperngasse. They went into the spacious restaurant through the large doorway, and having passed through it, they came to a closed door, through which they heard cheerful voices and merry laughter.

Knaak opened the door, and with von Stielow entered a somewhat small square room, adorned with hunting pieces and pastoral scenes, where a motley company were assembled around a table on which stood a cold supper, already showing in some of the principal dishes large gaps, proving the assaults that had been made upon it. On the table stood a large bowl filled with fragrant punch; and silver wine coolers filled with ice showed the white heads of champagne bottles peeping from them.

In the midst of the company sat the whimsical queen of the Karl Theatre, the spoilt and sometimes naughty favourite of the public, Josephine Gallmeyer.

Beside her sat her especial friend old Grois, the last remaining actor of the times of Nestroy--a strongly made man with coarse features, with which he was however capable of rendering every shade of expression, and a voice full of comic modulation.

On the other side of the table sat alone and thoughtful the young actor Matras, with his handsome intelligent face, which can represent on the stage of to-day the true old Viennese fun; and near him, in earnest conversation, sat Mademoiselle Schwöder, a dark-eyed young singer, and Doctor Herzel, editor and critic, a man of middle height with a quick intelligent face.

The entrance of Knaak and von Stielow was hailed with joy by the Gallmeyer; she seized a champagne cork lying near her, threw it at them, and cried:

"Thank God for two sensible men. Come here, Knaak, sit by me; and you, Herr von Stielow, opposite, that I may look at your uniform,--I like it. I could not have borne these weary folks much longer. Matras sits there and says nothing, and the Schwöder and the Doctor are like a pair of folded gloves, and then there is old Grois,"--she shook the old actor roughly by the shoulder,--"he has given a moral lecture. You can think how amusing that was."

She seized a bottle of champagne and poured out a large glass of the pearling fluid for Knaak who sat beside her.

"My life!" she exclaimed, as she looked at von Stielow, who, following her directions, had seated himself opposite; "My life! Herr von Stielow, how handsome you are to-day; whatever has happened to you; you look really splendid!"

"Take care, Herr von Stielow," said Knaak, "if Pepi falls in love with you it is all up with you, 'tis a case of

"And seek I e'er

A knight t' ensnare

Resistance nought avails him."

"All very well, but when people look as romantic as Stielow there, they are of no use to me. I wager he has not a bit of room in his heart. Besides," she added, with the greatest gravity, "I don't fall in love so easily. I must see the baptismal registry first."

"Matras is always thinking of money, poor fellow! he has so little," she cried, "but no, that's not it. You see I made up my mind, my lover and I should never have more than fifty years between us, and so the older I get the younger must be my lover, to make me quite sure that he has no more years than fall to his share. I have made up my mind, and I shall always stick to it."

"Papa Grois," cried she, "don't make such bad jokes; I have enough of them, from 'swaddling clothes' to 'experienced persons.'"

"What a passion it is!" cried the Gallmeyer. "Soon there will only be duchesses and princesses acting in the Karl Theatre. Well, for my part I shall stick to Pepi Gallmeyer."

"My mother is a washerwoman,
And but a ballad girl am I,
And when a sweetheart comes to woo,
Away I to the washtub fly."

"Yes, it is true," said Grois; "you would be spoilt as a duchess. Do you know what she did the other day? The Duke della Rotunda gave us a great supper at his hotel. It was all quite princely, and footmen in white stockings handed the most excellent dishes. Pepi did nothing but gape; at last she said, 'My lord duke, where is the Schwemme? I can't stand this, 'tis too fine for me.'"

"It is what they call the second class restaurants in Vienna; they have them in every hotel here to accommodate traveller's servants."

"And they are a thousand times more amusing than that tiresome old duke, with his silver candlesticks and stork-legged lacqueys," laughed the Gallmeyer.

The door was opened hastily, and a beautiful young woman holding a newspaper in her hand entered. It was Madame Friedrich-Materna, an opera-singer, then engaged at the Karl Theatre.

"Have you heard it yet?" she cried, "war is declared, or as good as declared; it is here in the 'Evening Post;' our ambassador is recalled from Berlin, and the army is ordered to march into Bohemia."

"Then it is all up with us," cried the Gallmeyer, "all up with merry Vienna; and," she added, glancing compassionately at von Stielow, "alas! how many handsome young fellows will get shot."

"We must have something patriotic in the theatre, something of the good old kind; monkey tricks won't do, when a bloody tragedy is being played outside."

"I must go to the editor's office," said Doctor Herzel, with some importance. He rose and seized his hat.

He emptied a glass of punch and left the room. A cavalry soldier in a cuirassier uniform handed him a sealed official paper.

And with a quick step he hurried along the shores of the Danube, not dreamily, as he had come, but with head proudly raised, sparkling eyes, smiling lips, and his sword clattering on the pavement.

"I am to march out to this merry war at which every soldier's heart beats higher, and at the side of a general, whom every Austrian rider regards with pride and admiration, and yet--what a scarcely tasted happiness I leave behind--shall I ever find it more?"

Slower and slower grew his steps, until at last he stood quite still; and lost in thought he gazed into the Danube, where the bright lamps on the bridge were reflected.

With a hasty movement he awoke from his reverie. "What is love," he cried, "if it makes us sad and cowardly! No, my sweet lady, I will be thy brave proud knight, and thy talisman shall bring me honour."

He drew the rose from his breast and pressed it to his lips. Then he walked on with a quick merry step, and with laughing lips he hummed to himself--

"And had she not promised my life to be,
No life would ever be won by me!"

CHAPTER VIII.

FRANCIS JOSEPH II.

The greatest activity prevailed in Vienna--in the vicinity of the Hofburg.^[5] Aides-de-camp and orderlies came and went backwards and forwards to head-quarters, which were literally fringed with staff officers.

Although it was still early, only about eight o'clock, groups of inquisitive people stood here and there in the large court yard, and looked at each coming or going officer with the greatest anxiety, as if he must be the bearer of most important news.

Public feeling was highly excited. Every one knew that important events lowered like a tempest in the air, and that any moment might bring the dazzling flash, followed by the mighty thunder-clap, which would disperse the sultry fog.

The good citizens of Vienna were in a warlike mood. The press had for a long time increased their bitterness against Prussia, and on every side were heard angry expressions against the Northern power, and confident hopes of victory for the Austrian arms.

Had not Field-Marshal Benedek, the man of the soldiers--the man of the people, just been appointed commander-in-chief of the great Northern army? He would show what the Austrian army could do when taken out of the hands of the "Junker,"^[6] and placed in those of a real working soldier.

Though these hopes were loudly expressed, no very joyful looks were to be seen on the faces of the people. It was the language of the lips rather than the heart; for deep in the breasts of the lively gesticulating speakers lurked many a doubt, which gave the lie to the words they uttered. It was a new foe whom they were to oppose--a foe untried since the Seven Years' War, and from that time traditionally feared--a foe, of whose wonderful military organization they had heard and read things that seemed almost fabulous.

But these doubts, however much they might be felt, were not openly expressed, they only served to increase the general oppression that weighed down the spirits of the people, and gave to merry, light-hearted Vienna a character of unusual earnestness.

Suddenly the conversation in the different groups was hushed, and all eyes turned towards the entrance gate of the Hofburg. Lieutenant Field-Marshal von Gablenz appeared, the general who from his brilliant valour and knightly bearing was the darling of the Viennese.

He walked firmly and gracefully into the courtyard, dressed in a grey close-fitting general's uniform, his breast adorned with numerous orders, the Cross of Maria Theresa around his neck, and a plumed hat upon the noble head, with its well-formed expressive features.

He was accompanied by Colonel von Bourguignon, the chief of his staff, two aides-de-camp, and by Lieutenant von Stielow, in the brilliant Uhlan uniform, rejoicing at the distinction of being so near to the celebrated general.

The crowd greeted von Gablenz as one whom they expected to fulfil their loudly spoken hopes, to give the lie to their hidden fears.

The general replied to their enthusiasm with a military salute, in a friendly but dignified way; he was aware of his popularity, he did not seek it, but accepted it as something which naturally belonged to him.

He passed through the courtyard with his companions, entered by the large portal, and ascended the steps which lead to the emperor's apartments.

The door of the ante-room was opened for him by the door-keeper with a low inclination. Deep silence reigned in the lofty spacious rooms, furnished with dark tables, high silken chairs, and heavy curtains hanging over enormous windows.

At the door which leads to the emperor's cabinet stood a life-guardsman in military position. The equerry on duty leant against a window-frame and looked down into the court-yard. He was a handsome young man, with short dark hair and moustache, and wore the simple dark-green uniform of the emperor's equerries, with the badge of a major; he advanced as the general entered, and saluted him.

Baron von Gablenz returned the greeting, and then especially saluted the life-guardsman, (each one of these holds the rank of captain, their own captain being Field-Marshal Count Wratislaw); he then held out his hand to the equerry.

"Well, dear Prince Liechtenstein, what have you all been doing in Vienna since I saw you last?"

"The clock of duty here pursues its everlasting round," returned the young prince: "we are not so fortunate as your excellency; we make no noise in the world, and are obliged to content ourselves with hearing of your valiant actions. You go to pluck fresh laurels----"

"Stop, my dear prince," interrupted the general; "we must not talk of laurels until they are won. But," he continued, "is his imperial majesty at leisure? I wish to be announced at once, and to return immediately to the army."

"Count Mensdorff has just gone in," returned the prince, "but he will be certain not to stay long, and as soon as he leaves I will announce you."

The general and Colonel von Bourguignon stepped into a window recess, whilst Prince Liechtenstein conversed with the aides-de-camp and Herr von Stielow.

Whilst this went on in the ante-room, the Emperor Francis Joseph stood before a large table covered with papers, books, and maps, in his well-lighted and simply furnished cabinet. He wore a comfortable loose grey overcoat after the Austrian military fashion. The expression of his face was very grave, and his hand rested lightly on the table, whilst he listened with deep interest to the statements of Count Mensdorff, who stood near him holding reports and despatches.

"That Prince Solms has not succeeded in effecting an alliance with King George of Hanover is most unfortunate," said the emperor: "we shall be unable to threaten the Prussians from that side, and we must do all we can to meet the whole of the enemy's forces in Bohemia, or let us hope in Saxony, for the decisive battle. Do you think an alliance between Hanover and Prussia is to be feared?"

"Certainly not, your majesty," returned Mensdorff; "the king will decline an alliance with Prussia, as with us. His Hanoverian majesty holds strictly to his neutrality, and will engage himself on neither side. I fear the king is placing himself in an isolated situation, which in his position, surrounded as he is by Prussian power, will prove most dangerous to his safety; yes, even to his crown."

"Your majesty," replied Mensdorff, "when the first cannon has been fired, Prussia will be utterly regardless of all national laws; and Hanover has long been the object of Prussian desires."

"So long as the sword of Austria is not shattered in my hand by the pitiless storm of war," cried the emperor proudly, "no German prince shall lose his crown."

Mensdorff was silent. The emperor paced the room hastily, and then stood again before his minister. "You do not believe in our success?" he said, with a penetrating look at the count.

"Your majesty, I wear the uniform of an Austrian general, and I stand before my emperor on the eve of a mighty war, when all the banners of the Imperial States will be unrolled. How would it beseem me to doubt the success of the Austrian arms?"

The emperor tapped his foot on the ground. "That is no answer," said he, "I question not the general, but the minister."

"I would," returned Mensdorff, "that I stood as a general before your majesty, or rather before your enemies; then my heart would be lighter;" and he added, almost gloomily, "then I should have greater hopes of victory, at least I could give my life to obtain it. As a minister," he continued after a momentary pause, "I have already given your majesty my opinion, and I can only again express my most earnest wish--that it will please you to take from me this weighty responsibility, and permit me to draw the sword."

"But my dear Mensdorff," he said, "I know your Austrian heart; does it not beat higher at the thought of again raising in Germany the ancient power of the house of Hapsburg, and of breaking the might of that dangerous rival who would root out Austria and my royal house from Germany, the old inheritance of my fathers? Shall I give up this opportunity, which perhaps may never again occur?"

"Your majesty cannot bear in your heart deeper love to Austria, nor greater pride in your noble house, than I," replied Count Mensdorff warmly; "and I would give the last drop of my blood to see you again enthroned from Rome to Frankfort, surrounded by the princes of the empire, as lord and leader of Germany; but----"

"But?" cried the emperor with kindling eyes. "Do you believe the object is to be attained without throwing the sword into the balance? That man in Berlin, himself, says, 'Blood and the Sword must regenerate Germany.' Now let the sword decide, and may the blood be upon him."

"I cannot," said Count Mensdorff, in a melancholy voice, "consider this opportunity as favourable; to open two theatres of war at once, is play which neither the present resources of Austria nor my hopes for her future justify; especially when one enemy is so powerful, and so untiringly energetic, that we shall need all our strength to withstand him."

"Energetic?" said the emperor softly: "at Olmütz the strong man quietly gave way."

"Olmütz will not be repeated; the Emperor Nicholas is dead, and between Alexander and us lies Sebastopol!"

"May I humbly suggest to your majesty's attention," said Count Mensdorff, after a moment's pause, during which he looked through his papers, "that the Duc de Gramont presses for an answer on the subject of the French Treaty, to be concluded on condition that we give up Venetia."

"No, your majesty; the ambassador declares that an undecided answer will be regarded as a definite refusal."

Count Mensdorff spoke slowly and calmly. "If your imperial majesty has decided, as indeed you have, to undertake at the present moment a mighty war for the re-establishment of the Austrian power in Germany, that object is great enough to set aside every other; it is noble and costly enough to demand a sacrifice. The house of Hapsburg was powerful in Europe without Venice, it has not obtained power with that province; on the contrary, many embarrassments, troubles, and difficulties. The war in Germany, and about Germany, would have greater chance of success if the enemy in the south were removed, our own army there set free, whilst our alliance with France would hinder Prussia from concentrating her army against us. The enemy would be occupied on two sides, whilst we should be able to throw our whole force on one point, and our present unfavourable position would be turned completely to our advantage. Under such a constellation a second Olmütz would be possible, or, if the sword decided, success would be far more certain. Your majesty," concluded Count Mensdorff, calmly meeting the emperor's searching, anxious gaze, "I would yield Venetia."

"Must I buy," he cried at last, "must I buy the position of my house in Germany,--must I buy the rights of my ancestors? And from whom? from this King of Italy, who has banished the princes of my race, who threatens the Church, and is even ready to attack the holy patrimony itself. No! no! Put yourself in my place, Count Mensdorff; you will own I cannot do it."

"Forgive me, your majesty," said the count, "but everything must be bought; every treaty is a purchase, and the more valuable the object obtained, the better the bargain. Austria's Italian position, and earlier policy, the correctness of which is doubtful, were given up with Lombardy. Venice cannot avail us much, and would be a hindrance to a possible alliance with Italy."

"You think of an alliance with Italy as possible?" cried the emperor with astonishment.

"Why not?" said Count Mensdorff, "if Italy has the whole of what is Italian, she has no further enmity with Austria, and would far rather be a close friend to her, than to France, with whom sooner or later she must struggle for the first place amongst the nations of Latin race."

"And the banished archdukes, and his Holiness the Head of the Church?" asked the emperor. "I cannot do it," he continued, gazing before him: "what would my uncle think, who is preparing to make Italy feel the sharpness of the Austrian sword--what would my whole family, what would history?--what would they say of me in Rome? When Italy is overcome," he said, after a moment's thought, "when we have attained our former eminence in Germany, then we can negotiate about Venice; if then, through this sacrifice, the safety of the Holy Father and the patrimony of St. Peter can be guaranteed----"

"If your majesty is victorious in Germany, we shall need no negotiations with Italy," said Count Mensdorff; "but----"

A knock at the door was heard, and the equerry on duty, Prince Liechtenstein, entered.

The emperor's eyes sparkled, and his hand trembled slightly as he tore off the cover of the telegram.

His eyes flew with the greatest anxiety over the lines. He turned deadly pale, and with his eyes still fixed on the paper he held in his hand, he sank upon the plain wooden chair before his writing-table. A short silence ensued, during which the emperor gasped for breath.

Count Mensdorff watched his imperial master with the greatest anxiety, but did not venture to interrupt the painful reflections in which he was plunged by the intelligence he had just received. At last the emperor roused himself.

The emperor passed his hand over his brow. "He begs me to make peace at any price. The army is not in a condition to fight, as he will explain hereafter."

"Your majesty cannot believe that the Field-Marshal and I have conspired. If he does not believe the army equal to the war which is before us--he, the man trusted by public opinion"--Count Mensdorff said this with an almost imperceptible smile,--"then there must be a strong foundation for my belief."

The emperor sprang to his feet and hastily rang the golden bell which stood upon his writing-table. The gentleman-in-waiting entered.

"General Baron Gablenz, with the chief of his staff and aides-de-camp," replied Prince Liechtenstein.

The prince immediately summoned the general and his companions. Baron Gablenz advanced towards the emperor.

"I beg your majesty, before my departure for the army, to permit me to express my humble thanks for the command you have bestowed upon me of the 10th corps, and for your gracious expressions of confidence in me."

The emperor replied, "This confidence, my dear general, is no favour, you have deserved it, and you will justify it by the fresh laurels which you will bind around the banners of Austria."

Baron Gablenz presented Colonel Bourguignon, his aides-de-camp, and Lieutenant von Stielow. The emperor said a few words to each in his usually gracious and engaging way. To Herr von Stielow he said--

"Yours will perhaps be a divided heart; for I fear your Fatherland will be compelled to stand on the side of our enemy."

"Your majesty," replied the young officer with emotion, "so long as I wear this uniform, my Fatherland is where your royal banners wave. My heart is Austrian." He placed his hand on his breast, and pressed closer to his heart the rose he had received the evening before.

Prince Liechtenstein opened the door with the words, "General Count Crenneville."

The emperor's adjutant-general entered. He wore undress uniform. His sharply-cut features of the French type, his short black moustache, and bright dark eyes, belied the fifty years which the general bore.

"I thank you, gentlemen," said the emperor, turning to Baron Gablenz's staff. "I hope the campaign will give you opportunities of performing fresh services to me and to the Fatherland. I beg you to remain, Baron Gablenz."

The emperor seized the dispatch, and said, "I have just received this telegram, on which I desire your opinion. The field-marshal," he continued, his voice trembling a little, "begs me to make peace, as the army is in no condition to fight."

"What do you say, Baron Gablenz?" said the emperor to the general, who had remained silent.

He hesitated a moment before replying, whilst the emperor's eyes seemed to hang upon his lips.

"Your majesty, the field-marshal must have most cogent reasons for his request; usually he fears no danger, and dashing boldness, rather than cautious prudence, is his characteristic."

"Your majesty's brave and brilliant army unfit to fight!" cried Count Crenneville; "how can the field-marshal justify such ideas?"

Count Crenneville shrugged his shoulders in silence, whilst Baron Gablenz asked, "Can your majesty still make peace?"

"If I place Austria for ever in the second rank in Germany, or rather if I permit her to be thrust out from Germany--yes; if I give Prussia a double revenge for Olmütz--yes! otherwise I cannot."

Count Crenneville looked anxiously at the general, who stood lost in thought. "Your majesty," he said at last, in a quiet, impressive voice, "no one can rate the power of our enemy higher than I. I have been with Prussia in the field, and I know her material and moral power. Both are immense; her arms are excellent, and the needle-gun is a frightful weapon. If we alone were opposed to Prussia, I should go to the war with a heavy heart. I am reassured by our German Confederation."

"It is not the military contingent alone that I throw into the balance," continued Baron Gablenz, "but the fact that these separate armies will absorb the Prussian troops, and compel the enemy to a complicated campaign. Had I been able to remain in Hanover, this advantage would have been still greater. However, even without that combination Prussia must fight with very divided forces, whilst we shall be able to concentrate our army. This, your majesty, is my comfort; in this rests my hope of success, however severe may be the conflict. This is my opinion as a general. As to the condition of the army and its fitness for a battle, I cannot speak until I have seen it, and know the reasons for the field-marshal's judgment. On the political situation I need not hazard my ideas, neither would your majesty probably care to possess them; this only would I say, if Austria's honour is engaged I would refuse to yield; a lost battle even is less hurtful than to retreat without having drawn the sword."

The general ceased speaking, and for a few moments silence prevailed in the cabinet.

"Gentlemen," said the emperor, "the questions before me are of so difficult a nature, that they require careful investigation and calm reflection. In an hour I will decide; and I will give to you, Count Crenneville, the answer to the field-marshal, and at the same time you, Count Mensdorff, shall receive a reply to the question you have brought before me."

"Shall the motion be made immediately to the Confederation for the mobilization of the armies of the un-Prussianized States, as your majesty has desired?" inquired Count Mensdorff.

"Certainly," cried the emperor, "it is necessary that the German States should own to their colours, and that the armies of the Confederation should be placed in the field. I am of the opinion of Baron Gablenz that on this our safety greatly depends."

With a friendly nod he dismissed the gentlemen; then approaching General von Gablenz he took his hand, and said, "God be with you! may He bless your sword, and give me fresh cause to be grateful to you."

Gablenz bent over the emperor's hand, and said with emotion, "My blood, my life, belong to you and Austria!"

The emperor remained alone. Several times he hastily paced his cabinet; then he seated himself at his writing-table, and turned over some papers quickly, without looking at their contents.

"What a frightful position!" he exclaimed; "every feeling of my heart urges me to act against this German calamity, which like a wasting sickness, like a gnawing worm, eats into the heart of Austria, and devours her power and her greatness. My hereditary blood urges me to pick up the glove, half scornfully, half threateningly thrown down so long ago by the dangerous, deadly enemy of my race. The voice of the German people calls me--and my minister counsels retreat, my general hesitates at the moment of decision! Can the thought be true which like a black mountain has oppressed my heart in my dark hours? Am I predestined to bring misfortune on my beloved, beautiful Austria, the glorious inheritance of my great ancestors? Will my name be linked in history with the setting of the Hapsburg star, the fall of the empire?"

"Oh! that thou couldst stand beside me, thou great Spirit, with thy strong noble heart, with thy clear intellect, and unconquerable will, to guide the rudder of the Austrian empire: thou whose calm proud strength shattered the power of the hellish giant who had dismembered the world! oh, that I had a Metternich! What would he counsel, that mighty mind, whom none understood, whom none can understand, because between his inner life and the world the proud words of Horace stand inscribed: 'Odi profanum vulgus et arceo!'"

He suddenly seized his bell. "Let States-Chancellor Klindworth come immediately," he commanded, as the gentleman-in-waiting entered; "seek him in the office of state." The gentleman-in-waiting withdrew.

"He alone," said the emperor, "yet survives from the times of Austria's greatness, when the threads of all European policy were gathered together in our offices of state, when Metternich's ear was in every cabinet, and his hand linked together the acts of every government. He, it is true, was only the tool of the great statesman, not the confidant of his thoughts--he was not Metternich, no, not Metternich, but he laboured with him in working the wonderful machine--and his quick penetrating mind seized the spirit of the whole, at least in some degree. When he speaks to me, I seem to see that old, rich, many-coloured period, and to know, as if by inspiration, what Metternich would do if he still were the friend and adviser of the house of Hapsburg. I have the will, the power to work,--the courage to fight. Why is wisdom so hard?"

The emperor leant his head on his hand, and sat in deep thought. The gentleman-in-waiting opened the door leading to the inner apartments, and announced, "States-Chancellor Klindworth awaits your majesty's commands." The emperor raised his head and made a sign that he should enter at once.

Through the opened door advanced this extraordinary man, who began his remarkable career as a schoolmaster in the neighbourhood of Hildesheim; he then for a short time played a public part as state-chancellor at the court of Duke Charles of Brunswick, and after the tragic fall of that prince became one of the most skilful and zealous of Metternich's agents. He was involved in all the most important political transactions, and had had relations with every sovereign and minister in Europe; yet he so skilfully enveloped himself in obscurity, that only those most initiated in political circles had ever seen him, or spoken to him.

Klindworth was now a man of about seventy years of age, broad shouldered, and strongly built. His head, which was so pressed down between his shoulders that it seemed to lurk there in concealment, was covered with grey hair, fast turning white, and his face was of such extraordinary ugliness, that it attracted and riveted attention more than the highest order of beauty. His small eyes glittered quick and piercing beneath thick grey eyebrows, and with their keen glances, which they never directed straight at any other eyes, seized on everything worthy of remark within their range of sight.

His wide mouth, with its thin bloodless lips, was firmly closed, and quite concealed in the middle by his long thick nose, which spread out to an enormous breadth towards the lower part. He wore a long brown overcoat closely buttoned, and a white neck-cloth, and his manner was completely that of a worthy old tradesman who had retired from business. No one would have imagined him to be a most dexterous and far-travelled political agent; the art so much practised in his political life, never to appear, but always to remain in the darkest background, he seemed to exercise in his appearance; it would have been impossible better to have represented the image of a modest unimportant person.

He entered, bowed deeply, and approached within two or three steps of the emperor; he then stood still with a most respectful bearing, and without uttering a word. His quick eyes examined the monarch, and were instantly sunk again to the ground.

"I have sent for you, dear Klindworth," said Francis Joseph, with a slight bend of the head, "because I am desirous of hearing your views on my present position. You know how much I like to hear how things mirror themselves in your mind, which has lived through the experiences of a past great time."

"Your imperial majesty is too gracious," returned Herr Klindworth, in a low, but distinct and penetrating voice. "The rich treasures of experience obtained in a long political life are always at the command of my gracious monarch; as my great master Prince Metternich said--'The past is the best corrective and the truest barometer for the present.' The faults of the past are seen with all their results and consequences, and from them we may learn to avoid the blunders into which present events are leading us."

"Quite right," said the emperor, "quite right, only in the past, in your past, few blunders were committed; but what do you consider would be the most dangerous error which could now be made?"

Without hesitation, Klindworth replied, raising his eyes from the ground for a moment, and fixing them on the emperor:--

"Wherefore has your majesty chosen me for this high honour?" asked Klindworth, instead of replying to the question. "Your majesty shall hear my plain humble opinion, though its weight be but as a grain of sand in the balance. You have yourself not decided," and he assumed a more humble and modest manner than before.

CHAPTER VII.

THE DUEL AND THE ROSE.

CHAPTER VIII.

FRANCIS JOSEPH II.