CHAPTER CLX.
THE REPULSE.
The aristocracy of Vienna were in a state of extreme excitement. It was whispered from one noble to another, that the Aulic Council had condemned Count Podstadsky-Liechtenstein for life to the house of correction, and he was to sweep the streets in the garb of a common criminal. [Footnote: This was in accordance with the new Josephine code.] This was not all. Another fearful announcement had fallen like a bolt upon the heads of the most illustrious families in Vienna. For some weeks past, Count Szekuly had been missing. His servants had given out that he had gone to visit his relatives in Hungary; but they seemed so embarrassed and uneasy, that no one believed them. Colonel Szekuly had many powerful friends. He was an intimate associate of all the Hungarian noblemen in Vienna, and hard long been a welcome guest wherever the fashionable world had assembled. Moreover, he was the adorer of the most admired woman in Vienna, the lovely Countess Baillou.
She, too, had disappeared. Where could they be? Was it accident, or had she responded to his love, and left a world of worshippers, to live for him alone?
Finally the mystery was solved. A few days after the arrest of
Podstadsky, Szekuly also had been arrested. It was now well known that
Podstadsky had forged notes; but it was impossible to suspect a man of
Szekuly's unimpeachable character of any connection with a crime of that
nature.
Unhappily, however, though less in degree, the accusation against Szekuly was similar in kind. He was a defaulter; and from the coffers of his regiment (which were confided to his care) sixty thousand florins had disappeared.
The Countess Baillou was his accuser. She had been charged with being a party to Podstadsky's fraud, but he, as well as Szekuly, had loudly declared her innocence. Both had avowed themselves to be her lovers, and it was ascertained that her household had been maintained at Podstadsky'a cost. As his mistress, she had received many of his bank-notes, but he protested that she knew nothing of his forgeries. He confessed his own guilt, but firmly upheld her innocence. So far from being his accomplice, Podstadsky declared that she had been his victim.
But a coffer containing twenty thousand ducats had been found upon the person of the countess. This money had not been given her by Podstadaky, since he had nothing but forged notes to give. The countess, when questioned, answered unhesitatingly, that one half the sum she had won at play, and the other half she had received as a present from Colonel Szekuly. It was well known that Szekuly had not the means of bestowing such princely gifts; yet, when informed of the countess's charge, he had grown pale, but replied that the countess had spoken nothing but truth.
Suspicion was aroused; the strong box of the regiment was examined, and found empty! Von Szekuly acknowledged that he had taken the money, believing in good faith that, by the sale of certain deeds in his possession, he would be able to replace it at short notice. But where were these papers? They could not be found, and Szekuly refused to give any account of them. He was guilty, he said, and must submit to his fate. Colonel von Szekuly, a Hungarian baron, under sentence for theft! This was a blot upon the escutcheon of more than one illustrious family. But the emperor, in framing his severe code, had reserved to himself the right to pardon; and this right, it was hoped, he would exercise in favor of the high-born criminals. It was not possible that he intended to humiliate the nobility of Austria so cruelly as to condemn two of them to the pillory, to the sweeping of the streets, to be chained to two common felons for life! [Footnote: Hubner, ii., p. 383]
No!—this was an outrage which the emperor would never dare to perpetrate, for it would arouse the bitter animosity of the whole aristocracy. Still it would be better to petition him at once, and warn him of his peril.
He was petitioned, but his invariable reply was, that the law must decide. It was known, however, that the sentence was not signed, and there was still hope. But how to reach the emperor? Since the council had pronounced judgment on the criminals, Joseph had granted audience to no one; he had avoided all proximity to the nobles, and to secure himself from importunity, had ceased to ride in the park, contenting himself with a daily drive in his cabriolet. Finally the petitioners remembered the "Controlorgang," and thither they repaired early in the morning. Ladies, as well as lords, came on foot, that the emperor might not be warned by the sound of their rolling equipages to deny himself again. They were the first to enter the palace on that day, and were so numerous that no other petitioners could obtain entrance. On that occasion, then, they were among their peers, and the canaille would never know how count and countess, baron and baroness, had humbled themselves for the sake of their caste.
As soon as Gunther opened the door, they rushed into the small room which was called the Controlorgang, and there, with beating hearts, awaited the entrance of the all-powerful emperor.
He came, and when he saw who were the petitioners of the day, his countenance expressed astonishment: but he did not depart from his usual habit, and walked slowly down the middle of the room, extending his hand to receive the petitions.
"How?" said he, when he had reached the last person, "Count Lampredo, you have nothing to present! You all desire to speak with me? I fear that my time is too short to gratify you."
"Sire, we have but one petition to make," said the count, speaking for the others. "One common misfortune threatens us all—"
"What can it be"
"Oh, your majesty," cried he, fervently, "have mercy upon Count
Podstadsky and Baron von Szekuly!"
"Mercy, sire, mercy for Podstadsky and Szekuly!" cried the noble petitioners with one accord, while all knelt before the astounded emperor.
He surveyed them with an angry frown. "Rise, all of you," said he. "Have you forgotten that kneeling has been abolished here? The Spanish customs which were once so popular in the palace, are unbecoming in this room, where all who enter it are nothing but petitioners seeking justice at my hands."
"And mercy, sire!" added Count Lampredo, imploringly.
"And mercy which can be conceded only so far as it is perfectly compatible with justice."
"Mercy, gracious emperor, mercy for Podstadsky and Szekuly!" reiterated the petitioners.
"You ask for mercy which wounds justice, and I repeat that I cannot grant the one without the other. Count Podstadsky, through his frauds, has ruined thousands of my subjects; Baron von Szekuly has stolen sixty thousand florins, and both these men have disgraced their births and titles."
"Allow Szekuly to be tried by a military court, sire. They at least would shield him from dishonor, for they would sentence him to death."
"He has committed a vulgar crime and he shall be punished according to the burghers' code. That code ignores capital punishment."
"But its punishments are more fearful than death, sire. A man is thrice dead who has lost liberty, honor, and name. The man who in manacles sweeps the public streets, or tugs at the car, is a thousand times more to be pitied than he who lays his head upon the block. Oh, sire, it cannot be that you would consign a nobleman to such contumely!"
"No, I honor the nobleman too much to brand him with such infamy," replied the emperor, hastily. "But if a cavalier commits a crime, I disfranchise him at once; and, stripped of name, title, and privileges, I hand him over to the law which regards him exactly as it does any other base-born villain. [Footnote: Joseph's own words. See Hubner, ii., p. 432.] Be comforted, then. These criminals are no longer noblemen, and have nothing in common with you."
"Oh, sire, do not say so; for their shame is reflected upon us all!"
"How?" exclaimed Joseph, with affected surprise, "are you all thieves and forgers?"
"No, sire; but our honor suffers through their dishonor. Oh, your majesty, in the name of the illustrious families who for centuries have been the loyal subjects of your house, save our escutcheons from this foul blot!"
"Save us, sire, save us from infamy!" echoed the others.
"No!" exclaimed the emperor. "He who is not ashamed of the crime will not be ashamed of the disgrace. If, for the sake of his rank, a man is to have the privilege of being a villain, where, then, is justice? [Footnote: Ibid.] Not another word of this! My forbearance is exhausted; for I have sought by every means to convince you that, as a sovereign, I shall show partiality to no order of men. Podstadsky and Szekuly shall suffer to the full extent of the law, for the worth of their ancestors cannot wipe out their own unworthiness."
The emperor withdrew, and when the door closed behind him, many an eye there flashed with hatred, and many a compressed lip told of meditated vengeance for the indignity suffered by a powerful order at his hands that day.
"Our humiliation, then, has been of no avail!" muttered Count Lampredo, "and the nobles of Austria must suffer disgrace because of the obstinate cruelty of the man who should uphold them."
"But we will be revenged!" whispered Count Hojada, a near relative of Szekuly's. "The sovereign who, like Joseph, heaps obloquy upon a nobility, some of whom are his equals in descent, is lost! The emperor shall remember this hour, and rue it also!"
"Yes," said another, "he shall repent this day. We are all of one mind, are we not, friends?"
"Ay," muttered they, with gnashing teeth. "He shall pay dearly for this!"