CHAPTER LXXXVII.
THE FORCED BRIDAL.
The ceremony was to take place at eleven o'clock. The imperial carriage of state was at the door; and behind it stood the gilded coaches of Counts Esterhazy and Starhemberg. The former had been awaiting the appearance of his bride for two hours; but to all his tender messages she had curtly replied that she would come when she was ready.
"I fear she will play us some dreadful trick," sighed the old count.
"My dear count," returned Esterhazy, "no man would be so presuming as to thwart the empress."
"Perhaps not—but my niece has more character than some men."
"What have I done for her to scorn me as she does!" cried the unhappy little bridegroom.
"You have opposed her, that is all. My niece is an Amazon, and cannot bear to give up her heart at another's will! Had she been left free, it might have been otherwise."
"Do you really think she will come to love me?" asked Esterhazy, surveying his diminutive comeliness in the mirror opposite.
"I am quite sure of it, and so is the emperor. Take courage, then; bear with her whims for a while; they are nothing but harmless summer lightnings. Do not heed the storm; think of the flowers that will spring up to beautify your life, when the showers of her tears shall have passed away."
"Oh, I will be patient. She shall exhaust herself."
Here the door opened, and the countess's maid entered with a request that Count Esterhazy would follow her to her lady's apartment.
The count kissed his hand to Count Starhemberg and hurried away. When he entered the countess's sitting-room, she was standing in all the pride of her bridal attire, and seemed more transcendently beautiful than ever. The court-dress, with its long trail, heightened the elegance of her figure, and the silver-spotted veil, that fell to her feet, enveloped her like a white evening cloud. But how little did her face accord with this superb festive dress Her cheek was deadly pale; her exquisite mouth was writhing with anguish, and her great, glowing eyes darted glances of fiery hatred.
"You really have the courage to persevere, Count Esterhazy? You will perpetrate the crime of marriage with me?"
"When a man opens his arms to receive the most enchanting woman that ever was sent on earth, do you call that a crime?" said Esterhazy, tenderly.
An impatient shrug was the answer to this attempt at gallantry.
"Have I not told you that you would earn nothing for your reward but my hatred? In the despair of my heart, have I not told you that I love another man? Oh, you have come to tell me that you spare me the sacrifice—have you not? You will not force a helpless girl to marry you, who does so only to escape a convent—will you? Oh, tell me that you have summoned manliness enough to resist the empress, and to give me my freedom!"
"I have summoned manliness enough to resist you; and bearing your anger, I am resolved to take the bewitching woman to wife whom my generous empress has selected for me."
"You are a contemptible coward!" cried she.
"I forgive you the epithet, because I am in love," replied he, with a smile.
"But if you have no pity for me," cried she wildly, "have pity on yourself. You have seen how I treat my uncle, and yet I love him dearly. Think what your fate will be, since I hate you immeasurably."
"Ah," said he, "can you expect me to be more merciful to myself than to you? No, no! I rely upon my love to conquer your hate. It will do so all in good time."
"As there is a God in heaven, you will rue this hour!" cried Margaret with mingled defiance and despair.
"Come, countess, come. The empress and her son await us in the court-chapel."
Margaret shivered, and drew her veil around her. She advanced toward the door, but as the count was in the act of opening it, she laid her two hands upon his arm, and held him back. "Have mercy with my soul!" sobbed she. "It is lost if I become your wife. I have a stormy temper, and sorrow will expand it into wickedness. I feel that I shall be capable of crime if you force me to this marriage."
"Gracious Heaven!" cried the count, pettishly, "if you abhor me to such a degree, why do you not go into a convent?"
"I had resolved to do so, for the convent is less repulsive to me than a home in your palace; but I could not bring myself to the sacrifice. No!—Were I to be immured within those convent walls, I should forever be shut out from the sight of him whom I love. Do you hear this? Do you hear that I marry you only to be free to see him, to hear his voice, to catch one glance of his eye as he passes me in the crowd? Oh, you will not take to wife a woman who meditates such perjury as this! You will not give your father's name to her who is going to the altar with a lie upon her lips and a crime upon her soul! Go-tell all this to the empress. Tell her that you will not disgrace your noble house by a marriage with me! Oh, Count Esterhazy, be merciful, be merciful!"
"Impossible, countess, impossible; were it even possible for me to belie you by such language. I shall not see the empress until we stand before the altar together, and then she will be in her oratorium, far beyond my reach."
"Yes, yes, you can reject nie at the altar. Oh, see how I humble myself! I am on my knees before you. Spurn me from you in the face of the whole world!"
Count Esterhazy looked thoughtful. Unhappily, the countess on her knees was more beautiful than ever; so that remembering her uncle's words, he said to himself
"Yes-I will humor her-I must feign to yield."
He stretched out his hands, saying, "Rise, countess. It does not become a sovereign to kneel before her slave. I have no longer the power to oppose your will. Before the altar, I will say `No' to the priest's question, and you shall be free."
The countess uttered a loud cry of joy, and rose to her feet. And as her pale cheek kindled with hope, and her eyes beamed with happiness, she was more beautiful than she had ever been in her life before, and Count Esterhazy exulted over it.
"God bless you!" exclaimed she, with a heavenly smile. "You have earned my affection now; for my life I vow to love you as a cherished brother. Come, dear, generous, noble friend, come. Let us hasten to the chapel."
It was she now who opened the door. Count Starhemberg awaited them in the drawing-room. Margaret flew to meet him, and embracing him, said
"Do I not look like a happy bride now? Come, uncle, come, dear Count
Esterbazy, let us go to our bridal."
She took Esterhazy's arm, and be placed her in the carriage. The old count followed, in speechless wonder.
At the door of the chapel, they were met by the empress's first lady of honor, who conducted the bride to the altar. The emperor walked by the side of Count Esterhazy. The face of the countess was radiant with happiness, and all who saw her confessed that she was lovely beyond all description.
And now the ceremonial began. The priest turned to Count Esterhazy and asked him if he took the Countess Maragret von Starhemberg for his wedded wife—to love, honor, and cherish her until death should them divide.
There was a pause, and Margaret looked with a bright smile at the face of her bridegroom. But the eyes of the spectators were fixed upon him in astonishment, and the brow of the empress grew stormy.
"Will you take this woman for your wedded wife?" repeated the priest.
"I will," said Esterhazy, in a loud firm voice.
A cry escaped from the lips of Margaret. She was so faint that she reeled and would have fallen, but for the friendly support of an arm that sustained her, and the witching tones of a voice that whispered: "Poor girl, remember that a cloister awaits you." She recognized the voice of the emperor; and overcoming her weakness, the courage of despair came to her help.
She raised herself from Joseph's arms and taking the vinaigrette that was tendered her by the lady of honor, she inhaled its reviving aroma; then she looked at the priest.
He continued, and repeated his solemn question to her. Etiquette required that before she answered, she should have the sanction of the empress. The countess turned, with a low inclination, to the lady of honor, who, in her turn, courtesied deeply to the empress.
Maria Theresa bowed acquiescence, and the bride, having thanked her with another courtesy, turned once more to the priest and said, "Yes."
The ceremony was over, and the young couple received the congratulations of the court. Even the empress herself descended from the oratorium to meet them.
"I have chosen a very excellent husband for you," said she, smiling, "and I have no doubt you will be a very happy woman." "It must be so, of course, your majesty," replied the bride; "for had your majesty not ascertained that this marriage had been made in heaven, you would not have ordered it on earth, I presume." Maria Theresa darted a look of anger at the countess, and turning her back upon such presumption, offered her good wishes to the count.
"What did you say, to irritate the empress so?" whispered Joseph to the bride.
Margaret repeated her words. "That was a bold answer," said he.
"Has your majesty ever taken me for a coward? I think I have shown preter-human courage this day."
"What! Because you have married Count Esterhazy? Believe me, you will be the happiest of tyrants, and he the humblest of your slaves."
"I will show him that slaves deserve the lash!" cried she, with a look of hatred at her husband, who came forward to conduct her to the palace, where the marriage guests were now to be received.
The festivities of the day over, the empress's lady of honor conducted the countess to her new home. It was the duty of this lady to assist the bride in removing her rich wedding-dress, and assuming the costly neglige which lay ready prepared for her on a lounge in her magnificent dressing-room.
But the countess imperiously refused to change her dress. "Have the goodness," said she, "to say to her majesty, that you conducted me to my dressing-room. You can say further," added she, hearing the door open, "that you left me with Count Esterhazy."
She pointed to the count, who entered, greeting the ladies with a respectful bow.
"I will leave you, then," said the lady, kissing Marearet's forehead.
"May Heaven bless you!"
Count Esterhazy was now alone with his wife. With a radiant smile and both hands outstretched, he came toward her.
"Welcome to my house, beautiful Margaret! From this hour you reign supreme in the palace of the Esterhazys."
The countess stepped back. "Do not dare to touch my hand. A gulf yawns between us; and if you attempt to bridge it, I will throw you, headlong, into its fiery abyss."
"What gulf? Point it out to me, that I may bridge it with my love," cried Esterhazy.
"The gulf of my contempt," said she, coldly. "You are a coward and a liar. You have deceived a woman who trusted herself to your honor; and God in heaven, who would not hear my prayers, God shall be the witness of my vengeance. Oh, you shall repent from this hour to come, that ever you called me wife! I scorn to be a liar like you, and I tell you to beware. I will revenge myself for this accursed treachery."
"I do not fear your revenge, for you have a noble heart. The day will come when I shall be forgiven for my deception. Heaven is always clement toward the repentant sinner; and you are my heaven, Margaret. I await the day of mercy."
"Such mercy as Heaven has shown to me, I shall show to you," cried she.
"And now, sir, leave this room. I have nothing more to say to you."
"What, Margaret!" said Esterhazy, with an incredulous smile, "you would deny me the sweet right of visiting your room? Chide, if you will; but be not so cruel. Let me have the first kiss—"
As he attempted to put his arms around her, Margaret uttered a fearful cry. Freeing herself with such violence that Esterhazy reeled backward with the shock, she exclaimed:
"You are worse than a coward, for you would take advantage of rights which my hatred has annulled forever."
"But, Margaret, my wife—"
"Count Esterhazy," said Margaret slowly, "I forbid you ever to use that word in this room. Before the world I must endure the humiliation of being called your wife; but once over the threshold of my own room, I am Margaret Starhemberg, and you shall never know me as any other Margaret. Now go!"
She pointed to the door; and as the count looked into her face, where passion was so condensed that it almost resembled tranquillity, he had not the hardihood to persist. He felt that he had gained his first and last victory.
As soon as he had passed the door, Margaret locked and bolted it; then, alone with the supreme anguish that had been crushed for these long, long hours, she fell upon her knees, and wept until the morning-star looked down upon her agony.