Then she vanished. A few days later, the duke found a letter in an unknown writing on his table, and opened it.
It was dated 17 November, and contained the following lines:—
"PRINCE,—I write to you for the third time. Tell me if you have received my letters, and whether you mean to act as an Austrian archduke or as a French prince. In the first case, deliver up my letters: by destroying me you will acquire a more lofty position, and this act of devotion will redound to your glory. But if, on the contrary, you take advantage of my advice, if you play the man, you shall see how obstacles will give way before a calm and strong will. You will find a thousand means of speaking to me, which I cannot compass alone. You can only have hope in yourself: do not let the thought of putting confidence in some one else even enter your mind! You know that if I asked to see you even before a hundred witnesses my request would be refused; you know that you are dead to all that is French and to your family. In the name of the horrible tortures to which the king of Europe has condemned your father; in thinking of that anguish of banishment by which they have made him expiate the crime of being too generous towards them, remember that you are his son, that his dying looks were settled on your face; steep yourself in these horrors, and impose upon them the punishment of seeing you seated on the throne of France! Take advantage of this chance, prince!... I have perhaps said too much: my fate is in your hands, and I can tell you that if you make use of my letters to destroy me the thought of your cowardice will give me more suffering than anything they may make me endure! The man who hands you this letter is commissioned also to bring back your reply. If you are honourable you will not refuse me one.
"NAPOLEONE CAMERATA"
This letter frightened the young prince dreadfully: it was an appeal straight, clear and positive. "Are you an Austrian archduke or a French prince?" That was the question. The duke opened his heart to the Chevalier de Prokesch concerning this incident and the uneasiness it caused him.
"You know very well," he said to him, "that I shall not take as guide of my conduct, and as guarantors of my future, persons of so exalted a character; but I find myself in a genuinely embarrassing position. It is due to my feelings towards the emperor (when the Duc de Reichstadt talks of the emperor he always means the Emperor Francis II.), as also to the dignity of my situation, that I should not hide either my troubles or my doings; it would seem acting wrongly to him to be silent about this circumstance. On the other hand, I do not wish to injure the countess; she is wanting in prudence, but she has a right to my consideration.... Besides, she is a woman. Yet my first duty is towards the emperor. Could you not go to the Comte de Dietrichstein for me, and confide to him what has happened, and ask him to settle matters so that the Comtesse Camerata shall not be put to any persecution or any unpleasantness and not be compelled to go away from Vienna?"
After looking carefully into the affair, the Chevalier de Prokesch approved of the prince's resolution, and willingly undertook the mission His Highness had confided to him. Next day he received a note as follows:—
"Since I saw you I have received a fresh letter from the Comtesse Camerata. It was d'Obenaus' valet de chambre who put the first one on my table, which I confided to your care—send it me back; it is expedient and necessary for me to speak of it to Obenaus. I will arrange things so as to avoid all mischief-making and scandal; but I will not reply. Let there be no further question about that. I hope to see you at six o'clock to resume our reading.
FRANÇOIS DE REICHSTADT"
Although the Comtesse Camerata had received no reply, she did not look upon herself as beaten. At the risk of what might happen to her, she still remained for three weeks in Vienna, putting herself everywhere in the prince's path: at the theatre, at Prater and at Schönbrünn. But the Duc de Reichstadt showed no signs of knowing her! Tired of this silence, she finally went away to Prague. The prince's conduct met with its reward: that same month the emperor—the Emperor Francis II. of course—made him a lieutenant-colonel; but, as though fate wished to make him understand that he must be Cæsar or nothing—Aut Cæsar aut nihil—at the first words of command he tried to utter his voice became hoarse, and he was obliged to discontinue his duty. A frequent cough followed the hoarseness. The prince fell ill of the disease which was to cause his death.
Let us hear what his own doctor said about it—Dr. Malfatti:—