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?"