"Then recreate your mind, sire, with literature or art. It is long since the speaking tones of your violoncello have been heard in the palace."
"Very true, Gunther, but I cannot invite the Muses into my study. A prince has no right to associate with such frivolous ladies, for he is not on earth to pass away time. The King of Prussia heads a royal sect who devote themselves to authorship. The Empress of Russia follows after him with Voltaire in her hand. I cannot emulate their literary greatness. I read to learn, and travel to enlarge my ideas; and I flatter myself that as I encourage men of letters, I do them a greater service than I would, were I to sit at a desk and help them to weave sonnets. [Footnote: The emperor's own words. "Letters of Joseph," p. 67.] So let us eschew Apollo and his light-footed companions; I aim to be nothing but an imperial statesman. But," continued the emperor, frowning, "I get little sympathy from my subjects. Counsellors, nobles, burghers, priests, all heap obstacle upon obstacle in my path, and the work advances slowly. The revenues, too, are inadequate to the state. The financial affairs of the crown are disordered, and it is only by the strictest economy that I am able to sustain the army. The people call me a miser, because Maria Theresa's prodigality of expenditure forces upon me measures of retrenchment, and necessitates unusual expedients for the raising of funds."
"Which unhappily were extorted from convents and shrines."
"Unhappily! HAPPILY, you mean to say. The treasures which were wasted on convent-chapels and shrines, have saved us from bankruptcy; and God will look down with favor upon the sacrifice which dead superstition has made to living love, and will bestow a blessing upon the work of my hands! True, those heroes of darkness, the monks and priests, will cry Anathema! and the earth will be filled with their howls."
"Like that which greeted Alcides, when he stormed the gates of
Tartarus," said Gunther, smiling.
"You are right. The work is worthy of Alcides, but with the blessing of God it shall be done. Little care I for the wail of nuns or the groans of priests; let them shriek and tear their hair, or, if they like it better, let them vent their spleen in lampoons and caricatures. See, Gunther, what a compliment I received yesterday."
And the emperor drew from his escritoire a paper which he unfolded. "Look at this. It takes off one of my great crimes. You know I have deprived the court of the privilege of living in the palace, and I have given them wherewith to find lodgings in the city. Here go the ladies with their bundles under their arms, and the lord high-steward has a broom sweeping after them as they go. This charming individual in the corner with a hunting-whip, is myself. And here is the pith of the joke. 'Rooms to let here. Inquire of the proprietor on the first floor.' [Footnote: Hubner, i., p. 190.] What do you think of it?"
"Abominable! Inconceivable!" ejaculated Gunther. "As unjust as it is stinging."
"It does not sting me. I have a sound hide. When it itches it is cured by scratching. [Footnote: Joseph's own words.] Here is another pasquinade. It was thrown before my horse's feet as I was riding in the park."
"'Joseph Premier, aimable et charmant: Joseph Seconde, scorpion et tyran.'"