"Yes," said Leopold, mournfully; "for I love those poor Hungarians, though they be heretics and rebels, and I long for the rising of the sun of peace upon their unhappy land. O Kircher, if we could but be at peace abroad and at home, how happily would our days glide by! My court should be the paradise of poetry and love, the home of art, and the temple of all wisdom and science."
"Your majesty is already the patron of all the arts; and artists are proud to hail you as their brother. Are you not both a composer of music and a performer? Do you not rival Hermann, Schildbach, and Hamilton, in painting? And did you not astonish Fisher von Erlach with the suggestions you offered him in the planning of the palace of Schonbrunn? And in all your majesty's dominions, is there a bolder horseman, a more valiant sportsman, a more graceful dancer than yourself?"
"To hear you, Kircher," said Leopold, laughing, "one would suppose that you were describing the attributes of Phoebus-Apollo."
"And so I am," laughed Kircher; "for out of the letters of your majesty's name, Leopoldus A, did not Sigismund von Birken compose the anagram, 'Deus Apollo?'"
"It is very easy to make anagrams by misplacing a few letters, my dear Kircher; but to convert a poor terrene German emperor into a Magnus-Apollo, would require the upheaval of mountains by Titan hands, from now until the millennium. I would be content to be myself, were I regarded as a beneficent and peace-loving monarch. Consilio et Industria is the motto of my choice—a motto, which, though inappropriate to a god, is pertinent as the device of a Leopold. I would wish to govern with judgment, and labor industriously for the welfare of my people, accepting with Christian resignation whatever it pleases my Maker to apportion. All I ask of Providence is some little leisure for the cultivation of my favorite art. From music I derive such indescribable enjoyment, that, if I could, I would die within hearing of its delicious melody. And, since I have said so much, Kircher, I will go on to request of you, that when my end draws near, you will attend to the fulfilment of my wish."
"A melancholy duty you assign to me, gracious sovereign," sighed Kircher. "But if I outlive you, it shall be lovingly performed. Let us hope, however, for Austria's sake, that you will survive me by many years."
"Life and death are in the hands of God," returned Leopold, reverently. "And now let us speak of matters less serious. Here is the score of a new opera, lately sent to me from Rome. It is called 'La Principessa Fidele,' and is composed by Scarlatti, who, as you know, is winning a great reputation."
"Yes," growled Kircher. "he is winning reputation by tickling the ears with soft strains which convey no meaning to the heart."
"Well, well, maestro, let us hear, before we decide," replied
Leopold, laughing.
Kircher placed the score upon the desk of the spinet, and began to play. The emperor threw himself back again into his arm-chair, and, closing his eyes, listened with an expression of great satisfaction.