by L. Mühlbach
PRINCES ALSO MUST DIE
Yes, even princes must die, glorious and lofty as they are, proudly asthey stand over their trembling subjects! Even to them comes the darkhour in which all the borrowed and artistically-combined tinsel of theirlives falls from them; a dark hour, in which they tremble and repent,and pray to God for what they seldom granted to their fellow-men--mercy!Mercy for those false tales which they have imposed upon the people,for those false tales of the higher endowments of princes, of inheritedwisdom which raises them above the rest of mankind--mercy for theirarbitrariness, their pride, and their insolence--mercy for a poorbeggar, who, until then, had called himself a rich and powerful prince.
And this hour came for Elizabeth. After twenty years of splendor, ofabsolute, unlimited power, of infallibility, of likeness to the gods,came the depressing hour in which Elizabeth ceased to be an empress, andbecame only a trembling earth-worm, imploring mercy, aid, ameliorationof her sufferings from her Creator!
She suffered much, this poor empress, dethroned by death; she suffered,although reposing upon silken cushions, with a gold-embroidered coveringfor her shaking limbs.
And she was yet so young, hardly fifty, and she loved life so intensely!Oh, she would have given half of her empire for a few more years of lifeand enjoyment. But what cares Death for the wishes of an empress?Here ends her earthly supremacy! Groaning and writhing, the earth-wormtremblingly submits.
Where, now, were all her favorites--those high lords of the court, thosegrand noblemen, created from soldiers, grooms, lackeys, and serfs--wherewere they now? Why stood they not around the death-bed of their empress?Why were they not there, that the remembrance of the benefits conferredupon them might drive away those terrible reminiscences of the tormentsshe had inflicted upon others? Where were they, her counts, barons,field-marshals, and privy councillors, whom she had raised from nothingto the first positions in the realm?
None were with her! They had all hastened thence for the preservationof their ill-gotten wealth, to crawl in the dust before Peter, to be thefirst to pay him homage, that he might pardon their greatness and theirpossessions! From the death-bed they had fled to Peter, and kneelingbefore him, they praised God for at length bestowing upon the happyrealm the noblest and best ruler, Peter III.!
But where were Elizabeth's more particular friends, who had made her anempress?
Where was Lestocq?
Him the empress had banished to Siberia. Yielding to the prayers andcalumnies of his enemies, which she was too weak to withstand, she hadgiven him up; she had sacrificed him to procure peace and quiet forherself, and in the same hour in which she had tenderly pressedhis hand, and called him her friend, had she signed his sentence ofbanishment! Lestocq had for nine years languished in Siberia.
Where was Grunstein? Banished, cast off, like Lestocq.
Where was Alexis Razumovsky?
Ah, well for her! He stood at her bedside, he pressed her cold hand inhis; he yet, in the face of death, thanked her for all the benefits shehad heaped upon him. But alas! she was also surrounded by others--bywild, pale, terrible forms, which were unseen by all except the dyingempress! She there saw the tortured face of Anna Leopoldowna, whom shehad let die in prison; there grinned at her the idiotic face of Ivan,whose mind she had destroyed; there saw she the angry-flashing eyes andbloody form of Eleonore Lapuschkin, and, springing up from her bed, theempress screeched with terror, and folded her trembling hands in prayerto God for grace and mercy for her daughter, for Natalie, that He wouldturn away the horrible curse that Eleonore had hurled at her child.
Alexis Razumovsky stood by her bedside, weeping. Overcome, as it seemed,by his sorrow, another left the death-chamber of the empress, and rushedto his horse, standing ready in the court below! This other was CountRasczinsky, the confidant of the empress.
The bells rang in St. Petersburg, the cannon roared; there were both joyand sorrow in what the bells and cannon announced!
The Empress Elizabeth was dead; the Emperor Peter III. ascended thethrone of the czars as absolute ruler of the Russian realm. The first tobow before him was his wife. With her son of five years old in her arms,she had thrown herself upon her knees, and touching the floor with herforehead, she had implored grace and love for herself and her son; andPeter, raising her up, had presented her to the people as his empress.
In St. Petersburg the bells rang, the cannon thundered--"The empress isdead, long live the emperor!"
Before the villa stopped a foam-covered steed, from which dismounted ahorseman, who knocked at the closed door. To the porter who looked outfrom a sliding window he showed the written order of Elizabeth for hisadmission. The porter opened the door, and with the loud cry, "Natalie,Natalie!" the Count Rasczinsky rushed into the hall of the house.
The bells continued to ring, the cannon to thunder. There was greatrejoicing in St. Petersburg.
Issuing from the villa, Count Rasczinsky again mounted his foamingsteed.
Like a storm-wind swept he over the plain--but not toward St.Petersburg, not toward the city where the people were saluting their newemperor!
Away, away, far and wide in the distance, his horse bounded and panted,bleeding with the spurs of his rider. Excited constantly to new speed,he as constantly bounds onward.
Like a nocturnal spectre flies he through the desert waste; thestorm-wind drives him forward, it lifts the mantle that enwraps him likea cloud, and under that mantle is seen an angel-face, the smile of adelicate little girl, two tender childish arms clasping the form ofthe count, a slight elfish form tremblingly reposing upon the count'sbreast.
"You weep not, my angel," whispered the count, while rushing forwardwith restless haste.
"No, no, I neither weep nor tremble, for I am with you!" breathed asweet, childish voice.
"Cling closer to me, my sweet blossom, recline your head against mybreast. See, evening approaches!--Night will spread its protecting veilover us, and God will be our conductor and safeguard! I shall save you,my angel, my charming child!"
The steed continues his onward course.
The child smilingly reclines upon the bosom of the rider, over whom thedescending sun sheds its red parting beams.
Like a phantom flies he onward, like a phantom he disappears there onthe border of the forest. Was it only a delusive appearance, a _fatamorgana_ of the desert?
No, again and again the evening breeze raises the mantle of the rider,and the charming angelic brow is still seen resting upon the bosom ofthe count.
No, it is no dream, it is truth and reality!
Like a storm-wind flies the count over hill and heath, and on his bosomreposes Natalie, _the daughter of the empress_!
