Chapter X: Part 10

“But it was all in vain; a transient smile might have been excited at such palpable absurdity; some partial good was perhaps effected; but fashion and faction were far too strong to be acted upon by wit, or argument, or eloquence, or satire. At a time when a low-bred, artful, ignorant bedchamber-woman, with no more sense than would have sufficed to smooth a crumpled ribbon or comb a lapdog, possessed supreme power, and Swift, Arbuthnot, Harley, and Bolingbroke were dancing attendance in her anteroom, it was in vain to preach to women the forbearance and reserve proper to their sex, to point out the confined sphere of their duties, or to remind them of the advice of Pericles to the Athenian women, ‘not to make themselves talked of one way or another.’ Mrs. Masham ruled the queen, but she was herself the contemptible tool of a set of designing men. In the end she and her tutor Harley triumphed; the Tories prevailed; the Whigs were all turned out; Marlborough was not only disgraced at court, but, by a sudden turn of feeling produced in the popular mind by the calumnies and contrivance of his enemies, he became an object of contempt and hatred; and he whose victories had been hailed with such national pride and exultation, found himself ‘baited with the rabble’s curse.’ This might have been contemned, for mere popular clamor dies away, and leaves no trace on the dispassionate page of history; but when Swift, the political gladiator of that time, collected all his terrible powers of invective and satire, and sarcasm, and fell upon the devoted general, branding, stabbing, and slashing at every stroke, he left the duke standing like a column scathed by the thunderbolt, and the lapse of a century has hardly enabled us to distinguish the truth from falsehood of his rancorous libels.”

The brilliant victories of the Duke of Marlborough, in alliance with the German princes under Prince Eugene, had filled all Europe with wonder. In 1704, the victory of Blenheim was achieved, and notwithstanding Marshal Villars’ heroism at the battle of Malplaquet, in 1709, the victory was gained by Marlborough and Prince Eugene, though so great was the loss of the allies, that Villars wrote to Louis XIV.: “If God permits us to lose such another battle, your Majesty can count on your enemies being destroyed.”

Marlborough had joined the Whigs because they were in favor of war; but now the Tories were gaining the ascendency in England; and with their coming into power peace was declared, and the Marlboroughs were deposed from their high places.

Wearied of the ill-temper of the haughty duchess, which broke out in most violent language even in the presence of the queen, Anne at last determined to rid herself of her overbearing companion, whose strong will had for so long a time awed her into submission; while the necessary military generalship of the illustrious duke had long kept the queen from daring to dismiss the insolent duchess, who at length forgot even her politic behavior in her fits of anger, and endeavored to scold back the favor of the queen which had been lost to her by her own impolitic arrogance, and through the wily cunning of her own relation, Mrs. Masham, whom she had herself recommended to the queen for the position of bedchamber-woman, never imagining that this poor ignorant relative would usurp her own place as royal favorite.

Before Anne had ascended the throne, a little incident occurred which eventually led to the downfall of the duchess. The Princess Anne was one day alone in her private drawing-room at St. James. The Duchess of Marlborough entered the anteroom where the princess’ waiting-woman, afterwards Mrs. Masham, was in attendance. Observing a pair of gloves upon the table, the duchess, thinking they were her own, drew them upon her hands. Whereupon the attendant remarked that the gloves belonged to the princess, who had sent her to get them, as her mistress was about to enter her carriage. “What! have I touched anything that has been upon the hands of that odious woman!” exclaimed the duchess in a fury of ill-temper; and tearing them from her fingers she threw them on the floor and retired, little thinking that the insulting words had been overheard by the princess in the adjoining room. From that moment the ultimate disgrace of the imperious duchess was determined upon, although, owing to her husband’s victories and her own threats of publishing the confidential letters of her “loving Mrs. Morley,” her downfall was long delayed.

Queen Anne had not ceased to be a loving wife, when she became a sovereign; and the death of her husband in 1708 was a terrible blow to her. As the queen sat by her dead, though she was the monarch of a vast realm, she was the slave of court etiquette; and as the Duchess of Marlborough still held her office as mistress of the robes, this tyrannical etiquette required that the hated duchess should invade even the sanctuary of Anne’s beloved dead, and lead the queen from the funereal chamber.

But the days of the ascendency of the brilliant but terrible virago were nearly numbered. In 1710, the Whig ministry was deposed, and the Tories came into power.

“Anne could not cope with her discarded favorite in eloquence and violence, but she could resist and dissemble; above all, she could hold her tongue.” Influenced by the Tories, who gained the ear of the queen through the connivance of Mrs. Masham, it was secretly arranged that the Whig ministry should be forced to retire; that the Marlboroughs should be disgraced, and that peace should be negotiated with Louis XIV. The proud duchess had not yet been publicly informed of her impending downfall, but rumors had reached her of the queen’s animosity. Hastening to Kensington, she forced herself into the presence of the queen, and demanded with the air of a sovereign rather than a subject, of what she was accused. The queen, aware that her only weapon against the sarcastic and voluble tongue of the duchess was silence, remarked with cutting composure: “I shall make no answer to anything you say.” This was more than the enraged duchess could bear, and she launched forth into such a terrible tongue-lashing of violent vituperation, that the incensed queen turned to leave the room; whereupon the duchess exclaimed, “I am confident you will suffer in this world or the next for so much inhumanity.”

“That is my business,” retorted the queen, as she lifted the portière and retired, leaving the discomfited duchess to weep in a fury of rage and humiliation.

They never met again. When the Duke of Marlborough returned from his campaign, not all his condescension in begging on his knees that the golden key,—his wife’s badge of office,—might be retained by her for a few weeks sufficed to appease the queen. “I will have it in two days,” exclaimed the angry Anne; and upon reporting his failure to his indignant wife, she also hurled upon his poor head her invectives of wrath, and throwing the golden keys upon the floor, the haughty virago, who had lost all power over her queen, but still maintained her ascendency in her husband’s heart in spite of all her outbursts of temper, sullenly retired, leaving her humiliated spouse to pick up her tardily relinquished badge of office and meekly bear it back in shame and sorrow to her offended sovereign. Hard fate for a man to fall into the snare of playing the go-between of two angry women, especially when one is his wife and the other his sovereign.

The Duke and Duchess of Marlborough afterwards went abroad, and their history is no longer connected with that of Queen Anne.

The famous peace of Utrecht was signed in 1713. The remainder of Queen Anne’s reign was unmomentous. After her experience with the Duchess of Marlborough she determined to assert her own will, but she deceived no one but herself, as she was now alternately swayed by her two favorites, the Duchess of Somerset, who was appointed mistress of the robes, and Lady Masham, whom she had raised to a title and made the keeper of the privy purse. Swift says of Anne at this time:—

“Often, out of fear of being imposed upon by an over-caution, she would impose upon herself; she took a delight in refusing those who were thought to have the greatest power with her, even in the most reasonable things, and such as were necessary for her service; nor would let them be done till she fell into the humor of it herself.”

In her best days, Anne was merely a dull, uninformed woman, without the slightest literary tastes, and yet her reign is called the “Augustan Age of Anne,” and the “wits of Queen Anne’s time” are held only second to the “poets of the Elizabethan age.” No one would probably have been more surprised than Anne herself to have been thus classed with the glorious names of literary fame, for she never read, and was hardly cognizant of the existence of the brilliant minds which gave her reign its brightest lustre. Sir Isaac Newton, Pope, Dryden, Addison, Steele, Swift, De Foe, Gay, Prior, Arbuthnot, Congreve, Young, Parnell, Granville, and Bishop Atterbury, were the most celebrated among the literary lights in her time.

The daily etiquette of the court life of Queen Anne is thus described:—

“The bedchamber-woman came into waiting before her majesty arose, and previous to prayers. If a lady of the bedchamber were present, the bedchamber-woman handed her the queen’s linen, and the lady put it on her Majesty. Every time the queen changed her dress in the course of the day her habiliments made the same formal progress from hand to hand. When the queen washed her hands, her page of the back stairs brought and set upon a side-table a basin and ewer. Then the bed-chamber-woman placed it before the queen, and knelt on the other side of the table over against the queen, the lady of the bedchamber only looking on. The bedchamber-woman poured the water out of the ewer on the queen’s hands. It was also her duty to pull on the queen’s gloves when her Majesty could not do it herself, which was often the case, owing to her infirmity of gout. The page of the back stairs was always called to put on the queen’s shoes. When Queen Anne dined in public, her page passed the glass to her bedchamber-woman, and she to the lady in waiting; in due time it reached the lips of royalty.”

There was little of the pomp and ceremony which distinguished the court of the proud Elizabeth; indeed, Anne herself was too careless and dull-witted, and the imperious Duchess of Marlborough was too defiant of all restraints to have insured that subservient obeisance which Elizabeth demanded and received. Having been obliged, even in her coronation procession, to be borne in a low arm-chair on account of her gout, which prevented her walking in regal majesty as all her predecessors had done, she continued subject to this infirmity, which her gross eating and drinking greatly increased. The stormy disputes between her ministers, Oxford and Bolingbroke, became so violent that at length the fear of having to submit to a third terrible council with them, after two hot disputes had been interrupted by her attacks of violent illness, caused a burning fever, which threatened her life. Submitting to the old remedy of bleeding, she was found to be no better, and it was evident that her end was near. Oxford having resigned his office of lord treasurer in a rage, it became necessary to appoint some one in his place. The Duke of Shrewsbury was suggested for the office, but he would not accept the staff unless the queen herself laid it in his hand. Accordingly the white wand was placed in the stiffening fingers of the dying queen, and the Duke of Shrewsbury, approaching her bedside, asked:—

“Do you know to whom you give the white wand?”

“Yes,” murmured the still-conscious queen; “to the Duke of Shrewsbury; and for God’s sake, use it for the good of my people!”

Thus perished the last of the sovereigns of the House of Stuart.

“The British sovereign is dead and the throne is vacant,” were the few but expressive words sent to George of Hanover; and without opposition, King George I. ascended the throne of Great Britain.

MARIA THERESA.

A.D. 1717-1780.

“’Tis beauty that doth oft make women proud;
’Tis virtue that doth make them most admir’d;
’Tis government that makes them seem divine.”
—SHAKESPEARE.

ON the 13th of May, 1717, in the royal palace at Vienna, a baby princess first opened her wondering eyes upon this world, in whose history she was destined to play an important, and what is still better, a highly commendable part. This illustrious infant was christened by the titles, Maria Theresa Valperga Amelia Christina.

Her father was Charles VI. of Austria, emperor of Germany. Lady Wortley Montagu, who, as Mary Pierrepont, had figured as one of the young ladies appointed to bear the train of Queen Anne during her coronation ceremony, afterwards visited the court of Vienna, shortly before the birth of Maria Theresa, and describes the mother of that princess, the lovely Elizabeth Christina of Brunswick, as an empress of sweet and gracious manners and amiable character.

But Maria Theresa far outshone both her parents in beauty of person, strength of character, and marvellous executive abilities, which have placed her in the very front rank of female sovereigns; yea, still more, on account of the rare combination of virtues and strength which her character manifested, she stands at the very head of the list of famous queens, equalled only perhaps by Isabella of Castile.

In making this assertion, we refer only to Maria Theresa’s individual claims to greatness; not to any importance of the times, or concomitant circumstances, which formed so large a part of Elizabeth’s acknowledged powers; not upon great statesmen, great generals, or great political or religious questions, depends the fame of Maria Theresa. It was not the vast political importance of her achievements, or the place which her kingdom held in the rank of nations; but it was the mind and nature of the sovereign herself, irrespective of any and all surroundings, which makes her character luminous with a stronger and more effulgent light than shines forth from the name of any other female sovereign of the world. In herself alone, in her own virtues; her strong and well-balanced mind; her undaunted courage; her unswerving allegiance to what is true, and pure, and lovely in womankind, joined to an almost masculine executive ability, which woman’s usually narrow horizon often weakens, by sacrificing grand and comprehensive policies to a pettiness of details; an executive ability as statesman, and general, which made her no mean foe for the vaunted greatness of Frederick the Second to combat,—these traits, betokening a mind peerless among women, a character peerless among sovereigns,—abilities ranking her with the greatest of her times,—and best of all, virtues, which placed her individually first upon the list of female monarchs of the world; virtues which surround her name with an undying halo of glory;—such are the rightful claims of Maria Theresa to the most honored place among the famous queens of history.

And yet we do not give this illustrious character as much space as others in this book, because the events of her reign were not as vital upon the history of Europe and the world as other epochs, and because the very beauty and purity of her character demands no long panegyric to prove her greatness; therefore her reign will be summed up in a few words.

Catherine II. of Russia was probably equal to Maria Theresa in executive ability; but Catherine is so revolting as a woman, so devoid of every virtue of heart or soul, that her fame is rather infamous notoriety than commendable greatness. Elizabeth doubtless possessed as strong a mind and keener cunning, and was undeniably far more liberally educated; but Elizabeth was so pitiably weak in her jealous vanity and heartless and condemnatory gallantries, that she must rank beneath Maria Theresa when they are individually compared.

Isabella of Castile stands nearer to Maria Theresa in individual greatness than any of the other famous queens. We have not included a sketch of her life in this volume, because her history is so indissolubly intertwined with that of Ferdinand V. of Spain; and in giving his life in the companion book of “Famous Rulers,” we also there outlined a brief sketch of Isabella of Castile.

Maria Theresa is the most illustrious example of an “imperial woman of business.” She was big-brained and energetic, having none of the mental weaknesses of voluptuous natures. Lacking thereby, perhaps, somewhat in warm emotions, but by her own inherent nature she was exempted from falling into error. She was a model of virtue both in public and private life.

“Maria Theresa was an embodiment of executive regality. She had the promptitude, forethought, and vigilance of a detective officer, and discharged duty with the rigid precision of a policeman. She was essentially practical, and thoroughly industrious-minded. She was ready in an emergency, equal to a difficulty, and sturdy for order and regulation. She met reverses with boldness and fortitude, and used prosperity for instituting reforms. She was greatly remedial, remedying sudden mischances by encountering them firmly, and remedying existing evils with the strong hand of eradication.”

Frederick the Great, although politically her foe, said of her: “Although I have made war against her, I have never been her personal enemy. I have always respected her; she was an honor to her sex, and the glory of her throne.”

Maria Theresa was not only immaculately virtuous herself, but she enforced the strictest rule of moral and decorous demeanor both in her court and throughout her dominions. Rigorous etiquette and staid decorum were marked features of her imperial household and her own conduct. Only once did she deign to notice one of profligate notoriety when she desired to enter into friendly alliance with France, she found the effeminate Louis XV. unwilling to listen to the proposals of her ambassador. Well knowing where the chief influence over the mind of this weak king could be reached, she condescended to write a letter to Madame de Pompadour, with the courteous address “_Ma Chère Amie_.” This produced the expected effect. Madame de Pompadour’s self-love and vanity were so much flattered by such a mark of attention from the imperial Maria Theresa, that, employing her most seductive arts, she won the consent of Louis XV. to enter into an alliance with Austria. But this political policy must have cost the pure and exalted character of Maria Theresa a sharp pang of personal mortification.

In 1736 Maria Theresa was married to Francis, Duke of Lorraine. This marriage was one of love rather than policy, and the union was a happy one. Francis was much inferior in mind to his beautiful and accomplished wife, but Maria Theresa’s affection for him was sincere and very constant through a long wedded life. The death of her father, Charles VI., left Maria Theresa, in her twenty-fourth year, Queen of Hungary and Bohemia, Archduchess of Austria, Sovereign of the Netherlands, and Duchess of Milan, of Parma, and of Placentia, in her own right; and in right of her husband, she was also Grand-Duchess of Tuscany. But notwithstanding these numerous titles, her cause was in truth desperate. Her father had endeavored to secure her undisputed succession by means of the “Pragmatic Sanction,” which declared Maria Theresa the heiress of the House of Austria. This sanction had been ratified by several European powers; but no sooner was Charles VI. dead than claimants arose in all directions. “Within the first few months of her reign, the Pragmatic Sanction, so frequently guaranteed, was trampled under foot. France deferred, and at length declined to acknowledge her title. The Elector of Bavaria, supported by France, laid claim to Austria, Hungary, and Bohemia. The king of Spain also laid claim to the Austrian succession, and prepared to seize on the Italian states; the king of Sardinia claimed Milan; the king of Prussia, not satisfied with merely advancing pretensions, pounced like a falcon on his prey, and seized upon the whole duchy of Silesia, which he laid waste and occupied with his armies.”

“The perils which surrounded Maria Theresa at her accession were such as would have appalled the strongest mind. She was not only encompassed by enemies without, but threatened with commotions within: she was without an army, without a treasury, and, in point of fact, without a ministry; for those who composed the _conference_, or state-council of Vienna, agreed but in one thing,—in jealousy of the Duke of Lorraine.”

But Maria Theresa was never so great as in the midst of apparently overwhelming adversity. Hungary clung firmly to the young and dauntless queen, and to Hungary she turned for aid. On the 13th of June, 1741, she was crowned Queen of Hungary at Presburg. The coronation was attended with all the national pomp and peculiar ceremonies of that country. The iron crown of St. Stephen was placed upon the head of the dazzlingly beautiful Maria Theresa, then in the height of her fascinating charms. Over her gem-encrusted royal robes was thrown the sacred tattered mantle which was regarded by the Hungarians as a revered insignia of the regal office. Mounted on a superb charger, she then rode gallantly up the Royal Mount, which was a rising hillock near Presburg consecrated to this ceremony; and having reached the summit, Maria Theresa, according to ancient custom, drew forth her glistening sabre, and waved it around her head, signalizing the idea of defiance to all the four quarters of the world. The coronation ceremonies having been completed, Maria Theresa returned to the great hall of the palace, where a magnificent feast had been spread for all the high dignitaries of the realm. The beautiful queen sat in the place of honor; and as the day was warm and the iron crown was heavy, she lifted the ancient diadem from her brow, whereupon her luxuriant hair fell upon her shoulders in picturesque abandon, making her such a vision of beauty with her glowing cheeks, and sparkling eyes, and regal bearing, that the old knights and gallant lords could scarce refrain from shouting their enthusiastic admiration for the lovely woman, and patriotic reverence for their adored queen, in resounding acclamations.

Still greater was their enthusiasm when they were assembled in the great hall of the castle, and the stately queen, wearing the Hungarian mourning costume in memory of her late father, entered the spacious apartment, and ascended the platform from whence the kings of Hungary had been accustomed to address their council of lords.

Imperial indeed was the graceful Maria Theresa; majesty sat enthroned upon her regal brow, and the sovereign as well as the gracious woman beamed in her magnetic eyes, while the melodious and alluring tones of her pathetic voice seemed to commingle the inspiring resonance of a bugle-call with the melting sweetness of the rich chords swept from harp-strings, as she alternately appealed to their patriotism, and her helpless condition as queen, woman, and mother. Her stirring address to them was made in Latin, and as she impressively committed herself and children to their fidelity, lifting her infant son Joseph in her arms and presenting him to the assembled lords, a thousand warriors drew their sabres from their scabbards and shouted with wild enthusiasm: “_Moriamur pro rege nostro, Mariâ Theresâ_” (We will die for our sovereign, Maria Theresa).

Overpowered by this enthusiastic devotion, the lustrous eyes of the noble-spirited queen filled with grateful tears, and as she pressed her handkerchief to her face a moment to regain her composure, sobs were heard throughout the assembly of Hungarian nobles, and every heart throbbed with admiring devotion. Hungary was roused as one man, and the dauntless and beautiful Maria Theresa was queen of every heart as well as queen of swords and purses.

Nor was the fame of her heroic courage limited to the boundaries of Hungary. England did her honor. The helpless situation of this young queen excited the liveliest interest in her cause. The Parliament voted large subsidies to support her; and the ladies of England, with the old Duchess of Marlborough at their head, subscribed £100,000 for her relief. But Maria Theresa graciously declined this private gift, accepting only the aid of the king and Parliament.

The enthusiasm in her behalf spread over all the states of Austria, and semi-savage bands flocked to her standard from all quarters. Vienna was strongly fortified, and Germany and Prussia looked on in astonishment. This helpless young queen, without money, armies, or powerful ministers, they had supposed would be an easy prey. But marvellous to relate, Austria, with only an inexperienced, weak woman at its head, defies their vaunted strength; and Frederick, the arrogant, fallen somewhat “from his pitch of pride,” deigns to manifest some desire for a conciliatory arrangement, providing that he can keep his coveted Silesia. To this concession Maria Theresa is forced to agree; for while she was defending herself against Prussia, the French and Bavarians were overwhelming her own Bohemia. The Elector of Bavaria having seized Prague, he was elected Emperor of Germany, and crowned at Frankfort by the title of Charles VII. But within a few months the French were defeated. Maria Theresa entered Prague, and was there crowned queen of Bohemia in May, 1743. In Italy she was also victorious. In 1744 she again lost Bavaria, but in the following year Bohemia and Bavaria were recovered; and Charles VII. dying soon after, Maria Theresa was enabled to fulfil her proud ambition by placing the imperial crown of emperor upon her husband’s head. Francis was proclaimed Emperor of Germany at Frankfort, and Maria Theresa was the first to exclaim, “Long live the Emperor Francis I.” Thus had been fulfilled one of her dearest ambitions; and she had secured the restoration of the imperial crown to her family, by whom it had been worn for an uninterrupted period of above three hundred years. Henceforth Maria Theresa, uniting in herself the titles of Empress of Germany and Queen of Hungary and Bohemia, is known in history as the “Empress-Queen.”

By the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, in 1748, Maria Theresa retained possession of all her ancestral inheritance except Silesia, Parma, Placentia, and Guastalla. “She recovered the imperial dignity, which had been nearly wrested from the House of Austria, and obtained the guarantee of the Pragmatic Sanction from the principal powers of Europe. Her father had left her without a single florin in the treasury; and after eight years of war and the loss of several states in 1750, her revenues exceeded those of her predecessors by six millions.

“All the new laws and regulations, the changes and improvements which took place, emanated from Maria Theresa herself, and they were all more or less wisely and benevolently planned, and beneficial in their effects.”

Her first war was purely one of self-defence, and the sword was drawn in a just cause. Her enemy, Frederick the Great, acknowledged that “the Austrian army acquired, under the auspices of Maria Theresa, such a degree of perfection as it had never attained under any of her predecessors, and that a woman accomplished designs worthy of a great man.”

Maria Theresa was a conscientious Catholic, but she did not allow the Pope of Rome to dictate the affairs of her kingdom, and she realized the necessary distinction between temporal and spiritual jurisdictions.

“She suppressed the pensions charged at Rome upon benefices; and forbade the alienation of property in favor of ecclesiastical bodies.” She intrusted the spiritual governments of convents to bishops, but placed their secular matters in the hands of magistrates. She so restrained the power of the Inquisition, then existing in her Italian dominions, that the check she placed upon the despotic operations of that diabolical institution, led to its final abolishment in Lombardy and Tuscany at a later period.

Maria Theresa was ever ready to make sacrifice of personal ease for the good of her subjects. She was heard to say:—

“I reproach myself with the time I spend in sleep as so much robbed from my people.”

“No sooner did Maria Theresa find herself settled in peaceful security, than she prepared to carry out her systems of internal reform. The vestiges of war were effaced; agriculture was revived; commerce and the arts were encouraged; shipping interests were regarded; roads constructed and repaired; Vienna was enlarged and embellished; manufactories of woollen cloths, of porcelain, of glass, and of silken stuffs, were established. Science flourished in the foundation of several universities and colleges; while one of them, still enjoying celebrity, bears its sovereign’s name in gratitude to its foundress—‘Collegium Theresianum.’

“Special schools of drawing, painting, and architecture were instituted; while Prague and Innspruck had public libraries endowed. Observatories, enriched with valuable apparatus and instruments, arose in Vienna, in Gratz, and in Tirnau; Van Swieten was summoned to regenerate the study of medicine and surgery, and Metastasio was invited to help in disseminating a cultivation of the Italian muse on the banks of the Danube. Measures of importance and magnitude were effected by Maria Theresa in the government of her people. She introduced great amelioration into the feudal system as it then existed in Bohemia. She abolished the torture in her hereditary states,—Hungary and Bohemia. Severe penalties were attached to literary piracy. She exerted herself to promote popular education throughout her dominions, establishing a general system, and taking means for its efficacious operation. She divided into three classes the schools she instituted; firstly, ‘normal schools,’ one in each province, to serve as a model for all the other schools in the province; secondly, ‘principal schools,’ in the large towns; and thirdly, ‘commercial schools,’ in the smaller towns and villages. The normal schools were superintended by a director; those of the large towns were under the superintendence of a magistrate; and the commercial schools, under that of a parish priest, or an assessor of the communal council.

“She granted extra emolument to those teachers whose wives taught the girls sewing, knitting, and spinning; so that children thus taught were able to earn a daily addition to the family income. The system worked admirably, and formed the basis of that extended popular education which operates so beneficially throughout the Austrian monarchy.”

Her second war with Frederick the Great, which lasted seven years, was in the end productive of little besides a terrible loss of life and money to both contestants. By the treaty at its close not a foot of territory was gained or lost by either party. In this war Austria’s allies were France and Russia. Maria Theresa was forty-eight years of age at the end of this war. For twenty-four years all Europe had watched her with wonder and admiration. She had replaced the incapable Bartenstein by the able minister, Prince Kaunitz, and for nearly thirty years he ruled the councils of Austria as prime minister.

Maria Theresa was not satisfied short of knowing and comprehending all things pertaining to her government. She often devoted ten or twelve hours together to state business; and notwithstanding this close attention to governmental affairs, she still found time for society, and the amusements of her court, as well as to be the mother of sixteen children.

Maria Theresa was possessed of great beauty and a fine presence. The dignity of her exalted rank was worn with regal grace. “Her figure was tall, and formed with perfect elegance; her deportment, imposing and majestic; her features were regular; her eyes were gray, and full of lustre and expression; she had the full Austrian lips, but her mouth and smile were beautiful; her complexion was transparent; she had a profusion of fine hair; and, to complete her charms, the tone of her voice was peculiarly soft and sweet. Her strict religious principles, or her early and excessive love for her husband, or the pride of her royal station, or perhaps all these combined, had preserved her character from coquetry. She was not unconscious of her powers of captivation, but she used them not as a woman, but as a queen; not to win lovers, but to gain over refractory subjects.”

It is recorded to her praise, “that she desired to be informed of every act of the administration; that she afforded the poor and humble, as well as the noble and rich, free access to her presence; that she listened benignantly to all, either granting their petitions, or, if she denied them, giving reasons for her refusal, without delusive promises or vague evasions. During a forty years’ reign she invariably showed a love of justice and truth; and she stated, as a principle of her conduct, that it is only the pleasure of alleviating distress and doing good to the people that can render the weight of a crown supportable to the wearer.”

In the year 1765, the Emperor Francis I. died. His loss was sincerely mourned by Maria Theresa, who was devotedly attached to her husband. She ever after wore mourning for him, and frequently visited the imperial mausoleum where he was entombed. In anticipation of her own death she caused her coffin to be made, and secretly sewed upon her own shroud. She was afterwards buried in the grave-clothes thus made by her own hands.

Upon the death of the Emperor Francis, her eldest son received the imperial crown as Joseph II. But Maria Theresa continued to hold the first place in the government until her death.

Maria Theresa gloried in her power of being able to be a public benefactor; it pleased her to bestow benefits. She richly deserved her title of “Mother of her people”; and she declared just before her death that, “if anything reprehensible had been done in her name, it was certainly without her knowledge, as she had always desired the welfare of her subjects.” Her annual private charities and donations amounted to more than eighty thousand a year; and so great was her benevolence that when her son Joseph was accused of not being generous, he replied: “If I gave like my mother, we should soon have nothing left to give away.”

Her benefactions included all classes of her subjects. She founded large hospitals for the infirm and wounded soldiers, and opened asylums of comfort for the widows of officers and young ladies of impoverished families. With such a belligerent neighbor as Frederick the Great, Maria Theresa could not feel assured of any continued period of peace, and she therefore maintained a large army of disciplined troops, and founded military academies at Vienna, Neustadt, and Antwerp.

The simplicity of her court life was a great contrast to the extravagant ostentation of Elizabeth and the dissolute splendor of Catherine II. “In the morning an old man, who could hardly be entitled a _chamberlain_, but merely what is called on the continent a _frotteur_, entered her sleeping-room about five or six o’clock, opened the shutters, lighted the stove, and arranged the apartment. She breakfasted on a cup of milk-coffee, then dressed and heard mass. The floor of her room was so contrived that it opened by a sliding _parquet_, and mass was celebrated in the chapel beneath. On Tuesdays she received the ministers of the various apartments; other days were set apart for giving audience to foreigners and strangers, who, according to the etiquette of the imperial court, were always presented singly, and received in the private apartments. There were stated days on which the poorest and meanest of her subjects were admitted indiscriminately, and they could speak to her in private if they so desired. At other times, she attended to her letters, memorials, despatches, signed papers, etc. During the summer, which was spent mostly at her palaces of Schönbrunn, or at Laxenburg, she would often walk in a shaded avenue communicating with her apartments. A box was buckled round her waist, filled with papers and memorials, which she carefully read as she promenaded, noting with her pencil necessary answers or observations to each.”

She usually dined alone to economize time. After dinner she attended to public business until six in the evening, as she dined at noon; and until her hour of retiring her daughters joined her, when she held a drawing-room or engaged in games with her children. Her daughters were all expected to present themselves at evening prayers, which the empress held before retiring, and nothing but sickness was allowed to interfere with this family regulation.

About two years after the death of her husband she was attacked by small-pox, which was very fatal in her family, she having lost several children by this dread disease. Upon her recovery her marvellous beauty was greatly marred, and being thrown from her carriage soon after and severely wounding her face, her scarred complexion and altered features entirely destroyed her former beauty of countenance, though her queenly bearing and imperial grace continued to charm, and her voice lost none of its melting sweetness.

Experiencing the dread effects of small-pox, she established a small-pox hospital, and introduced inoculation in her kingdom. She paid great attention to the purity of her coinage, and so strong was the faith of her subjects in the money coined under her supervision, that as late as 1830, the workmen at the mint at Milan were coining dollars with the head of the empress-queen and the date 1780. “These dollars were intended for the Levant trade; the people of the Greek Islands, being accustomed to trust in the purity of the coinage bearing the effigy of Maria Theresa, took it in exchange more readily than that of any other potentate.”

The alliance of Maria Theresa with France was productive of dire evils to her family in after-years, as the fate of the beautiful Marie Antoinette, the youngest daughter of Maria Theresa, fully exemplifies. Regarding her other children, several of them were distinguished in after-life. Besides her eldest son, the Emperor Joseph II., Leopold, another son, was Grand-Duke of Tuscany for twenty-five years, when he succeeded to the Empire in 1790. Ferdinand, her third son, married the heiress of the House of Modena, and became Duke of Modena. Maximilian became Elector of Cologne. All of her daughters were beautiful and accomplished. The archduchesses Marianna and Elizabeth remained unmarried. The Archduchess Christina, her mother’s favorite, married Prince Albert of Saxony, which union, like that of her mother’s, was for love rather than political expediency. Christina exercised great influence over her younger sisters, Marie Antoinette, queen of France, and Caroline, queen of Naples. The Archduchess Amelia, another beautiful princess, married the Duke of Parma. Two other sisters, Joanna, and the lamented Josepha, died with small-pox in their early womanhood. The death of the Archduchess Josepha was particularly harrowing, as she contracted the dread disease by obeying her mother’s wishes that she should enter the family burial vault, previous to her departure for Naples, as she was then betrothed to the king of Naples, and go through with certain religious ceremonies which Maria Theresa considered to be binding upon a member of this illustrious family. The lovely Josepha expressed great alarm regarding this exposure to contagion, as her sister had lately died from small-pox; but for once, Maria Theresa allowed her religious bigotry to supplant her better reason, and the sad and tragic result of this filial obedience wrung the mother’s heart with anguish, all the more bitter, as her own commands had doubtless occasioned the death of her idolized child. A third daughter, Caroline, was then betrothed to the King of Naples, in place of her two sisters, whose successive deaths had prevented the contemplated union with the royal family of Naples, both of them having been affianced one after the other, to King Ferdinand.

The great blot upon the otherwise illustrious name of Maria Theresa was her participation in the iniquitous partition of Poland. “She has been rescued from the charge of having originated the unjust plan; since the document of the secret convention, signed at St. Petersburg, on the 17th of February, 1772, exists to prove the contrary; wherein it is stated that if the court of Austria refuse consent to the plan of partition, Prussia and Russia will combine against her. Amid the general outcry that arose in Europe against the crowned spoliators, Frederick the Great slyly observed: ‘As to me, I fully expected all this uproar of blame; but what will they say of her saintship, my cousin?’”

Maria Theresa was now at the height of her grandeur and power as a sovereign. She had largely extended her territories. She had so increased her revenues that, notwithstanding her immense expenses, she laid by each year in her treasury two hundred thousand crowns. She maintained an army of two hundred thousand men, and lived in harmony with her ambitious and accomplished son, in whose name the imperial power was vested. When war with Prussia was again threatening her dominions, her skilful negotiations with Frederick the Great, which resulted in the peace of Teschen, covered her name with glory and her life with honor.

“Maria Theresa often declared that no event of her long reign had ever caused her such unmingled satisfaction as the peace of Teschen.” It was a peace bought without bloodshed. It was entirely her own work, originated in her own benevolent heart. It was the means of continuing to her kingdom the blessing of peaceful prosperity, and it surrounded her dying head with a halo of glory.

Death had long been insidiously approaching this illustrious sovereign, but she felt no alarm, and prepared to meet the end with calm resignation. Dropsy had at length rendered her existence a continued torture, and she welcomed the relief of death. Upon the last night of her life she was engaged in signing papers and in giving necessary directions to her successor. When her son urged her to rest, she replied: “In a few hours I shall appear before the judgment-seat of God, and would you have me sleep?” Upon expressing her anxiety regarding those who had long been aided by her private charities, she said: “If I could wish for immortality on earth, it would only be for the power of relieving the distressed.”

A short time before she breathed her last her attendants thought that she slumbered, as she had closed her eyes; and one whispered, “The empress sleeps.” She immediately opened her eyes, saying with impressive calmness: “No! I do not sleep; _I wish to meet my death awake_!” Surely such a death-bed scene harmonized with the exalted and illustrious life of Maria Theresa! She expired on the 29th of November, 1780, in her sixty-fourth year.

Her biographers justly style her the “_most blameless and beneficent sovereign who ever wore a crown_.”

The earthly dower of Maria Theresa was certainly the richest ever granted to any female sovereign of the world. “A strong mind and feeling heart, royalty and beauty, long life and prosperity, a happy marriage, a numerous family, illustrious children, her people’s love, and the admiration of the universe.”

CATHERINE II.

A.D. 1729-1796.

“Here’s to the flaunting, extravagant queen.”—SHERIDAN.

IN mighty Russia, that land of violent extremes, that land of lavish wealth and utter poverty,—whose frightful climate conquered the otherwise invincible Napoleon, and with its keen frosts snapped the pillars of his throne; where millions tremble before a despot whose will is fettered by no constitution; whose prisons are the ice realms of Siberia, whither so many trains of wretched captives have passed to linger hopelessly in living tombs; whose smouldering fires of discontent and hatred, fanned by the ardent breath of Nihilism, are constantly breaking out into rebellion and assassination,—in that land of splendor and of barbarism, behold St. Petersburg, the city of the Czars, founded by Peter the Great in 1703, and risen out of the desolate marshes of Ladoga to be the worthy capital of a great empire.

St. Petersburg, the city of palaces, with its royal and princely residences, adorned with Doric, Ionic and Corinthian columns surmounted by massive friezes, entablatures, and sculptures; with its Grecian and Gothic temples, its great squares, its splendid, spacious streets, its monuments, its warehouses and docks, its gardens and boulevards, Cronstadt with its frowning bastions and painted spires, and in the midst, giving to all an air of space, of freedom, and dignity, the Neva, thronged by craft of all kinds and sizes, from the tiny gondola to the man-of-war, and from the mighty merchant ship to the rude barge laden with timber or with grain,—presents a scene of opulence and magnificence which makes it difficult to realize that the foundations of this great metropolis were placed in the quaking bogs of Lake Ladoga.

Upon the bank of the Neva, midway between the Senate House and the Admiralty, stands that most famous of the monuments of St. Petersburg,—the equestrian statue of Peter the Great. A splendid statue, this, of bronze and of colossal size. Peter, astride a mighty charger, reins back his steed upon the brink of a precipice, and stretches forth his sceptre, while he seems to survey with proud triumph the wonderful growth of the city of which he is the “creator,” and of which he might exclaim, as did Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon, “Is not this great Petersburg, that I have built by the might of my power, and for the honor of my majesty!”

Little did Peter think, when he laid aside the sceptre of his empire, that five women would reign after him in almost direct succession, and that the last, the greatest of them all, would rear to him this costly monument upon the borders of the Neva.

Peter I. was succeeded by his wife, Catherine, who governed for two years, then Peter II., a poor boy of fourteen, who had the privilege of ruling nominally for a few months, and then Anne, niece of Peter I. was placed upon the throne.

Anne reigned ten years, or rather her favorites reigned for her, and in 1740 she ended her insignificant life. Then baby Prince Ivan was proclaimed Emperor Ivan III. But his mother, Anne of Mecklenburg, thirsted for imperial power. So Biren, the regent, went to Siberia, and Anne of Mecklenberg ruled in his stead. It was only for a year, however, for in 1741 Elizabeth, cousin of Anne, headed the imperial guards who had revolted, and declared herself Empress Elizabeth the First.

Elizabeth ruled for twenty years, and commenced by declaring that “she would never put a subject to death upon any provocation whatever,”—a principle all very fine in theory, but never put in practice. And since it so affected her tender heart to take the lives of her dear subjects, she contented herself by sending them to Siberia, which answered her purpose quite as well.

“Joanna,” said she to her lady of the bedchamber, who one day reproached her for the miserable manner in which she educated her nephew, the grand-duke,—“Joanna, _knowest thou the road to Siberia_?” Joanna took the hint and henceforth held her peace.

On the 2d of May, 1729, at Stettin, in Prussia, was born Sophia Augusta Frederica, Princess of Anhalt-Zerbst-Bernburg, who, in 1762, resigned all these sonorous and illustrious titles to be called simply—_Catherine II._

In 1747 the Empress Elizabeth married her nephew, the worthless grand-duke, to this Princess of Anhalt, and at the death of the empress, in 1761, he became Peter III.

Things went smoothly enough for the first few months, but soon Sophia Augusta Frederica, Princess of Anhalt, desired to reign alone and undisputed upon the throne of the Romanoffs, and in that highly moral and virtuous assembly, the imperial court of St. Petersburg, there were many who, in the hope of self-aggrandizement, would not scruple to terminate the mortal career of the Emperor Peter the Third.

There were three separate conspiracies against the life of Peter; and Catherine, who appeared to do nothing herself, was in reality the mover of all.

Peter was spending a few days at his country palace of Oranienbaum, from whence he was to proceed to the palace of Peterhof, where the conspirators intended to seize and carry him off.

But all these fine plans were overthrown by a soldier of the guard, who innocently asked his captain on what day they were to take up arms against the emperor. The terrified captain, who knew nothing of the conspiracy, gave notice to his superiors. Then all is terror in the ranks of the conspirators; and the Princess Dashkoff, when she learns of the discovery of the plot, hastily gives intelligence to her party. The Empress Catherine sleeps at Peterhof, where she has gone to meet her husband. At two o’clock in the morning a soldier stands at her bedside. It is Alexis Orloff. “Your Majesty,” he says, “has not a moment to lose; rise and follow me!”

The empress and her maid dress in haste. Orloff conducts them to the garden gate, where a carriage is in waiting. The empress and her maid are placed in it. Alexis seizes the reins, and they are off at a gallop.

Before they have gone far the carriage breaks, and Catherine is compelled to continue her journey on foot. When they have walked about a mile, they meet a peasant driving a country cart. Immediately Alexis Orloff seizes the horses, places the empress in the cart, and drives at full speed toward the capital.

The Emperor Peter III. sleeps quietly in his palace at Oranienbaum, while his wife, Catherine II., drives madly along the road from Peterhof to Petersburg, to place upon her head the imperial diadem of Russia.

At seven in the morning Catherine reached St. Petersburg. She immediately presented herself to the soldiers, assuring them that the Czar, her husband, intended to put her to death that very night, and that they were her only protection. This lie was believed at the moment, and the men swore to die in her defence.

The Orloffs raised a cry of “Long live the Empress Catherine!” and the soldiers echoed the shout. Their officers encouraged them, and when Villebois, general of artillery, ventured to remonstrate, Catherine turned upon him haughtily, told him she wanted no advice of his, but to know what he intended to do. The general, confounded at her assumed air of command, could only stammer, “To obey your Majesty!” and immediately delivered the arsenals and magazines of the city into her hands.

Thus in two hours did Catherine find herself upon the throne, with an army at her command, and the capital at her feet.

Meanwhile Peter III., totally unconscious of the usurpation of his unfaithful spouse, ordered his carriage, and set out for Peterhof, where he was informed of the revolt. This news threw him into such horror and confusion, that for a time he lost the use of his faculties. He could resolve on nothing, and his imbecility was like that of a terrified child.

Finally, however, he sat down and wrote a submissive letter to Catherine, acknowledging his errors, and proposing to share the sovereign authority with her. To this letter Catherine gave no reply, except to send Count Panin to the Czar, who persuaded him to sign a declaration that he was not fit to reign, and that he voluntarily abdicated the throne. Having done this, the poor, weak prince was carried off and locked up in the palace of Ropscha. “It was necessary that some apparent reason should be given for such extraordinary proceedings, and a short manifesto was accordingly set forth, proclaiming the accession of Catherine, without any mention of the unhappy emperor, but alleging as her only motives for assuming the government her tender regard for the welfare of the people, and above all for the holy and orthodox Greek religion, which she feared was exposed to total ruin; and this notable document of state villany thus concludes: ‘For these causes, etc., we, putting our trust in Almighty God and in his divine justice, have ascended the imperial throne of all the Russias, and have received a solemn oath of fidelity from all our faithful subjects.’ Dated June 28, 1762.

“Thus, by a revolution which never could have occurred under any other government than that of Russia, which few could account for and no one seemed to comprehend,—which was accomplished in the course of a single day, without injury to individuals, and without tumultuous violence,—did a young woman, a foreigner, and a stranger to the imperial blood, spring into the throne of the Czars.”

Catherine II., having thus established herself upon the throne, began to consider how she could best retain her newly acquired power. The first obstacle which presented itself to her mind was the Czar, Peter III. She had him under lock and key at Ropscha, it is true, but then he had his friends and his faithful Holstein guards, who had seen his downfall with grief and indignation. So Peter III. must be made an end of, and those most accomplished of villains, Orloff and Baratinsky, were sent to Ropscha to make an end of him, which deed they performed very satisfactorily both to themselves and to the empress, by strangling him in his dining apartment with a napkin.