Louisa of Prussia and Her Times Part 88

A murmur of surprise arose from the ranks of the women; they perceived instinctively that something extraordinary was about to occur; their hearts comprehended that this pale young woman, who now stood before the general with flaming eyes and panting breast, must be closely connected with the poor prisoner. Every one of them held her breath in order to hear her voice and understand her words.

"They ask for mercy for Palm?" she asked, in a voice in which her whole soul was vibrating. "They speak of execution? Then you are going to murder him? You have sentenced him infamously and wickedly?"

And while putting these questions to the general, her eyes pierced his face as though they were two daggers.

"Pray choose your words more carefully," said the general, harshly; "the court-martial has sentenced the traitor; hence, he will not be murdered, but punished for the crime he has committed. And for this reason," he added, in a louder voice, turning to the women, "for this reason I am unable to grant your request. The court-martial has p.r.o.nounced the sentence, and it is not in my power to annul it. The Emperor Napoleon alone could do so if he were here. But as he is in Paris, and consequently cannot be reached, the law must take its course. Palm will be shot at two o'clock this afternoon!"

"Shot!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the young woman; for a moment she tottered as if she were about to faint, but then she courageously overcame her emotion, and stretching out her arms to the women, exclaimed: "Pray with me, my sisters, that I may be permitted to see Palm and bid him farewell! I am his wife, and have come to die with him!"

And like a broken lily she sank down at the general's feet. The ma.s.s of the women was surging as if a sudden gust of wind had moved the waves; murmurs and sighs, sobs and groans, filled the air, and were the only language, the only prayer the deeply-moved women were capable of.

The general bent down to Anna and raised her. "Madame," he said, so loudly as to be heard by the other women, "madame, your prayer is granted. The only favor for which the prisoner asked was to see YOU before his death, and we granted it to him. Follow, therefore, my adjutant: he will bring you to him. Palm is waiting for you!"

"Ah, I knew very well that he was waiting for me, and that G.o.d would lead me to him in time!" exclaimed Anna, raising her radiant eyes toward heaven.

CHAPTER LIX.

THE LAST HOUR.

Palm had returned to his cell without uttering a complaint, a reproach.

Nothing in his bearing betrayed his profound grief, his intense indignation. He knew that neither his complaints nor his reproaches were able to change his fate, and consequently he wanted to bear it like a man.

He greeted Balthasar with a touching smile; the jailer received him at the door of his cell, and concealed no longer the tears which filled his eyes.

"My poor friend," said Palm, kindly, "then you already knew what was in store for me, and it cut you to the quick to see me so merry and unconcerned! Well, now you may accept my gift, for now I shall be free, so free that no shackles and chains will ever be able to hold me again.

And you promised me not to reject my gift when I should be restored to liberty. I have got it, my friend,--take my present, therefore!"

He took the breastpin from the table and handed it to the jailer. The latter received it with a scarcely suppressed groan, and when he bent down to kiss the hand which had given it to him, a scalding tear fell from his eyes on Palm's hand.

"Oh," said Palm, feelingly, "I gave you only a small trinket, and you return to me a diamond for it! I thank you, my friend; I know you will pray for me in my last moments. Now leave me alone for an hour, for I must collect my thoughts and consult with G.o.d about what is in store for me. Are you allowed to give me pen and ink?"

"I have already placed writing-materials in the drawer of your table,"

said Balthasar, in a low voice, "for all prisoners like you have the right to draw up their last will for their family, and I solemnly swear to you that I will forward what you are going to write to its address."

"I thank you, my friend; leave me alone, then, so that I may write. But listen! Do not go too far away; remain in the corridor so that you can open the door to her as soon as SHE comes."

"SHE!" asked the jailer. "Who is it?"

Palm hesitated; he was unable to utter the word at once, for the tears arose from his heart and paralyzed his tongue. "My wife!" he said, painfully, at last. "Go and await her, for I am sure she will come!"

He motioned Balthasar to withdraw, and then sat down, weary and exhausted, in his cane-chair. For a moment he was overwhelmed by the whole misery of his position, and his grief rolled like an avalanche on his poor heart. He dropped his head on his breast; his arms hung down heavy and powerless, and a few tears, as large as those of children, and burning like fire, rolled over his cheeks. But this did not last long, for these scalding drops aroused him from the stupor of his grief.

He raised his head again and dried the tears on his cheeks. "I have no time to spare for weeping," he said to himself in a low voice; "my hours are numbered, and I must write to my poor Anna my will for her and my children!"

He took from the drawer the writing-materials which Balthasar had kindly placed there, and took a seat at the table in order to write. He placed his chair, however, in such a manner that he was able to see the door of his cell, and frequently, while writing, raised his eyes from the paper and fixed them anxiously on the door.

Now he really heard approaching steps, and the key was put into the lock.

Palm laid his pen aside and rose.

The door opened--Anna entered. She glided toward him with a heavenly smile; he clasped her in his arms, and, kissing her head which she had laid on his breast, whispered: "G.o.d bless you for having come to me! I knew that I should not look for you in vain!"

The jailer stood at the open door and wept. His sobs reminded Palm of his presence.

"Balthasar," he said, imploringly, and pointing his hand at Anna who was still reposing on his breast, "Balthasar, I am sure you will leave me alone with her, my friend?"

"I have received stringent orders never to leave prisoners under sentence of death alone with others," murmured Balthasar. "They might easily furnish arms or poison to them; that is what my superiors told me."

Palm placed his hand on his wife's head as if going to take a solemn oath. "Balthasar," he said, "by this sacred and beloved head I swear to you that I shall not commit suicide. Let my murderers take my life. Will you now leave me alone with her?"

"I will, for it would be cruel not to do so," said Balthasar. "G.o.d alone ought to hear what you have to say to each other! I give you half an hour; then the officers and the priest will come, and it will no longer be in my power to keep this door locked. But until then n.o.body shall disturb you."

He left the cell and locked the door.

Man and wife were alone now; they had half an hour for their last interview, their last farewell.

There are sacred moments which, like the wings of the b.u.t.terfly, are injured by the slightest touch of the human hand, and which, therefore, must not be approached; there are words which no human ear ought to listen to, and tears which G.o.d alone ought to count.

Half an hour later the jailer opened the door and reentered. Palm and his wife stood in the middle of the cell, and, encircling each other with one arm, looked calmly, serenely, and smilingly at each other like two spirits removed from earth.

The paper on which Palm had written was no longer on the table; it reposed now on Anna's heart; the golden wedding-ring which Palm had worn on his finger had disappeared, and glittered now on Anna's hand near her own wedding-ring.

"The priest is there," said the jailer, "and the soldiers, too, are already in the corridor. It is high time."

"Go, then, Anna," said Palm, withdrawing his arm from her neck.

But she clung with a long scream of despair to his breast. "You want me to live, then?" she exclaimed, reproachfully. "You want to sever our paths? Oh, be merciful, my beloved; remember that we have sworn at the altar to share life and death with each other! Let me die with you, therefore!"

"No," he said, tenderly and firmly. "No, Anna, you shall live with me!

My children are my life and my heart; they will live with you. Every morning I shall greet you from the eyes of our children, and when they embrace you, think it were my arms encircling you. Live for our children, Anna; teach them to love their father who, it is true, will be no longer with them, but whose soul will ever surround you and them! Swear to me that you will live and bear your fate firmly and courageously!"

"I swear it," she said in a low voice.

"And now, beloved Anna, leave me! My last moments belong to G.o.d!"

He kissed her lips, which were as cold as marble, and led her gently to the door.

Anna now raised her head in order to fix a long, last look on him.

"You want me to live," she said; "I shall do so long as it pleases G.o.d.

I bid you, therefore, farewell, but not forever, nor even for a very long while. All of us are nothing but poor wanderers whom G.o.d has sent on earth to perform their pilgrimage. But at length He opens to us again the doors of our paternal house and calls us home! I long for my return home, my beloved! Farewell, then, until we meet again!"

"Farewell until we meet again!"