CHAPTER LII - AN EXECUTION.

Napoleon had passed a sleepless night. The image of this pale youth, with his determined patriotism, who frankly confessed that his object had been assassination, and regretted that the attempt was unsuccessful, stood as a grim sentinel by the emperor's couch, forbidding sleep to his eyes or peace to his mind.

It was scarcely dawn when he rose, sad and weary, and called his valet de chambre to dress him. His lips scarcely touching the cup of chocolate presented to him, he pushed it impatiently aside. Contrary to his usual manner with the servants, he left his bedroom without a pleasant glance or a kind word, and repaired to his cabinet. The candelabras on the mantel-piece were lit, for it was still dark; and a bright fire was burning, but the room was not yet warm.

"Germany is a cold, disagreeable country," exclaimed Napoleon, shuddering, and warming his feet at the fire. "We are only in the early part of October, but it is already like mid-winter. The sun himself seems to put on the sheep-skin which every German pulls over his ears. In truth, it is a wretched country; I wish I could turn my back on it to-morrow, and bid adieu to these wild dreamers. When so slow and cold-blooded a nation gets excited, it resembles a bull in the arena, whose fury is kindled by a red handkerchief. Such is Germany at this time, and I must step out of the way if I do not wish to be pierced or trampled to death. That would be inglorious!"

A low rapping at the door was heard. The emperor started. "Come in!" he shouted, in an imperious voice.

The door opened immediately, and Constant appeared. "Pardon me, sire, but it is so early that none of the chamberlains are yet in the anteroom."

"Well, what is it?" asked Napoleon, impatiently. "Quick, what is the matter?"

"Sire, the Duke de Cadore has just arrived from Vienna and desires to be admitted."

"Show him in immediately," ordered the emperor, who, in his impatience, hurried to the door to receive the minister.

Champagny entered, carrying under his arm a large portfolio.

"Well, Champagny, what brings you hither at so early an hour? What has occurred? What did you do last night?"

"Sire," said Champagny, composedly, "I have made peace."

"What? Peace!" exclaimed Napoleon, and his countenance brightened, as if the morning had suddenly cast on him its earliest golden beams. "Peace! And the treaty has already been signed?"

"Yes, sire, and I bring it to your majesty."

"Signed! But how did you do that?"

"Sire, as soon as I reached Vienna last night, I sent for the Prince von Lichtenstein and Count Bubna, and locked myself with them in my room. We had a long and exciting discussion; but I saw that the plenipotentiaries had received fresh instructions from their emperor, and that he had ordered them to make peace. I extorted million by million from them; at one o'clock in the morning I had already made them consent to the payment of seventy-five millions, the sum demanded by your majesty; but I saw that I could go farther, and I did. At two o'clock I succeeded in a war contribution of eighty-five millions, and with that I was satisfied."

"What!" exclaimed the emperor, gayly; "you have obtained eighty-five millions when I told you I would be content with seventy-five millions! That was well done, Champagny, and I am highly pleased with your conduct. Give me the treaty. I wish to read it."

Champagny handed the emperor the papers, and he read them attentively. "Very well," he said, when he had finished, and with a smile—"we have accomplished, indeed, a very favorable peace. Austria has concluded four treaties with me within the last twelve years, but I must confess that this is the most advantageous to us—more so than the treaties of Campo Formio, Luneville, and Presburg. Austria loses two thousand square leagues, with three millions and a half of inhabitants, and pays us a war contribution of eighty-five millions of francs. I think France may be thankful, for, from this campaign, we bring her territory, money, and glory. We have done with Austria; and the insurgents of the Tyrol, headed by their peasant-prince, Andrew Hofer, will likewise have to submit. Their own emperor will command the insurgents to lay down their arms. But I will make an example, and show the world how such people ought to be chastised. Andrew Hofer must be delivered to me; he must be punished as a demagogue! Come, Champagny, let us lose no time. I will sign the treaty. It is very good. I am content with it." He stepped to his desk and hastily affixed his signature. He then cast the pen aside, and his features assumed an expression of proud scorn. "Henceforth Austria is nothing but a vassal of France, and I can annihilate her whenever I please. Her frontiers are open and unprotected on all sides; she is weakened within and without, and hemmed in everywhere by French territories. She dares no longer breathe freely, or raise her arm against us. If, however, she should, we shall crush her, and reconstruct the throne of Charlemagne on the ruins of Austria. His crown belongs to me already; I have it at Aix-la-Chapelle, and I do not see what should prevent me from placing it on my brow in Vienna."

"Sire," said Champagny, smilingly, "it would, perhaps, be more desirable for your majesty to allow the throne of the Hapsburgs to exist, and to render Austria harmless, not by destroying her, but by attaching the imperial family to your majesty by intimate and sacred ties. A vanquished enemy is always dangerous; but an ally, even though weak, will strengthen your own power, and Austria is able to give to the throne of your majesty the last and only jewel that, to the infinite regret of your subjects, it still lacks."

"Ah!" exclaimed the emperor. "You do not mean to say that Austria, bleeding from a thousand wounds that I have inflicted upon her, could make up her mind to put an end to her hatred by concluding an alliance of love with me?"

"Sire," said Champagny, "I do not believe that your majesty is hated by all the members of the imperial family of the Hapsburgs."

"What do you mean?" asked Napoleon, casting a quick glance on the smiling countenance of the minister.

"I suppose your majesty still remembers that, during the bombardment of Vienna last May, a flag of truce was sent with the request that no more bombshells be fired at the palace, because one of the archduchesses had remained there, having been prevented by sickness from leaving the capital with the imperial family?"

"I remember the incident," said Napoleon. "A few shells had already struck the palace, and I gave orders that it should be spared. One of the little daughters of the emperor, the Archduchess Maria Louisa, then a mere child, had been left there with her nurse."

"Sire, this child is seventeen years old, and, as everybody assures me, she is very beautiful, with light hair, blue eyes, and charming figure. She was deeply moved at the generosity manifested by your majesty; she is filled with admiration for the hero to whom indeed the whole world is doing homage, and before whose power the mightiest princes pass away; she is possessed of sufficient energy and courage to give utterance to her sentiments, even in presence of her father the emperor."

"Indeed!" exclaimed Napoleon, joyfully. "But who told you so, Champagny?"

"Sire, the Prince von Lichtenstein, during our confidential interview yesterday; and he added that the Emperor Francis, notwithstanding the short time that has elapsed since the conclusion of the recent bloody war, and the many fresh humiliations he has had to undergo, seemed himself to be an admirer of your majesty, for he listened to the eulogy of the archduchess with smiling tranquillity."

"That is strange," said Napoleon, slowly pacing the room; "but the Austrian marriages were always pernicious to France."

"Sire, it was, however, an Austrian princess, Queen Anne, who gave to France one of her greatest kings, Louis XIV."

"That is true," said Napoleon; "and I should be happy if my son resembled the great Louis."

"Sire, he will resemble his great father," said Champagny.

"A son—an heir to my throne," said the emperor, passionately—"a legitimate inheritor of my glory, and a descendant of an ancient and imperial house, who would dare doubt the purity of his blood, and his right to reign? His throne I would have established; and he would confirm by the highest title the fourth dynasty of France. Champagny, I must have such a son, and—poor Josephine!"

He paced the apartment with rapid steps, and, halting in front of his minister, he said: "I shall set out to-morrow; this air is oppressive. I can hardly breathe it; and besides I have no longer any business here. You will remain for the purpose of exchanging the treaties of peace. Immediately after the arrival of the Austrian plenipotentiary, bringing the copy of the treaty signed by the Emperor Francis, you will attend to the exchange of the ratifications, and inform me that it has been carried into effect. I shall go from here to Munich, and reach Fontainebleau in the course of a week. You may tell the Prince von Lichtenstein, in the same confidential manner in which he spoke to you of the archduchess, that I am now firmly determined to separate from the Empress Josephine; that a divorce from her had been irrevocably resolved upon, and that it would be publicly proclaimed in the course of the present year. That is all that you will tell him for the present. Champagny, I am determined to make this sacrifice for the sake of France, however painful it may be to my heart. The welfare of my country and the stability of my throne render it incumbent. After the divorce has taken place, I shall demand a final and categorical reply from Russia, and if Alexander is unable to give it—if his mother still refuse to place her daughter on the most powerful throne in the world—well, then, I shall break off the negotiations, and remember that the Archduchess Maria Louisa has some respect and sympathy for me. For the present we may be content with Austria, and I think the treaty of Vienna is a work of which we may well be proud. The genius of France will give it a glorious place on the tablets of history!"

Two days afterward the emperor's travelling-carriage was in front of the palace gate of Schönbrunn. Every thing was in readiness for his departure, and he was about to leave his cabinet. He only wished to see Grand-Marshal Duroc, who had just arrived from Vienna.

The door opened, and Duroc entered. Napoleon quickly met him. "Well, Duroc," he asked, "did you see him? Did he name his companions in this crime?"

"Sire, I have, and conversed with him," said Duroc, gravely. "He refuses to confess any thing, and talks like a madman."

"What does he say?" exclaimed Napoleon. "Conceal nothing from me. This young man interests me. I desire to know all."

"Sire, he affirms that your majesty is his only accomplice; the misery brought by you on Germany, he contends, instigated him to attempt the deed, and you ought to blame none but yourself."

"He does not repent, then? He does not ask for mercy?"

"He regrets only that he did not succeed, and he asks merely the favor of being permitted to keep the portrait of his Anna, which he contemplates continually; and he implores her in touching words to forgive him the grief he has brought upon her."

"What a strange mixture of ferocity and gentleness!" said the emperor, thoughtfully. "Has he been closely watched during these two days?"

"Two gendarmes were locked up with him all the time, and they speak with astonishment of the unruffled tranquillity of the young man. For the most part he paces the cell with slow steps; at times he kneels down and prays in silence. Not a word of despair has escaped his lips, not a tear dropped from his eyes. Yesterday, when his dinner was brought, he took the knife and looked at it musingly. One of the gendarmes intended to take it from him, but Staps handed it at once, and said, smilingly, 'Fear nothing, I will not hurt myself with it; I will not waste my blood; it is reserved for the altar of my country, and must be shed by my enemies.'"

"Did he take any food?" asked the emperor.

"No, sire, he has not eaten or drunk any thing these two days. He says he has done with life, and will have strength enough left to meet his death with a firm step."

"He knows, then, that he is to be shot?"

"Yes, sire, he knows that the court-martial passed sentence of death upon him last night."

"But I hope you told him, Duroc, that I had sent you to him, and that I wished to pardon him, as soon as he repents of his deeds, implores my forgiveness, and takes an oath to give up his evil designs? Did you tell him all that, Duroc?"

"I did, sire."

"And what did he reply? Tell me every thing!"

"Sire, he replied, that if he could repent of the deed, he would not have attempted it; that if he accepted pardon, all Germany would curse him, while he now descends into the grave, accompanied by the blessings and tears of his country; in fine, that his death will arouse the Germans, and urge them to renewed efforts for liberty."

The emperor made no reply. His whole frame shuddered, and if Corvisart had felt his pulse then, he would not have said that it was quite regular. The large drops of perspiration on the emperor's brow might have alarmed the physician.

"I am sure he is insane," said Napoleon, after a pause. "I want him to be looked upon as a lunatic. I hope that the whole affair will remain a secret, and that the world will hear nothing of it; but if it should be talked about, we must insist that the man was insane."

Duroc bowed in silence.

"When is Staps to be shot?" asked the emperor, after a pause.

"Sire, this morning, at seven o'clock."

Napoleon glanced at the clock. "It is half-past six," he said; "I will set out. Well, the Viennese will not hear the report of the muskets, for the cannon that is to announce to them the conclusion of peace will render inaudible the volley at the execution. Come, Duroc! I am tired of this fantastic Germany! Let us return to France!"

Quickly crossing the room and approaching the door, he stood on the threshold and glanced again at the clock. "It is a quarter to seven," he said; "in fifteen minutes there will be one lunatic less in Germany!" A few minutes afterward a carriage rolled down the avenue of the palace of Schönbrunn. The emperor had departed.

At the same time the room opened in which Staps had been confined for three days, under the close surveillance of two gendarmes. An officer entered; eight soldiers, shouldering their muskets, drew up in front of the door. Frederick Staps met the officer with a serene smile. He still wore the short black velvet coat, fastened around his slender waist by a broad leather belt, his neck surrounded by a white collar, on which his long hair fell in dense masses. During the three days of his captivity he had not undressed, taken no food, and even abstained from sleep. His time was occupied in preparing for death, and in writing letters to his beloved Anna and his old father. These letters, folded and carefully directed, he placed in the belt which the fatal knife had adorned three days before.

"Sir," said Staps, offering his hand to the officer, "I suppose you come for me?"

"It will soon be seven o'clock," replied the officer, in a sad, compassionate tone.

"Oh, sir," exclaimed Staps, "do not pity me! I shall die joyfully. But I have a favor to ask of you. I should like to send my last love-greetings to my father, and the young lady to whom I was engaged. Will you be kind enough to send my letters to them? You hesitate? Reply to me, and consider that a dying man always should be told the truth."

"Well, sir," replied the officer, "I am not permitted to forward these letters to them. Not a word is to be said about your fate; it must remain a secret."

"Ah, the tyrant is afraid lest my destiny should become generally known. He wishes to hide it in obscurity; but my name, and that for which I die, will not sink into oblivion. The day of freedom will dawn yet on my native land, and my grave will be known and visited by my German brethren. You will not forward my letters?"

"I am not allowed to do so, sir."

"Well, then I will forward them myself," exclaimed Staps, drawing the letters from his belt and tearing them into small pieces, which he threw away. "Go! my greetings and adieus!" he said; "let the winds bear ye into the quiet parsonage of my old father, and the chamber of my faithful Anna! Tell my countrymen of poor Frederick Staps, who wished to save Germany, and could only die for it!—Now come, sir, let us go!"

"You have no other wish?" asked the officer. "There is nothing that you desire, and that I could grant you?"

"Yes, sir, there is. I do not wish to be tied like a wild beast, but conducted to the place of execution with my arms free; I do not wish to be blindfolded. I would like to see the soil and the sky of my country in the last moment!"

"That wish will be granted. You shall be executed with your eyes open, and your arms unfettered."

"Thank you," said Staps, cordially grasping the officer's hand. "I suppose it is time for us to go?"

"Yes," said the officer, mournfully, "we must go!"

"I am ready," responded Staps, and he walked with firm steps toward the door.

The soldiers stepped aside, and then surrounded him and the officer. The procession moved slowly and silently through the long and gloomy corridors. Emerging into the open air, they came to a square inside the bastions. High ramparts surrounded it on three sides; on the fourth rose the rear wall of the barracks in which the condemned had spent the three days of his imprisonment. A few French soldiers were standing here and there at the open windows, gazing with indifferent face on the young stranger led to execution, and of whose crime they knew nothing. He was conducted across the square to the opposite rampart, and placed in front of the newly-dug grave which was to receive his body.

A detachment of French soldiers marched from the gate of the barracks and formed in line, just as the sun cast his first rays over the rampart, and shone upon the head of the pale youth. At this moment the earth seemed to tremble as beneath a peal of thunder.

"What is that?" asked Staps of the officer who was standing by his side.

"It is the salute announcing that peace has been concluded."

"Peace!" exclaimed the dying youth, joyfully. "Oh, tell me the truth, sir, do not deceive me? Has peace really been concluded?"

"Yes, a treaty has been signed. The Emperor Napoleon leaves Schönbrunn this very day to return to France. Three months hence there will not be a single French soldier to be seen in all Austria."

"Peace restored to Germany!" cried Staps, and, sinking on his knees, he raised his arms toward heaven; joy beamed from his countenance, and his eyes filled with tears. "I thank Thee, my God, I thank Thee!" he exclaimed aloud.

"Thou allowest me to depart amid the booming of cannon proclaiming peace to Germany! I die happy!"

"Attention! Aim!" ordered the officer.

The young man rose from his knees. "Give me another minute," he cried; "let me sing my death-hymn!"

The officer nodded assent. Staps, stretching his arms upward, sang in a joyous voice:

"Tod du süsser für das Vaterland,
Süsser als der Brautgruss, als das Lallen
Auf dem Mutterschooss des ersten Kindes,
Sei mir willkommen!
Was das Lied nicht löset, löst—-"

"Fire!" said the commanding officer, and twelve soldiers discharged their muskets.

Frederick Staps immediately fell dead, and the blood streaming from his breast reddened his native soil. While Napoleon's cannon was proclaiming the conclusion of peace, this youthful martyr breathed his last sigh!