CHAPTER LVIII. THE WOMEN OF BRAUNAU.
In the mean time Palm had constantly been in the French prison at Braunau. During the sixteen days since he had been in jail, he had only twice been taken out of it to be examined by the court-martial, which General St. Hilaire had specially convoked for his trial.
This court-martial consisted of French generals and staff-officers; it met at a time of peace in a German city, and declared its competence to try a German citizen who had committed no other crime than to circulate a pamphlet, in which the misfortunes of Germany, and the oppressions of German states by Napoleon and his armies, had been commented upon.
The whole proceedings had been carried on so hastily and secretly, that the German authorities of Braunau had scarcely heard of them at the time when the French court-martial was already about to sentence the prisoner.
The French, however, wanted to maintain some semblance of impartiality; and before Palm was called before the court-martial, it was left to him either to defend himself in person against the charges, or to provide himself with counsel.
Palm, who was ignorant of the French language, had preferred the latter, and selected as his counsel a resident lawyer of Braunau, with whom he was well acquainted, and even on terms of intimacy, and whom he knew to be familiar with the French language.
But this friend declined being a “friend in need.” He excused himself on the pretext of a serious indisposition which confined him to his bed, and rendered it impossible for him to make a speech.
Palm was informed of this excuse only at the moment when he entered the room in which the trial was to be held; hence he had to make up his mind to conduct his own defence, and to have his words translated by an interpreter to the members of the court.
And he felt convinced that his defence had been successful, and satisfied the men who had assumed to be his judges, of his entire innocence.
He had, therefore, no doubt of his speedy release; he was looking every day for the announcement that his innocence had been proved, and that he should be restored to liberty and to his family. This confident hope caused him to bear his solitary confinement with joyful courage, and to look, in this time of privations and pain, fondly for the golden days to come, when he would repose again, after all his trouble and toil, in the arms of love, gently guarded by the tender eyes of his affectionate young wife, and his heart gladdened by the sight of his sweet children.
From dreams so joyous and soul-stirring he was awakened on the morning of the 26th of August by the appearance of the jailer and of several soldiers who came to summon him before the court-martial which would communicate his sentence to him.
“God be praised!” exclaimed Palm, enthusiastically. “My sentence, that is to say, my release. Come, let us go; for, you see, it is hot and oppressive in my cell, and I long for God’s fresh air, of which I have been deprived so long. Let us go, then, that I may receive the sentence which I have so ardently yearned for.”
And with a kind smile he offered his hand to the jailer who stood at the door with a gloomy, sullen air. “Do not look so gloomy, Balthasar,” he said. “You always used to be so merry a companion and have often agreeably enlivened the long and dreary hours of my confinement by your entertaining conversation. Accept my thanks for your kindness and clemency; you might have tormented me a great deal, and you have not done so, but have always been accommodating and compassionate. I thank you for it, Balthasar, and beg you to accept this as a souvenir from me.”
He drew a golden breastpin richly set with precious stones from his cravat, and offered it to the jailer.
But Balthasar did not take it; on the contrary, he averted his head sullenly and gloomily. “I am not allowed to accept any presents from the prisoners,” he muttered.
“Well, then, I shall come and see you as soon as I am free, and from the free man, I suppose, you will accept a small souvenir?” asked Palm, kindly.
The jailer made no reply to this question, but exclaimed, impatiently: “Make haste, it is high time!”
Palm laughed, and, nodding a farewell to the jailer, left the prison in the midst of the soldiers.
“Poor man, he suspects nothing,” murmured the jailer to himself, and his features now became mild and gentle, and his eyes were filled with tears. “Poor man, he believes they will set him at liberty! Yes, they will do so, but it is not the sort of liberty he is looking and hoping for!”
Palm followed the soldiers gayly and courageously to the room where the members of the court-martial were assembled seated on high-backed arm-chairs which had been placed in a semicircle on one side of the room, awaiting the arrival of the prisoner.
He greeted them with an unclouded brow and frank and open bearing; not a tinge of fear and nervousness was to be seen in his features; he fixed his large and lustrous eyes on the lips of General St. Hilaire who presided over the court-martial and now rose from his seat. The secretary of the court immediately approached the general and handed him a paper.
The general took it, and, bending a stern glance on Palm, said: “The court-martial has agreed to-day unanimously on your sentence. I will now communicate it to you.”
The other officers rose from their seats to listen standing to the reading of the sentence. It is true, their faces were grave, and for the first time Palm was seized with a sinister foreboding, and asked himself whether his judges would assume so grave and solemn an air if they were merely to announce to him that he was innocent and consequently free.
A small pause ensued. The general then raised his voice, and read in a loud and ringing tone: “Whereas at all places where there is an army it is the first and most imperious duty of its chief to watch over its safety and preservation;”
“Whereas the circulation of writings instigating sedition and murder does not only threaten the safety of the army, but also that of the nation generally;”
“Whereas nothing is more urgent and necessary than the prevention of the propagation of such doctrines which are a crime against the rights of man and against the respect due to crowned heads—an insult to the people submissive to their government—and, in short, subversive of law, order, and subordination:”
“The military commission here assembled declares unanimously that all authors and printers of libellous books of the above-named description, as well as booksellers and other persons engaged in circulating them, shall be deemed guilty of high-treason.”
“In consideration whereof the defendant, John Frederick Palm, convicted of having circulated the pamphlet, ‘Germany in her Deepest Degradation,’ has been charged with the crime of high-treason, and the commission has unanimously found him guilty of the charge.”
“The penalty incurred by the traitor is death.”
“Consequently the traitor, John Frederick Palm, will suffer death, which sentence will be carried out this afternoon at two o’clock, when he will be shot.” [Footnote: “Memoires d’un Homme d’Etat,” vol. ix., p. 247.]
“John Frederick Palm,” added the general, “you have heard your sentence, prepare for death!”
The interpreter repeated to the unhappy prisoner the sentence of the court-martial slowly, impressively, and emphasizing every word; and every syllable fell like a cold tear on Palm’s heart and froze it. It was, however, not only cold with terror and dismay, but also with determination and calmness.
Before these strangers, with their cold, indifferent faces, he resolved at once not to betray any weakness. He did not want to afford his assassins the pleasure of seeing him tremble.
His bearing, therefore, only manifested firm determination and grave calmness. He cast a single flaming glance, full of proud disdain, on his judges.
“Very well,” he said, loudly and firmly, “I shall die; I shall go to God and accuse YOU before his throne,—you who trample on all state and international laws, and have not judged, but murdered me. My blood be on your heads!”
“Prisoner,” said General St. Hilaire, quietly, “if you desire any thing before your death, mention it now, and if able to comply with it, we shall grant it.”
“I have but one desire,” said Palm, and now his voice trembled a little, and a shadow passed across his forehead. “I only wish that my wife may be permitted to spend these last hours with me, and to take leave of me!”
“Your wife?” asked the general. “Is your wife here, then? And if she be here, who has dared to advise you of it?”
“Nobody has advised me of it,” replied Palm, “nor do I know whether she is here or not, but I believe it. Moreover, it would be but natural that she should have followed me hither. Permit me, then, to see her when she comes.”
“Your request is granted. Return to your prison. A preacher will be sent to you to prepare you for death. Soldiers, remand the prisoner.”
Palm saluted the gentlemen with a haughty nod, and slowly and solemnly raised his hand toward heaven. “I summon you to appear before the awful tribunal of God Almighty!” he said, in a loud and ringing voice. “Here you have assumed to judge me; there God will judge you!”
He turned around and left the room at the head of the soldiers.
“It only remains for us now to inform the municipal authorities of this city of what has to be done,” said the general, after a short pause. “They must be present at the execution, for this act of justice shall not take place under the veil of secrecy, but openly under the eyes of God and men. Let the authorities, let the whole city witness how France punishes and judges those who, in their traitorous impudence, have offended against her honor and glory!”
He adjourned the court, and returned to his rooms to repose from so exhausting a session, and to prepare, by partaking of an epicurean repast, for the unpleasant duty that awaited him, viz., to be present at an execution.
The general was just sipping a glass of malmsey with infinite relish, and eating a piece of the excellent pate de foie gras which had been ordered from Strasburg, when a strange and long-continued noise on the street suddenly disturbed him in his epicurean enjoyment.
He placed his glass angrily on the table, and turned his eyes and ears toward the windows opening on the market-place. The noise continued all the time; it sounded singular and extraordinary, as though immense swarms of bees were filling the air with their humming.
The general rose and hastened to the window.
A strange spectacle, indeed, presented itself to his eyes. The whole market-place was crowded with people, not with threatening, violent men, rushing forward with clinched fists and flashing eyes, but with persons whose eyes were filled with tears, and who raised their arms in an imploring manner.
They were women and children, who had marched in solemn procession to the market-place, and now entirely filled it. The news that the court-martial had agreed on a sentence, and that Palm was to be shot by virtue of it this afternoon at two o’clock in the large ditch of the fortress, had spread like wildfire through the whole city of Braunau.
The citizens had received the news with intense rage and silent horror; the authorities and members of the municipality had received orders to repair at the stated hour in their official robes to the place of execution for the purpose of witnessing the dreadful scene.
Too weak to offer any resistance, and well aware that they could not count on the assistance of their own German superiors, they had to submit to the order. Bowing to the stern law of necessity, they declared, therefore, their readiness to comply with the behests of the French general, and to appear at the place of execution.
But while all the men were giving way to cowardly fear; while they timidly swallowed their rage and humiliation, the women arose in the genuine and bold enthusiasm of their grief and compassion. They could not threaten, nor arm their hand with the sword, like men, but they could beseech and supplicate, and in the place of weapons in their hands they had tears in their eyes.
“If you will not go to demand justice for a German citizen, I shall do so,” said the wife of the burgomaster of Braunau to her husband. “You have to watch over the welfare of the city, but I shall save its honor. I will not permit this day to become an eternal disgrace to Braunau, and history to speak one day of the slavish fear with which we humbly submitted to the will of the French tyrant. You men refuse to intercede with the general for Palm; well, then, we women will do so, and God at least will hear our words, and history will preserve them.”
She turned her back to her husband and went to inform her friends of her determination, and to send messengers all over the city.
And from street to street, from house to house, there resounded the shouts: “Dress in mourning, women, and come out into the street. Let us go to General St. Hilaire and beg for the life of a German citizen!”
Not an ear had been closed against this sacred appeal; not a woman’s heart had disregarded it. They came forth from all the houses and from all the cabins, the countess as well as the beggar-woman, the old as well as the young; the mothers led their children by the hand, and the brides lent to their grandmothers their shoulders to lean upon.
The procession formed in front of the burgomaster’s house; then the women walked in pairs and slowly as the weak feet of the tottering old dames and the delicate children required it, through the long main street toward the market-place.
General St. Hilaire was still at the window, gazing in great astonishment on the strange spectacle, when the door opened and his adjutant entered.
“Come and look at this scene,” said the general to him, laughing. “The days of the great revolution seem to find an echo here, and the women rebel as they did at that time. Oh, well do I remember the day when the women went to Versailles in order to frighten the queen by their clamor and to beg bread of the king. But I am no Antoinette, and no corn-fields are growing in my hands. What do they want of me?”
“General, a deputation of the women has just entered the hotel, and beg your excellency to grant them an interview.”
“Are the members of the deputation pretty?” asked the general, laughing.
“The wife of the burgomaster and the first ladies of the city are among them,” said the adjutant, gravely.
“And what do they want?”
“General, they want to implore your excellency to delay the execution of the German bookseller, and grant him a reprieve so as to give them time to petition the emperor to pardon him.”
“Impossible,” exclaimed St. Hilaire, angrily. “It is time to bury and forget this unpleasant affair. No delay, no reprieve! State that to those women. I do not want to be disturbed any longer. Of what importance is this man Palm? Have not thousands of the most distinguished and excellent men been buried on our battle-fields, and has not the world quietly pursued its course? It will therefore do so, too, after Palm is dead. Truly, they are wailing and lamenting about the sentence of this German bookseller as if he were the only copy of such a description in this country so famous for writing and publishing books! Go and dismiss the women; I do not want to listen to them. But if the youngest and prettiest girl among them will come up to me and give me a kiss, she may do so.”
The adjutant withdrew, and the general returned to the window to look down on the surging crowd below. He saw that his adjutant had left the house and walked toward a group of women standing at some distance from the others and apparently looking for him. He saw that his adjutant spoke to them, and that the women then turned around and made a sign to the others.
All the women immediately knelt down, and, raising their folded hands to heaven, began to sing in loud and solemn notes a pious hymn, a hymn of mercy, addressed to God and the Holy Virgin.
The general crossed himself involuntarily, and, perhaps unwillingly, folded his hands as if for silent prayer.
The door opened and the adjutant reentered.
“What does this mean?” exclaimed the general. “I ordered you to send the women home, and instead of that, they remain here and sing a plaintive hymn.”
“General, the women persist in their request. They persist in their demand for an interview with your excellency in order to hear from your own lips whether it is really impossible for them to obtain a—reprieve—a pardon for Palm. They declare they will not leave the place until they have spoken to your excellency, even should you cause your cannon to be pointed against them.”
“Ah, bah! I shall not afford them the pleasure of becoming martyrs,” exclaimed St. Hilaire, sullenly. “Come, I will put an end to the whole affair. I will myself go down and send them home.”
He beckoned his adjutant to follow him, and went with hasty steps down into the market-place, and appeared in the midst of the women.
The hymn died away, but the women did not rise from their knees; they only turned their eyes, which had hitherto been raised to heaven, to the general, and extended their folded hands toward him.
At this moment a dusty travelling-coach drove through the dense crowd on the main street, and entered the market-place to stop in front of the large hotel situated there. A pale young woman leaned out of the carriage, and looked wonderingly at the strange spectacle presented to her eyes.
The kneeling women, who filled the whole market-place, took no notice of the carriage; they did not think of opening their ranks to let it pass; it was, therefore, compelled to halt and wait.
The pale young woman, as if feeling that what had caused all the women here to kneel down must concern her, too, hastily alighted from the carriage and approached the kneeling women.
All at once she heard a loud and imperious voice asking: “What do these ladies want to see me for? You applied for an interview with me: here I am! What do you want?”
“Mercy!” shouted hundreds and hundreds of voices. “Delay of the execution! Mercy for Palm!”
A piercing, terrible cry resounded from the lips of the pale young traveller; she hurried toward the general as if she had wings on her feet.
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 pronounced 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!” ejaculated 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 mass 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 God would lead me to him in time!” exclaimed Anna, raising her radiant eyes toward heaven.