I smile in order to hide my tears and I ask humbly if my guards will permit me to speak a word.
But they will not permit me.
Still I want to speak—not to show my courage, but really I want to say a few words from my heart so as not to die mutely—innocent words that will harm nobody, a couple of hurried sentences before they clap their hands across my lips: Friends, see how God's sun is shining….
And I open my lips, but I cannot speak.
Am I afraid? Does my courage fail? Alas, no, I am not afraid. But I am weak, that I am, and I cannot speak because I look upon God's sun and the trees for the last time….
What now? A horseman with a white flag?
Peace, my heart, do not tremble so!
No, it is a woman with a white veil, a handsome woman of my own age.
Her neck is bare like my own.
And I do not understand it, but I weep because of this white veil,
too, because I am weak and the white veil flutters beautifully against
the green background of the forest. But in a little while I shall see
it no more….
Perhaps, though, after my head has fallen I may still be able to see
the blessed sky for a few moments with my eyes. It is not impossible,
if I only open my eyes widely when the axe falls. Then the sky will be
the last I see.