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Page 34
"The bank-notes! The blood-money which I have earned!"
Her father had carefully gathered up the bank-bills which she had thrown
about the room, and gave them to her. Leonore shuddered as she clenched
them in her trembling hands. "I have sold him," she shrieked, raising the
hand that held the papers toward heaven. "His blood clings to this money.
But I will hurl it at the emperor's feet. I want no pay; I will beg his
life for my recompense. Pray father, pray that he may hear me, may grant me
mercy, for I swear by all that is sacred, if Kolbielsky must die, I will
kill his murderers. And his murderers are--you and I!"
"The carriage is at the door," said a servant, entering.
She sprang forward. "I am coming. Pray, father, pray for mercy upon my
loved one's murderers!"
CHAPTER VIII.
PARDON.
Four days had elapsed since the execution at Sch�nbrunn. Baron von
Kolbielsky had been forced to attend it and was then conveyed to Vienna to
spend dreary, lonely days at the police station in the Krebsgasse.
He had vainly asked at least to be led before his judges to receive his
sentence. The jailer, to whom Kolbielsky uttered these requests whenever he
entered, always replied merely with a silent shrug of the shoulders, and
went away as mute as he had come.
But yesterday, late in the evening, he had entered, accompanied by the
Chief Commissioner G�hausen, two magistrates, and a clergyman. With a
solemn, immovable official countenance Commissioner G�hausen opened the
document which his subordinate handed to him, and, in a loud voice, read
its contents. It was a sentence of death. The death-sentence of Baron
Friedrich Carl Glare von Kolbielsky "on account of sympathy and complicity
in a murderous assault upon the sacred life of his annointed imperial ally
and friend, Napoleon, emperor of the French."[F] Early the following
morning, at dawn, Baron Friedrich Carl Glare von Kolbielsky must be shot at
Sch�nbrunn.
Kolbielsky had listened to this death-warrant with immovable composure--no
word, no entreaty for pardon escaped his lips. But he requested the
priest, who desired to remain to pray with him and receive his confession,
to leave him.
"What I have to confess, only God must know," he said, smiling proudly. "In
our corrupt times even the secrets of the confessional are no longer
sacred, and if I confessed the truth to you, it would mean the betrayal of
my friends. God sees my heart; He knows its secrets and will have mercy on
me. I wish to be alone, that is the last favor I request."
So he was left alone--alone during this long bitter night before his doom!
Yet he was not solitary! His thoughts were with him, and his love--his love
for Leonore!
Never had he so ardently worshipped her as on this night of anguish. Never
had he recalled with such rapture her beauty, her indescribable charm, as
on this night when, with the deepest yearning of his heart, he took leave
of her. Ah, how often, how often, carried away by the fervor of his
feelings, he had stretched out his arms to the empty air, whispering her
dear, beloved name, and not ashamed of the tears which streamed from his
eyes. He had sacrificed his life to hate, to his native land, but his last
thoughts, his last greetings, might now be given to the woman whom he
loved. All his desires turned to her. Oh, to see her once more! What
rapture thrilled him at the thought! And he knew that she would come if he
sent to her; she would have the daring courage to visit his prison to bring
him her last love-greeting. He need only call the jailer and say to him:
"Hasten to Baroness de Simonie in Schottengasse. Tell her that I beg her
to come here; tell her that I must die and wish to bid her farewell. She is
my betrothed bride; she has a right to take leave of me."
He only needed to say this and his request would have been fulfilled, for
the last wishes of the dying and of those condemned to death are sacred,
and will never be denied, if it is possible to grant them.
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