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Page 35
But he had the strength to repress this most sacred, deepest desire of his
heart, for such a message would have compromised _her_. Perhaps she, too,
might have been dragged into the investigation, punished as a criminal,
though she was innocent.
No, he dared not send to her! His Leonore, the beloved, worshipped idol of
his heart, should not suffer a moment's anxiety through him. He loved her
so fervently that for her sake he joyfully sacrificed even his longing for
her. Let her think of him as one who had vanished! Let her never learn that
Baron von Moudenfels, the man who would be shot in a few hours, was the man
whom she loved. He would meet death calmly and joyfully, for he would leave
her hope! Hope of a meeting--not yonder, but here on earth! She would
expect him, she would watch for him daily in love and loyalty, and
gradually, gently and easily, she would become accustomed to the thought of
seeing him no more. Yet, while doing so, she would not deem him faithless,
would not suppose that he had abandoned her, but would know that it was
destiny which severed them--that if he did not return to her, he had gone
to the place whence there is no return.
"Oh, Leonore, dearly loved one! Never to see you again, never again to hear
from your lips those sweet, sacred revelations of love; never again to look
into your eyes, those eyes which shine more brightly than all the stars in
heaven."
It was already growing lighter. Dawn was approaching. Yonder, in the dark
night sky a dull golden streak appeared, the harbinger of day. The sun was
rising, bringing to the world and all its creatures, life; but to him, the
condemned man, death.
Still he would die for his native land, for liberty! That was consolation,
support. He had sought to rid the world of the tyrant who had crushed all
nations into the dust, destroyed all liberty. Fate had not favored him; it
shielded the tyrant. So Kolbielsky was dying. Not as a criminal, but as the
martyr of a great and noble cause would he front death. And though fate had
not favored him now, some day it would avenge him, avenge him on the tyrant
Napoleon. It would hurl him from his height, crush him into the dust,
trample him under foot, as he now trampled under his feet the rights and
the liberties of the nations.
There was comfort, genuine consolation in this thought. It made death easy.
The dawn grew brighter. Crimson clouds floated from all directions across
the sky! Perhaps he would be summoned in half an hour.
No, not even half an hour's delay. His executioners were punctual. The
bolts on the outer door were already rattling.
"Come, Kolbielsky, be brave, proud, and strong. Meet them with a joyous
face; let no look betray that you are suffering! They are coming, they are
coming! Farewell, sweet, radiant life! Farewell, Leonore! Love of my heart,
farewell!"
The inner door was opened--Kolbielsky advanced to meet his executioners
with proud composure and a smiling face. But what did this mean? Neither
executioner, priest, nor judge appeared, but a young man, wrapped in a
cloak, with his head covered by a broad-brimmed hat that shaded his face.
Who was it? Who could it be? Kolbielsky stood staring at him, without the
strength to ask a question. The young man also leaned for a moment,
utterly crushed and powerless, against the wall beside the door. Then
rousing himself by a violent effort, he bent toward the gray-bearded jailer
who stood in the doorway with his huge bunch of keys in his hand, and
whispered a few words. The jailer nodded, stepped back into the corridor,
closed the door behind him and locked it.
The young man flung aside the cloak which shrouded his figure. What did
this mean? He wore Kolbielsky's livery; from his dress he appeared to be
his servant, yet he was not the man whom he had had in his service for
years.
Kolbielsky had the strength to go a few steps forward.
"Who are you?" he asked in a low tone. "Good heavens, who are you?"
The youth flung off his hat and rushed toward Kolbielsky. "Who am I? I?"
he cried exultingly. "Look at me and say who I am."
A cry, a single cry escaped Kolbielsky's lips, then seizing the youth's
slender figure in his arms, he bore it to the window.
The first rays of the rising sun were shining in and fell upon the young
man's face.
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