"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, pa.s.sionately--"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 t.i.tle 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 archd.u.c.h.ess, 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 inc.u.mbent. 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 Archd.u.c.h.ess 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 Schonbrunn. 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 pa.s.sed 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 Schonbrunn. 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 ma.s.ses. 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, compa.s.sionate 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."