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.