Part 21 (1/2)
My death will be sharp and sudden, without pain. I shall fall gloriously, like a soldier, like a conquered sovereign....
If you cannot, dearest, bear up under your load of sorrow, if G.o.d in His mercy soon reunites us by your death, I will bless His fatherly hand, which now seems very heavy upon me. Adieu, adieu!
YOUR POOR MAX.
He kissed this letter, folded into it the light silky lock of his own hair, and placed it with other letters which he had written to his mother and friends. They were all in French, and written in a clear, firm, regular hand. His n.o.ble nature shone in every line. They give the key to the irresistible personal sympathy he inspired in all who knew him. His enemies were aware of this, and no judge or general who had ever known him sat on his court-martial.
As six o'clock was striking on the morning of June 19, the door of the prison was unbarred. ”I am ready,” said Maximilian.
As he stepped forth from the door of the convent, he exclaimed: ”What a beautiful morning! I have always fancied I should like to die in suns.h.i.+ne,--on a summer day.”
He entered the carriage in waiting. Miramon and Mejia followed him, with the priest who attended them in their last moments. They were escorted by a body of four thousand men, and were driven to the same rocky height on which they had been captured, called the Cerro della Campana. They sat upright in the carriage during the drive, with proud smiles upon their faces. They were carefully dressed, as if for an occasion of festivity. The population of the place was all abroad to see them pa.s.s, and looked at them with silent pity and admiration. The calmness and self-possession of the emperor, about to die, touched even the most indifferent spectators.
The women freely shed tears.
Maximilian was a handsome, striking-looking man. His beautiful light hair was parted by a straight line from his forehead to the nape of his neck. His blue eyes were clear and soft, with a beseeching look in them. His hands were beautifully white, his fingers elegant and taper.
As they neared the place of execution, General Mejia suddenly turned pale, covered his face, and with a sob fell back in his place in the carriage. He had caught sight of his wife, agonized, dishevelled, with her baby in her arms, and all the appearance of a madwoman.
The party arrived at the foot of the little hill. The emperor sprang out, brushed off some dust which had settled on his clothes, and going up to the firing party, gave each man an ounce of gold. ”Take good aim, my friends,” he said. ”Do not, if possible, hit me in the face, but shoot right at my heart.”
One of the soldiers wept. Maximilian went to him, and putting his cigar-case, of silver filigree, into his hand, said: ”Keep that, my friend, in remembrance of me. It was given to me by a prince more fortunate than I am now.”
The non-commissioned officer then came near, and said he hoped that he would forgive him. ”My good fellow,” replied Maximilian, cheerfully, ”a soldier has but to obey orders; his duty is to do his duty.”
Then, turning to Miramon and Mejia, he said: ”Let me, true friends, embrace you for the last time!” He did so, and then added: ”In a few minutes we shall be together in a better world.”
Turning to Miramon, he said: ”General, the bravest man should have the place of honor. Take mine.”
Mejia being very much cast down by the sad spectacle presented by his poor, distracted wife, Maximilian again pressed his hands, saying: ”G.o.d will not abandon our suffering survivors. For those who die unjustly, things will be set right in another world.”
The drums began to beat. The end was near. Maximilian stepped forward, mounted on a stone, and addressed the spectators.
”Mexicans! men of my rank and of my race, who feel as I feel, must either be the benefactors of the people over whom they reign, or martyrs. It was no rash ambition of my own that called me hither; you, you yourselves, invited me to accept your throne. Before dying, let me tell you that with all the powers I possess I sought your good. Mexicans! may my blood be the last blood that you shed; may Mexico, the unhappy country of my adoption, be happy when I am gone!”
As soon as he had resumed his place, a sergeant came up to order Miramon and Mejia to turn round. As traitors, they were to be shot in the back.
”Farewell, dear friends,” said Maximilian, and crossing his arms, he stood firm as a statue.
When the command was given: ”Shoulder arms!” a murmur of protestation, accompanied by threats, rose among part of the crowd, in which there were many Indians. Their national superst.i.tions and traditions had attached this simple people to the emperor. They had a prophecy among them that one day a white man would come over the seas to set them free, and many of them looked for this savior in Maximilian.
The officers in command turned towards the crowd, shaking their swords. Then came the words: ”Take aim! Fire!”
”Long live Mexico!” cried Miramon.
”Carlotta! Poor Carlotta!” exclaimed Maximilian.
When the smoke of the volley had cleared away, three corpses lay upon the earth. That of the emperor had received five b.a.l.l.s. The victims were placed in coffins which lay ready near the place of execution, and, escorted as they had been before, were carried back to the convent of the Capuchins.
”The emperor being dead, we will do all honor to the corpse of the Archduke of Austria,” said Colonel Miguel Palacios, to whom this care was given. The corpse was embalmed, and the body placed in a vault.
The Russian amba.s.sador, Baron Magnus, and the American commander of a United States vessel of war which layoff Vera Cruz, in vain solicited the body of the late emperor. The Austrian Vice-admiral Tegethoff (the ill.u.s.trious conqueror at Lissa) had to come and personally demand it in November of the next year. He at the same time time obtained the release of the Austrian soldiers still retained as prisoners, and of Prince Salm-Salm, lying under sentence of death since the execution of the emperor.