Andreas Hofer
by
Lousia Muhlbach
Part 11 out of 11
The fugitives lay still behind the altar, motionless, listening,
with hearts throbbing impetuously. Could they dare to leave their
place of concealment? Was it not, perhaps, a mere stratagem of the
enemy to keep silent? Had the soldiers surrounded the chapel, and
were they waiting merely for them to come out? They waited and
listened for hours, but their cowering position benumbed their
blood; it stiffened their limbs and made their heads ache. "Father,
I can no longer stand it," murmured Eliza; "I will die rather than
stay here any longer."
"Come, Lizzie," said Wallner, raising himself up and jumping over
the altar, "come! I, too, think it is better for us to die than hide
thus like thieves."
They joined hands and left the chapel, looking anxiously in all
directions. But every thing remained silent, and not a Bavarian
soldier made his appearance.
"They are gone, indeed they are gone," said Wallner, triumphantly.
"Now we must make haste, my girl; we shall ascend the height; the
footpath leads up here in the rear of the chapel; within two hours
we shall reach the summit, and, if our feet do not slip, if we do
not fall into the depth, if no avalanche overwhelms us, and if the
storm does not freeze us, I think we shall reach the Isel-Tauerkamm
to-night, and sleep at the inn there. May the Holy Virgin protect
us!"
And the Holy Virgin did seem to guard the intrepid wanderers--to
enable them to cross abysses on frail bridges; to prevent them from
sinking into invisible clefts and pits covered with snow; to make
them safely escape the avalanches falling down here and there, and
protect them from freezing to death.
Toward dusk they reached at length the inn on the Isel-Tauerkamm,
utterly exhausted by fatigue, hunger, and frost, and entered the
bar-room on the ground-floor. Nobody was there but the landlord, a
gloomy, morose-looking man, who eyed the new-comers with evident
distrust.
When the two wanderers, scarcely able to utter a word, seated
themselves on the bench at the narrow table, the land-lord stepped
up to them.
"I am not allowed to harbor any one without seeing his passport," he
said. "There are all sorts of fugitive vagabonds prowling around
here to hide from the Bavarians, who are searching the whole
district to-day. Give me your passport, therefore."
Wallner handed him the paper in silence. The landlord read it
attentively, and seemed to compare the two with the description in
the passport. "H'm!" he said, "the carpet-dealer and his son--that
corresponds to what the passport says; but where is the bundle of
carpets?"
Anthony Wallner gave a slight start; he recovered his presence of
mind immediately, however, and said calmly,
"The carpets are all sold already; we are on our return to Windisch-
Matrey."
"See, see how lucky you have been," said the landlord, laughing;
"the passport says you started only yesterday morning, and to-day
you have already sold all your carpets. Well, in that case, you are
certainly justified in returning to your home. Your passport is in
good order, and the Bavarians, therefore, will not molest you."
"As my passport is in good order, I suppose you will give us beds,
and, above all things, something to eat and drink."
"You shall have everything, that is to say, every thing that I can
give you. I am all alone here, and have nothing but a piece of ham,
bread, and cheese, and a glass of wine. As for beds, I have not got
any; you must sleep on the bench here."
"Well, we will do so; but give us something to eat now," said
Wallner, "and add a little fuel to the fire, that we may warm
ourselves."
The landlord added some brushwood and a few billets to the fire,
fetched the provisions, and looked on while the wanderers were
partaking of the food with eager appetite. All at once he stepped
quickly up to them, seated himself on the bench opposite them, and
drew a paper from his pocket. "I will read something to you now," he
said. "There were Bavarian soldiers here to-day; they gave me a new
decree, and ordered me to obey it under pain of death. Listen to
me."
And he read, in a loud, scornful voice
"Know all men by these presents, that any inhabitant of the German
or Italian Tyrol, who dares to harbor Anthony Wallner, called
Aichberger, late commander of the sharp-shooters of Windisch-Matrey,
or his two sons, shall lose his whole property by confiscation, and
his house shall be burned down." [Footnote: Loritza, p. 130.]
"Did you hear it?" asked the landlord, after reading the
proclamation.
"I did," said Wallner, with perfect composure, "but it does not
concern us."
"Yes, it does. I believe you are Anthony Wallner, and the lad there
is one of your sons."
Anthony Wallner laughed. "Forsooth," he said, "if I were Wallner I
should not be so stupid as to show myself. I believe he is hiding
somewhere in the mountains near Windisch-Matrey. But I think I
resemble him a little, for you are not the first man who has taken
me for Anthony Wallner. And that the lad there is not one of Anthony
Wallner's sons, I will swear on the crucifix, if you want me to do
so."
"Well, well, it is all right, I believe you," growled the landlord.
"Now lie down and sleep; there is a pillow for each of you, and now
good-night; I will go to my chamber and sleep too."
He nodded to them morosely, and left the room.
"Lizzie, do you think we can trust him?" asked Wallner, in a low
voice.
Eliza made no reply; she only beckoned to her father, slipped on
tiptoe across the room to the. door, and applied her ear to it.
There was a pause. Then they heard the front door jar.
"Father," whispered Eliza, hastening to Wallner, "he has left the
house to fetch the soldiers. I heard him walk through the hall to
the front door and open it. He has left, and locked us up."
"Locked us up?" cried Wallner, and hastened to the door. He shook it
with the strength of a giant, but the lock did not yield; the bolts
did not give way.
"It is in vain, in vain!" cried Wallner, stamping the floor
furiously; "the door does not yield; we are caught in the trap, for
there is no other outlet."
"Yes, father, there is; there is the window," said Eliza. "Come, we
must jump out of the window."
"But did you not see, Lizzie, that the house stands on a slope, and
that a staircase leads outside to the front door? If we jump out of
the window, we shall fall at least twenty feet."
"But there is a great deal of snow on the ground, and we shall fall
softly. I will jump out first, father, and you must follow me
immediately."
And Eliza disappeared out of the window. Wallner waited a few
seconds and then followed her. They reached the ground safely; the
deep snow prevented the leap from being dangerous; they sprang
quickly to their feet, and hastened on as fast as their weary limbs
would carry them.
It was a cold, dark night. The moon, which shone so brightly during
the previous night, was covered with heavy clouds; the storm swept
clouds of snow before it, and whistled and howled across the
extensive snow-fields. But the wanderers continued their journey
with undaunted hearts.
All at once something stirred behind them; they saw torches gleaming
up, and Bavarian soldiers accompanying the bearers of the torches.
The soldiers, headed by the landlord who had fetched them, rushed
forward with wild shouts and imprecations. But Wallner and Eliza
likewise rushed forward like roes hunted down. They panted heavily,
the piercing storm almost froze their faces, their feet bled, but
they continued their flight at a rapid rate. Nevertheless, the
distance separating them from their pursuers became shorter and
shorter. The Bavarians, provided with torches, could see the road
and the footsteps of the fugitives in the snow, while the latter had
to run blindly into the night, unable to see whither their feet were
carrying them, and exhausted by the long journey of the preceding
day.
The distance between pursuers and pursued rapidly diminished;
scarcely twenty yards now lay between them, and the soldiers
extended their hands already to seize them. At this moment of
extreme peril the storm came up howling with redoubled fury and
drove whole clouds of snow before it, extinguished the torches of
the Bavarians, and shrouded every thing in utter darkness. The
joyful cries of the pursued and the imprecations of their pursuers
were heard at the same time.
Wallner and Eliza, whose eyes were already accustomed to the
darkness, advanced at a rapid rate, the soldiers followed them, but
blinded by the darkness, unable to see the road, and calling each
other in order to remain together. These calls and shouts added to
the advantages of the fugitives, for they indicated to them the
direction which they had to take in order to avoid the enemy.
Finally, the shouts became weaker and weaker, and died away
entirely.
The fugitives continued their flight more leisurely; but they could
not rest and stand still in the dark, cold night, for the storm
would have frozen them, the cold would have killed them. They did
not speak, but advanced breathlessly and hand in hand. All at once
they beheld a light twinkling in the distance like a star. There was
a house, then, and men also. They walked on briskly, and the light
came nearer and nearer. Now they saw already the house through whose
windows it gleamed. In a few minutes they were close to the house,
in front of which they beheld a tall post.
"Great God!" cried Anthony Wallner; "I believe that is a boundary-
post, and we are now on Austrian soil."
He knocked hastily at the door; it opened, and the two wanderers
entered the small, warm, and cozy room, where they were received by
a man in uniform, who sat at the table eating his supper.
Anthony Wallner went close up to him and pointed to his uniform.
"You wear the Austrian uniform" he asked.
"I do, sir," said the man, smilingly.
"And we are here on Austrian soil?"
"Yes, sir. The boundary-post is in front of this house. This is an
Austrian custom-house."
Anthony Wallner threw his arm around Eliza's neck and knelt down. He
burst into tears, and exclaimed in a loud, joyous voice, "Lord God
in heaven, I thank Thee!"
Eliza said nothing, but her tears spoke for her, and so did the
smile with which she looked up to heaven and then at her father.
The custom-house officer had risen and stood profoundly moved by the
side of the two.
"Who are you, my friend?" he asked; "and why do you weep and thank
God?"
"Who am I?" asked Wallner, rising and drawing Eliza up with him. "I
am Anthony Wallner, and this is my daughter Lizzie, who has saved me
from the Bavarians. The good God--"
He said no more, but leaned totteringly on Eliza's shoulder, and
sank senseless to the ground.
Eliza threw herself upon him, uttering loud cries of anguish. "He is
dead," she cried, despairingly; "he is dead!"
"No, he is not dead," said the officer; "the excitement and fatigue
have produced a swoon. He will soon be restored to consciousness and
get over it. Careful nursing shall not be wanting to Anthony Wallner
in my house."
He had prophesied correctly. Anthony Wallner awoke again, and seemed
to recover rapidly under the kind nursing of his host and his
daughter.
They remained two days at the custom-house on the frontier. The news
of Anthony Wallner's arrival spread like wildfire through the whole
neighborhood, and the landed proprietors of the district hastened to
the custom-house to see the heroic Tyrolese chief and his intrepid
daughter, and offered their services to both of them.
It was no longer necessary for them to journey on foot. Wherever
they came, the carriages of the wealthy and aristocratic inhabitants
were in readiness for them, and they were greeted everywhere with
jubilant acclamations. Their journey to Vienna was an incessant
triumphal procession, a continued chain of demonstrations of
enthusiasm and manifestations of love.
Anthony Wallner, however, remained silent, gloomy, and downcast,
amid all these triumphs; and on arousing himself sometimes from his
sombre broodings, and seeing the painful expression with which
Eliza's eyes rested on him, he tried to smile, but the smile died
away on his trembling lips.
"I believe I shall be taken very sick," he said, faintly. "My head
aches dreadfully, and all my limbs are trembling. I was too long in
the Alpine hut, and the numerous previous fatigues. The excitement,
grief, cold, and hunger, and last, the long journey on foot, have
been too much for me. Ah, Lizzie, Lizzie, I shall be taken sick.
Great God! it would be dreadful if I should die now and leave you
all alone in this foreign country! No, no, I do not want to be taken
sick, I have no time for it. Oh, listen to me; my God! I do not want
to be taken sick, for Lizzie must not be left an orphan here. No,
no, no!"
And he lifted his clinched fist to heaven, screamed, and wept, and
uttered senseless and incoherent words.
"I am afraid he has got the nervous fever," said Baron Engenberg,
who was conveying Wallner and Eliza in his carriage from the last
station to Vienna. "It will be necessary for us to take him at once
to a hospital."
"Can I stay with him there and nurse him?" asked Eliza, repressing
her tears.
"Of course you can."
"Then let us take him to a hospital," she said, calmly. "He will
die, but I shall be there to close his eyes."
And it was Eliza that closed her father's eyes. The violent nervous
fever which had seized Anthony Wallner was too much for his
exhausted body. He died five days after his arrival at Vienna, on
the 15th of February, 1810, at the city hospital.
Many persons attended his funeral; many persons came to see Eliza
Wallner, the young heroine of the Tyrol. But Eliza would not see
anybody. She remained in the room which had been assigned to her at
the hospital, and she spoke and prayed only with the priest who had
administered the last unction to her father.
On the day after the funeral the Emperor Francis sent one of his
chamberlains to Eliza, to induce her to remain in Vienna. He would
provide for her bountifully, and reward her for what her father had
done. The chamberlain was also instructed to conduct Eliza to the
emperor, that he might thank and console her personally.
Eliza shook her head, gravely. "The emperor need not thank me," she
said, "for I did no more for him than he did for the Tyrol. He is
unable to console me; God alone can do that, and He will also
provide for me. I cannot see the emperor, for my heart is too deeply
afflicted. But if you will give me money enough, sir, to return
quickly to my dear Tyrol and my beloved mother, I shall accept it
and be grateful to you. I must return to my mother and weep with
her; and my dear home, my dear mountains will console me."
"You can set out as soon as you please," said the chamberlain. "The
emperor has interceded in your behalf and obtained this safeguard
for you in case you wished to return to your native country. No one
will molest you, and you and your family can live quietly at your
home."
"If the emperor had done as much for my father as he does for me, my
father would not have died," said Eliza, gravely, accepting the
paper. "Now he has no longer need of an emperor. He is with God, and
I would I were with him above! But I must not leave my mother. I
must console her and stay with her as long as it pleases God."
[Footnote: Eliza Wallner returned to Windisch-Matrey, and lived
there in quiet retirement. She never married. After the death of her
mother she yielded to Joachim Haspinger's entreaties and went to
live at his house. The Capuchin was ordained and appointed pastor of
Jotelsee, and afterward of Traunfeld. Eliza lived with him as his
adopted daughter, and was still with him at the time of his death,
which took place in 1856, at Salzburg.--See Sehallhammer's "Joachim
Haspinger," p. 184.]
CHAPTER XLIV.
ANDREAS HOFER'S DEATH.
The court-martial at Mantua had passed sentence of death upon
Andreas Hofer for fighting against the French after the last
proclamation of Eugene Beauharnais offering a general amnesty. But
the court-martial had not adopted this decision unanimously; several
members had voted for long confinement, and two had had the courage
to vote for his entire deliverance. By a singular revolution of
fortune, the same General Bisson, who had been taken prisoner at
Innspruck at the outbreak of the insurrection, and with whom Major
Teimer had made his triumphal entry into Innspruck, was now governor
of Mantua, and president of the court-martial which tried the
commander-in-chief of the Tyrolese. The general, in consideration of
his captivity among the Tyrolese, wished to act mildly and
impartially, and sent a telegraphic dispatch to the viceroy at Milan
to inquire what was to be done with Andreas Hofer, inasmuch as the
sentence of the court-martial had not been passed unanimously. An
answer was returned very soon. It contained the categorical order
that Andreas Hofer should be shot within twenty-four hours.
Commissioners of the military authorities, therefore, entered
Andreas Hofer's cell on the 21st of February, and informed him that
he would suffer death within two hours.
He listened to them standing, and with unshaken firmness. "I shall
die, then, at least as a soldier, and not as a criminal," he said,
nodding his head gently. "I am not afraid of bullets, nor of the
good God either; He was always kind to me, and it is even now kind
in Him to relieve me from my sufferings here. I am ready to appear
before the judgment-seat of God."
"If you have any special wishes to prefer, communicate them to us
now; and if it is possible, they shall be granted," said one of the
officers, profoundly moved.
"There are some wishes which I should like to prefer," replied
Hofer, musingly. "In the first place, I wish to see once more my
dear Cajetan Doeninger, who was separated from me and confined in
another cell; and then I wish to dictate a letter and my last will,
and would request that both be sent to my dear brother-in-law."
"These wishes shall be complied with; I promise it to you in the
name of General Bisson. Do you desire to prefer any additional
requests?"
"I wish further that a priest be sent to me, that he may receive my
confession, and grant me absolution; and finally, I should like to
see once more my dear countrymen, who are imprisoned in the
casemates here, and take leave of them in a few words."
"A confessor will be sent to you, but your last request can not be
complied with," was the reply. "An exciting and perhaps disorderly
scene would ensue, and such things must be avoided."
"Well, then," said Andreas, sighing, "send me my dear secretary, and
afterward the priest."
A few minutes after the officers had withdrawn, the door opened, and
Cajetan Doeninger came in. He burst into tears, rushed toward
Andreas Hofer, and folding him to his heart, exclaimed mournfully:
"Is it true, then, that they intend to kill you? Is it true that
they are going to assassinate the noblest and best man like a
criminal?"
"Hush, hush, Cajetan," said Andreas, gently, pressing Doeninger
tenderly to his heart; "do not scold, but submit as I do. I die
gladly, for it is better that I should sacrifice myself for my
native country than that others should die for my sake, or for the
fatherland." [Footnote: Hofer's own words--See "Gallery of Heroes:
Andreas Hofer," p. 195.]
"Oh, would that I could die for you!" sobbed Doeninger; "my life is
worthless without you. Is it possible that you must suffer now so
ignominious a punishment for all your noble deeds and aspirations?"
"God alone knows what is good," said Andreas, mildly, "and I have
doubtless committed many errors, for which I have to suffer now.
But, Cajetan, will you fulfil my last request?"
"Name it, and I will comply with it."
"Then weep no more, my dear friend, for your tears give me pain. Be,
as formerly, manful and firm."
"I will," said Doeninger; and he dried his tears and forced himself
to be calm and composed.
"And now, Cajetan, be my secretary for the last time," said Andreas,
gently. "I will dictate to you a letter to my brother-in-law Pohler,
at Neustadt. The jailer has already laid paper, pen, and ink on the
table. Sit down, therefore, and write."
Cajetan went to the table and seated himself. "I am ready,
commander-in-chief," he said; "dictate to me now."
Andreas walked up and down several times musingly; he then stood
still near the table; a wondrous expression of serene calmness and
peace beamed from his face, and he dictated in a clear, quiet voice
which did not once tremble with emotion.
"Dearest brother-in-law: It was God's will that I should exchange
here at Mantua my earthly life for a better one. But--God be praised
for his divine mercy!--it seems to me as little painful as if I were
to be led out for another purpose. God in His mercy will doubtless
be with me to the last moment, when I shall ascend to that eternal
dwelling-place where my soul will rejoice for evermore with all the
chosen spirit! and where I shall pray for all, and particularly for
those to whom I owe my intercession; above all, for you, too, and
your dear wife, on account of the book which you presented to me.
and of other kind acts. Let all my dear friends and acquaintances
pray for me too, and help me to rise from the devouring flames, when
I have to expiate my sins in purgatory. My beloved wife, Anna
Gertrude, is to have masses read for me at St. Martin's Zum
rosenfarbnen Blut. She shall have prayers read in both of the
parish-churches, and treat my friends at the lower inn to soup and
meat, and give every one half a bottle of wine. The money I had
about me will be distributed among the poor of this city; for the
rest, settle with my debtors and creditors as honestly as you can;
lest I should have to atone for it also. Farewell, all of you, for
this world, until we shall meet in heaven and praise God for
evermore. Dearest brother-in-law, repair to the Passeyr valley, and
inform the landlord of the lower inn of my instructions. He will
make all necessary dispositions. Let all the inhabitants of Passeyr,
and all my acquaintances remember me in their prayers. Dearest
brother-in-law, tell my wife, Anna Gertrude, not to grieve for me. I
shall pray to God for her and for all. Adieu, beautiful world! Dying
seems to me so easy that there are not even tears in my eyes."
"Written at nine o'clock; at ten I shall ascend to God with the aid
of all the saints."
"Your--."
"Mantua, February 20, 1810."
[Footnote: "Gallery of heroes: Andreas Hofer," p. 197.]
"I will write the signature as I always did," said Andreas Hofer;
and, taking up the pen quickly, he wrote:
"Your Andreas Hofer, from Sand in Passeyr, whom you loved in this
life. I will set out on my last journey in the Lord's name."
[Footnote: "Gallery of Heroes."]
"I thank you, Cajetan, for rendering me this last service," said
Andreas, kindly. "And now, my dear friend, let us take leave of each
other. The confessor will be here soon, and then I must no longer
speak to any one but God."
Cajetan came to him with a tottering step, and leaned his head
silently on Hofer's shoulder. He did not speak, he wanted to be
firm, but he was unable to restrain the sobs and sighs which issued
from his breast.
"My dear Cajetan, why do you weep?" asked Hofer, pressing
Doeninger's head gently to his heart. "Did you weep when I went into
battle, where the enemy's bullets might have hit me at any second?
You did not weep then. Think, therefore, that I am going into battle
to-day too, and that it is better for me to be hit by the bullets
than suffer any longer in this manner."
At this moment the door opened, and the priest, Giovanni Giacomo
Manifesti, dressed in full vestments, came in. The guards who
followed him led away Doeninger, who obeyed them in silence, as if
stunned by his terrible grief. [Footnote: Cajetan Doeninger was
taken immediately after Hofer's execution, from his prison, and sent
to the Island of Corsica, as a private in a regiment of light
infantry. He succeeded, some time afterward, in escaping from
thence, and returning to his native country.]
Andreas Hofer remained alone with his confessor.
At eleven o'clock the doors of the prison were thrown open, and
Andreas Hofer was led out to execution. His face was serene, and in
his hands he held the small crucifix which he had always worn on his
breast. His confessor, Manifesti, walked by his side, and a
battalion of grenadiers followed him.
Andreas Hofer walked along the ramparts of the fortress with a firm
step. As he passed by the barracks of the Porta Molina, where the
Tyrolese prisoners were confined, they fell on their knees and wept
aloud. Andreas turned quickly to Manifesti the, priest. "Your
reverence," he said, "you will distribute among my poor countrymen
the five hundred florins, my last property, which I gave to you,
will you not?"
"I will, my son."
"And take my greetings to all," said Andreas Hofer, in a grave, loud
voice, "and tell them not to be disheartened, nor to think that all
is lost, and that we have fought and bled in vain. Better times will
dawn upon my beloved Tyrol, and one day it will be again a free
German country. Tell them to hope and believe in this prediction."
On the broad bastion, a little distance from the Porta Ceresa, the
grenadiers formed a square, open in the rear. Andreas Hofer entered
this open space with the priest, bowed kindly to all sides, and
prayed aloud with the priest.
"Now, farewell, dear reverend father," he then said, "and accept
this crucifix as a souvenir from me. I have worn it on my breast for
twenty years past, and it will remind you of Andreas Hofer. Inform
my wife that I suffered death joyously, and that I know we shall
meet again above. You promised me to do so, and you will redeem your
promise, reverend father, will you not?"
"Certainly I will, my beloved, pious son," said Manifesti; and with
tears in his eyes he embraced and blessed Andreas Hofer for the last
time. [Footnote: Manifesti redeemed his promise. He sent to the
Tyrol the following letter regarding Hofer's death:
MANTOVA, li 21, Febrajo, 1810. "Ieri poco primo del mezzo giorno e
stato fueillato il Signore Andreas Hofer, gia commandante del
Tirolo. Dalla commissione militare, che l'ha sententiato, fu
invitato ad assisterio, e sebbene fossi convalescente per una
maladia pocchi giorno avanti sofferta, ho volonteri assento
l'impegno, e con somma mia consolazione ed edificatione ho ammirato
un uomo, che e andato alla morte d'un eroe Christiano a l'ha
sostenuto di martire intrepido. Egli con tutta segretezza mi ha
consegnata una carta di somma importanza per l'orfona sua famiglia
incaricando mi dirigerla a V. Sig. Rio M.--Sono con perfetta stima,
"Di V. S. Rio M."
"Divotissimo,"
"GIOV. BATT. (AROIPRETE) MANIFESTI"
"MANTUA, Feb. 21, 1810.--Yesterday, a few minutes before twelve, Mr.
Andreas Hofer, late commander of the Tyrol, was shot here. The
military commission which tried him requested me to attend him, and
although I had recovered but a few days since from sickness, I
gladly complied with the request, and admired, to my consolation and
edification, a man who went to death as a Christian hero, and
suffered it as an intrepid martyr. Under the seal of profound
silence he intrusted to me a paper of the highest importance to his
family," &c.--See Hormayr's "Lebensbilder," vol. i. p. 224.]
The priest thereupon left the square, while twelve men and a
corporal stood forth with loaded muskets. The corporal offered Hofer
a white handkerchief to bandage his eyes.
"No," said Hofer. "I have often already faced death; it is a dear
friend of mine, and I want to see it, therefore, when it comes to
me."
"Kneel down, then," said the corporal.
"I shall not," replied Hofer, gravely and almost imperiously. "I am
used to stand upright before my Creator, and in that posture I will
deliver up my spirit to Him. But pray," he added in a milder voice,
"aim well. Come, corporal, I will give you yet a souvenir; it is my
whole remaining property. Look at this Zwanziger; I had it coined
when I was commander-in-chief of the Tyrol; and it reminds me now of
my beloved country, and it seems to me as though its snow-clad
mountains were looking down on me and greeting me. There, keep it as
a remembrancer, and aim well!"
The corporal stepped back and commanded in a voice tremulous with
emotion, "Fire!"
"Fire!" shouted Hofer. "Long live the Tyrol!"
Six shots rang out, but Andreas Hofer was not dead; he had sunk only
on one knee and leaned on his right hand.
Six shots crashed again. They struck him to the ground, but did not
yet kill him. He raised his bleeding head once more.
The corporal, filled with pity, stepped now close up to him, put his
musket to Hofer's forehead, and fired.
This thirteenth shot dispatched him at length!
The grenadiers raised the corpse and carried it on a black bier to
St. Michael's church, where it lay in state during the requiem, that
the people might convince themselves of the death of the beloved and
feared commander-in-chief of the Tyrol, Le General Sanvird, Andreas
Hofer, the Barbone, and of the final subjugation of the Tyrol.
[Footnote: Hofer's remains were buried in Manifesti's garden. A
simple slab on his grave bore the following inscription: "Qui giace
la apoglia del fu Andrea Hofer, detto il Generale Barbone,
commandants supremo delle milicie del Tirolo, fucillato in questa
forterezza nel giorno 20 Febrajo 1810, sepolto in questo luogo."
("Here rest the remains of the late Andreas Hofer, called General
Barbone, commander-in-chief of the Tyrolese militia, shot in this
for tress on the 20th of February, 1810, and buried in this place.")
Fourteen years afterward Hofer's remains were disinterred by three
Austrian officers, who had obtained Manifesti's consent, and
conveyed to Botzen. The Emperor Francis gave orders to transfer them
to Innspruck, where they were buried in the church of the
Franciscans by the side of the monument of the Archduke Ferdinand
and his beloved Philippina Welser.--See Hormayr's "Andreas Hofer,"
vol. ii., p. 539.]
This occurred on the 20th of February, 1810; and on the same day on
which Andreas Hofer was shot at Mantua, because he had loved his
country and his Emperor Francis too faithfully, almost at the very
hour of his death, the booming of artillery was to be heard on the
ramparts of Vienna.
It proclaimed to the Viennese the joyful news that the Archduchess
Maria Louisa, the emperor's daughter, was the affianced bride of the
Emperor Napoleon!
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