"Show yourselves worthy of me; I leave you in a world and in a kingdom full of my enemies. Show yourselves superior to adversity, and remember never to think yourselves better than you are, remembering what you have been.
"Farewell. I bless you all. Never curse my memory. Remember that the worst pang of my agony is in dying far from my children, far from my wife, without a friend to close my eyes. Farewell, my own Caroline. Farewell, my children. I send you my blessing, my most tender tears, my last kisses. Farewell, farewell. Never forget your unhappy father, "Pizzo, Oct. 13, 1815[We can guarantee the authenticity of this letter, having copied it ourselves at Pizzo, from the Lavaliere Alcala's copy of the original]
Then he cut off a lock of his hair and put it in his letter. Just then General Nunziante came in; Murat went to him and held out his hand.
"General," he said, " you are a father, you are a husband, one day you will know what it is to part from your wife and sons. Swear to me that this letter shall be delivered.""On my epaulettes," said the general, wiping his eyes. [Madame Murat never received this letter.]
"Come, come, courage, general," said Murat; "we are soldiers, we know how to face death. One favour--you will let me give the order to fire, will you not?"The general signed acquiescence: just then the registrar came in with the king's sentence in his hand.
Murat guessed what it was.
"Read, sir," he said coldly; "I am listening."The registrar obeyed. Murat was right.
The sentence of death had been carried with only one dissentient voice.
When the reading was finished, the king turned again to Nunziante.
"General," he said, "believe that I distinguish in my mind the instrument which strikes me and the hand that wields that instrument.
I should never have thought that Ferdinand would have had me shot like a dog; he does not hesitate apparently before such infamy. Very well. We will say no more about it. I have challenged my judges, but not my executioners. What time have you fixed for my execution?""Will you fix it yourself, sir?" said the general.
Murat pulled out a watch on which there was a portrait of his wife;by chance he turned up the portrait, and not the face of the watch;he gazed at it tenderly.
"See, general," he said, showing it to Nunziante; "it is a portrait of the queen. You know her; is it not like her?"The general turned away his head. Murat sighed and put away the watch.
"Well, sire," said the registrar, "what time have you fixed?""Ah yes," said Murat, smiling, "I forgot why I took out my watch when I saw Caroline's portrait."Then he looked at his watch again, but this time at its face.
"Well, it shall be at four o'clock, if you like; it is past three o'clock. I ask for fifty minutes. Is that too much, sir?"The registrar bowed and went out. The general was about to follow him.
"Shall I never see you again, Nunziante?" said Murat.
"My orders are to be present at your death, sire, but I cannot do it.""Very well, general. I will dispense with your presence at the last moment, but I should like to say farewell once more and to embrace you.""I will be near, sire."
"Thank you. Now leave me alone."
"Sire, there are two priests here."
Murat made an impatient movement.
"Will you receive them?" continued the general.
"Yes; bring them in."
The general went out. A moment later, two priests appeared in the doorway. One of them was called Francesco Pellegrino, uncle of the man who had caused the king's death; the other was Don Antonio Masdea.
"What do you want here?" asked Murat.
"We come to ask you if you are dying a Christian?""I am dying as a soldier. Leave me."
Don Francesco Pellegrino retired. No doubt he felt ill at ease before Joachim. But Antonio Masdea remained at the door.
"Did you not hear me?" asked the king.
"Yes, indeed," answered the old man; "but permit me, sire, to hope that it was not your last word to me. It is not, the first time that I see you or beg something of you. I have already had occasion to ask a favour of you.""What was that?"
"When your Majesty came to Pizzo in 1810, I asked you for 25,000francs to enable us to finish our church. Your Majesty sent me 40,000 francs.""I must have foreseen that I should be buried there," said Murat, smiling.
"Ah, sire, I should like to think that you did not refuse my second boon any more than my first. Sire, I entreat you on my knees."The old man fell at Murat's feet.
"Die as a Christian!"
"That would give you pleasure, then, would it?" said the king.