The Basket of Flowers - Christoph von Schmid (if you liked this book .txt) 📗

the iron grating in the prison wall, threw a silvery light on the floor of Mary's cell. By the light thus afforded, Mary could make out the large bricks of which the walls of her prison were built, the white mortar which united them, the place in the wall serving as a table on which her meals were placed. Although her surroundings were so miserable, Mary felt that the moonlight had soothed her heart.

To her astonishment, she became conscious of a sweet perfume filling her cell. Suddenly she remembered that in the morning she had placed in her bosom a bouquet of roses and other sweet flowers which remained from the basket. Taking it in her hand she untied it, and looked at the flowers in the moonlight. "Alas," said she mournfully, "when I gathered these rosebuds and forget-me-nots from my garden this morning, who would have thought that I should be confined in this gloomy prison in the evening? When I wore garlands of flowers, who would have imagined that on the same day I should be doomed to wear iron chains?" Then she thought of her father, and tears fell from her eyes and moistened the flowers which she held in her hand.

Oh, my father, be sure that I have not the ring.

"Oh, my father, be sure that I have not the ring."
See page 23.

"Oh, my dear father," she said, "how this bouquet reminds me of the advice which you have given me. From the midst of thorns, I plucked these rosebuds; and thus I know that joy will come to me from the very troubles which now cause me pain. If I had attempted with my own hands to unfold the leaves of these rosebuds, they would have perished; but God with a delicate finger had gradually unfolded their purple cups and shed over them the sweet perfume of His breath. He can disperse the evils which surround me, and make them turn to my good which seemed all evil. Let me then patiently wait His time. These flowers remind me of Him who created them. I will remember Him as He remembers me.

"These tender forget-me-nots, as blue as the heavens, may even be my silent consolation in all the sufferings of earth. Here are some sweet-peas with small delicate leaves, half white, half red. The plant grows and winds itself around a support, that it may not grope in the dust. And while it balances itself above the earth it displays its flowers, which might be taken for butterflies' wings. In this way I will cling to God and by His help raise myself above the miseries of this earth. This mignonette is the chief source of the perfume which fills my cell. Sweet plant, you cheer by your perfume the one who plucked you from your home in the earth. I will try to imitate you and to do good even to those who without cause have torn me from my garden and thrown me into this prison. Here is a little sprig of peppermint, the emblem of hope. I also will preserve hope now that the time of suffering is come. Here again are two leaves of laurel. They remind me of that crown incorruptible, which is reserved in heaven for all who love the Lord and have submitted to His will upon the earth. Already I think I see it, surrounded with golden rays. Flowers of the earth, you are shortlived, as are its joys. You fade and wither in an instant, but in heaven, after our short suffering on the earth, an unchangeable joy awaits us and an eternal glory in Christ Jesus."

Talking thus to herself, Mary found her heart gradually grow consoled. Suddenly a dark cloud covered the moon; darkness filled the prison. Her flowers were blotted out from her sight, and grief again took possession of her heart. But the cloud was merely temporary, and in a little while the moon reappeared more beautiful than ever. "Thus," reflected Mary, "clouds can be cast over us, but it is only for a little, and at the end we shine clearly again. If a dark suspicion hangs over my character, God will make me triumphant over every false accusation." The thought brought comfort to her; and Mary, stretching herself upon her bed of straw, slept as tranquilly as a little child.

In her sleep she dreamed a beautiful dream. It seemed to her that she was walking by moonlight in a garden which was quite new to her, situated in a wilderness surrounded by a dark forest of oak trees. By the light of the moon, which had never appeared to her so brilliant or so beautiful before, she saw hundreds of flowers in this garden, displaying their charms and filling the air with sweet perfume. Best of all, she dreamed that her father was with her in this beautiful place. The moon shining on his face showed his venerable countenance lighted by a gracious smile. Running to him, she fell on his bosom and shed tears of joy, with which her cheeks were wet when suddenly she awoke. It had only been a dream, but it comforted her heart, and she slept again.

 

CHAPTER V.

THE TRIAL.

Early in the morning, and almost before she was awake, an officer came to Mary's cell to bring her forth for trial. At the sight of the room in which the court was held she trembled, and her fears returned. Sitting in a large scarlet chair was the judge. Before him a clerk stood at an enormous table covered with papers.

A number of questions were put to Mary, to all of which she answered truthfully. She found it impossible to keep back her tears, but persisted in declaring her innocence of the crime.

"It is useless to try to make me believe this," said the judge. "You were the only one to enter the room where the ring was. No one but you could have taken it. You had better acknowledge the truth."

"It is the truth I speak now," replied Mary. "I cannot speak anything else. I have not seen the ring, indeed I have not."

"The ring was seen in your hands," continued the judge; "have you anything to say now?"

Mary declared that this was impossible. Turning to his side, the judge rang a little bell, and Amelia's maid, Juliette, was brought in. In the fit of jealousy which she had felt because of the dress given to Mary, and in her anxiety to deprive Mary of her mistress's favour, Juliette had said to one or two people that she had seen Mary take the ring. In consequence of this statement Juliette was now summoned as a witness, and, fearful to be caught in a lie, she determined to maintain it even in a court of justice. When the judge warned her to declare the truth before God, she felt her heart beat quickly and her knees tremble; but this wicked girl obeyed neither the voice of the judge nor the voice of her own conscience. "If," said she to herself, "I acknowledge now that I told a lie, then I shall be driven away. Perhaps I may even be imprisoned." Determined to carry out her part, she turned to Mary and said insultingly—

"You have the ring; I saw you with it."

Mary heard this false charge with horror, but she did not allow passion to get the upper hand. Her only reply was, and her tears almost choked her while she said it—

"It is not true. You did not see me with the ring. How can you tell so terrible a falsehood for the sake of ruining me, when I never have injured you?"

At the sight of Mary, Juliette's feelings of hatred and jealousy revived. She repeated the falsehood, with new circumstances and details, after which she was dismissed by the judge.

"Mary, you are convicted," said he. "All the circumstances are against you. The chamber-maid of the young Countess saw the ring in your hand. Tell me now, what you have done with it?"

In vain Mary protested her innocence. According to the cruel custom of those days, the judge now sent her to be whipped until the blood came, in the effort to make her confess her guilt. The punishment made poor Mary scream with pain, but she continued to declare her innocence. Suffering great agony, she was finally thrown into her prison again. Her bed of straw was hard, her wounds gave her great pain, and half the night she spent without sleeping, groaning and praying to God.

The next day she was brought again before the court. The severity of the law had failed to wring any confession from her. The judge now tried to make her confess by adopting a mild tone, and by holding out promises.

"You have incurred the penalty of death," said he, "but if you confess where the ring is, nothing will be done to you. Think well before you answer, for your choice is between life and death."

Still Mary protested that she had nothing more to confess. The judge now tried to move her by her love for her father.

"If you persist in concealing the truth," he said, "if you are careless of your own life, you will at least spare that of your old father. Would you see his head, whitened by age, cut off by the sword of justice? Who but he could have induced you to tell a falsehood so obstinately? Are you ignorant that his life as well as yours is at stake?"

This was a new thought to Mary, and, terrified at the threat, she nearly fainted.

"Confess," said the judge, "that you have taken the ring. A single word—say yes, and your life and that of your father are saved."

It was a great temptation and a terrible trial to Mary. Satan suggested that she should say, "I took the ring, but I lost it on the road." "No," she thought again, "no, I must stick to the truth. Let it cost what it will, not even to save my own or my father's life will I depart from the truth. I will obey God rather than man, and trust Him for the rest."

In a clear but tremulous voice she then answered—

"If I say I had the ring, it would be a lie; and, though this falsehood would save my life, I cannot utter it. But," she entreated, "if life is demanded, spare at least the white hairs of my loved father. I should be glad to shed my blood for him."

Her words touched the hearts of all the people in the court. Even the judge, for all his severity, was deeply moved; but he remained silent, and, giving the signal, Mary was taken back to prison.

 

CHAPTER VI.

A PAINFUL MEETING.

Not for a long time had the judge been so perplexed as he was over Mary's case.

"For three days," he said, "it has been before us, and we have not made the least advance towards the solution of the mystery. If I could see any possibility of the ring having been taken by any one else, I should certainly believe this girl innocent, but the evidence is so clear against her, that it is impossible to believe anything else."

The Countess was again examined and questioned thoroughly; the minutest circumstances being inquired into. Juliette was also examined again.

A whole day was spent by the judge in going over their testimony, and weighing against it the words that Mary had uttered in her examination. It was late at night when the judge sent to the prison for Mary's father to be brought to his house.

"James," said he kindly, "I am known perhaps as a strict man, but I do not think that you can reproach me with ever having intentionally injured any one. I do not need to tell you that I do not desire the death of your daughter. All the details of