This youth was a student, the son of a Protestant minister of Naumburg; he called himself Frederick Stabs, and may have been eighteen or nineteen years old. His face was pale and his features effeminate. He did not for an instant deny that it had been his intention to kill the Emperor. On the contrary, he boasted of it, and greatly regretted that circumstances had prevented the accomplishment of his design.

He had left his father's house with a horse which the need of money had obliged him to sell while on the road. None of his relatives or friends had any knowledge of his project. The day after leaving home, he had written to his father that he need not be disturbed about either him or his horse; that he had long promised some one to make a journey to Vienna, and that his family would soon hear him talked of in a way that would make them proud. He had been in Vienna only two days; occupying himself in the first place with finding out what he could about His Majesty's habits, and knowing that he held a review every morning in the court of the castle, he had come there once to learn the localities. The next day he meant to strike his blow, and was arrested.

The Duc de Rovigo, after interrogating Stabs, came to the Emperor, who had returned to his apartments. At first he shrugged his shoulders, but on seeing the knife which had been taken from Stabs, he said: "Ah! ah! bring this young man here; I shall be very glad to speak with him." The Duke went out, and returned in a few minutes with Stabs. When the latter entered, the Emperor made a gesture of pity, and said to Prince de Neufchâtel: "But, really, this is a child!" An interpreter was summoned and the interrogatory began.

In the first place His Majesty had the assassin asked if he had ever seen him anywhere else. "Yes, I saw you at Erfurt, last year," replied Stabs. "It seems that you think nothing of a crime. Why did you wish to kill me?" "It is not a crime to kill you; on the contrary, it is a duty for every good German. I wanted to kill you because you are the oppressor of Germany." —"It was not I who began the war." "It was you!" —"Whose portrait is this?" (The Emperor was holding the picture of a woman that had been found on Stabs.) "It is that of my best friend, the adopted daughter of my father." —"How! and you are an assassin? Are you not afraid of afflicting and ruining the beings who are dear to you?" "I wished to do my duty; nothing ought to prevent me." —"But how did you mean to set about stabbing me?" "I would have asked you if we were soon to have peace, and if you had said no I would have poniarded you." —"He is mad," said the Emperor, "he is decidedly mad! And how could you hope to escape if you struck me like that in the midst of my soldiers?" "I knew very well to what I was exposing myself, and I am even astonished that I am living still." This assurance affected the Emperor keenly; he kept silence for some moments and looked fixedly at Stabs, who remained impassible under this glance. . . . Then the Emperor continued: "She whom you love will be much afflicted." "Oh! she will be afflicted, doubtless, but it will be because I have not succeeded; for she hates you at least as much as I do." —"Supposing I pardon you?" "You would make a mistake, for I should try again to kill you." The Emperor sent for M. Corvisart, saying: "This young man is either sick or mad; it cannot be otherwise." "I am neither one nor the other, the assassin replied quickly. M. Corvisart was in the apartments; he came and felt Stabs' pulse. "The gentleman is well," said he. "I told you so," said Stabs, triumphantly. "Well, Doctor," said His Majesty, "this young man, who is in such good health, has come a hundred leagues to assassinate me."

In spite of the doctor's assurance and the avowals of Stabs, the Emperor, moved by the coolness and assurance of this wretch, again offered to pardon him, requiring of him, as the sole condition, an avowal of some repentance for his crime; but Stabs affirmed again that he regretted nothing but his ill-success. Then the Emperor abandoned him.

Led back to prison, he persisted in his avowals, and was soon brought before a military commission and condemned. He was not executed until the 17th, and from the 13th, the day of his arrest, he took no nourishment, saying that he would have strength enough to go to his death. The Emperor had ordered the execution to be delayed as long as possible, in the hope that sooner or later he would repent; but he remained unshaken. While they were taking him to the place where he was to be shot, overhearing some one say that peace had just been signed, he cried out, in a loud voice: Long live liberty! Long live Germany! These were his last words.