[1793 A.D.] indignation at one word, that which accused him of conspiracy. He was prepared; and taking the decree of condemnation from the secretary, he handed in return to that personage a written paper, asking, amongst a few other requests, three days to prepare for death, and a confessor of his choice. The convention, as soon as consulted, refused the delay, but gave orders that a confessor should be admitted to the Temple. The abbé Edgeworth, being selected by the king, accordingly repaired to him. At seven in the evening his family was allowed to visit him, but not in private. His guardians insisted on witnessing, through a glass door, this most melancholy of domestic interviews. It lasted nearly two hours. Louis spoke the greater part of the time, related the circumstances of his trial, and endeavoured to soothe the distracted queen and princesses.2 They found utterance but in the convulsive sobs of anguish. In parting, he promised to see them early on the morrow. But no sooner had they gone than he observed, "I cannot." He resolved to spare both them and himself this further trial. He was engaged until midnight with his confessor. He then went to bed, and slept soundly until five; when he arose, heard mass in his chamber, and received the sacrament, the guards affording the means of performing these ceremonies with the greatest difficulty. Neither would they allow him a knife for his last repast, nor scissors to cut off his locks and bare his neck for execution. The executioner is a valet good enough for him," was the observation. b

THE EXECUTION OF LOUIS XVI

Throughout his last ordeals, the king revealed a wonderful steadfastness in resignation and a moral courage of the highest order. Had he shown the same bravery previously, the cause of popular liberty might have been long delayed or perhaps more peaceably achieved. As it was, his behaviour deserved the words of "kingly" and "Christian" in their poetical, but alas, not their practical and historical significance. The very beauty of his soul in its last hours has thrown a light of horror on the whole cause of liberty reached by the destruction of kings, and has led many to forget how untypical of monarchy his character was, and what multitudes of lowly heroes have met martyrdom at the hands of merciless royalty with equal courage. But this again is said only as a counterweight in favour of a judicial attitude and in no sense as a diminution of the sweet and gentle glory of one who bravely paid a penalty he had not earned, but had inherited from generations of vicious ancestors. The king's farewell to his friends was not the least beautiful of his many beautiful deeds.a

[1 He recommended to the nation's benevolence the persons who had been attached to his person or to his house, he expressed the wish that the convention would immediately take into consideration the care of his family and allow them to retire freely where they judged fit. He demanded: (1) a delay of three days in order to prepare to appear before God; (2) permission to see his family without witnesses during that interval; (3) the power to call in a priest of his own choice. Lastly he asked to be delivered from the constant supervision which the commune had established over him for some days. At the suggestion of Cambacérès, the following resolution was passed: "The convention authorises the provisional executive council: (1) to satisfy Louis' requests, except concerning the delay, in which respect it passes to the order of the day; (2) to answer Louis that the French nation, great in its benevolence as it is strict in its justice, will take charge of his family and procure them a suitable destiny." That destiny was to be the scaffold for the wife and sister, Simon's lessons for the son, and a harsh captivity for the daughter of the condemned man: but at least, at this moment the assembly deigned to allow a priest, freely chosen by Louis, to soften the last moments of the unfortunate king. This was Madame Elizabeth's confessor, who had remained in Paris braving all the rigour of the laws against unsworn priests. - TERNAUX.]

[2 After relating his lawsuit and speaking with the greatest generosity of those who had condemned him, the king made his son swear not to avenge his death. -TERNAUX.]

[1793 A.D.]

When Malesherbes, his former minister, fell at his master's feet, and by his sobs informed him of the fatal news, the king, always calm and dignified, raised him, held him affectionately in his arms, and said in a gentle voice, "Ah, my dear Malesherbes, do not envy me the only refuge left me. I am ready to sacrifice myself for my people; may my blood save them from the evils which I fear for them." "Sire, many faithful subjects have sworn to rescue your majesty from the hands of the executioners or to die with you.' Thank them for their zeal; but tell them that I should not forgive them if a drop of blood were shed for me: I did not allow it to be shed when, perhaps, it might have preserved my throne and my life. I do not regret it." Then the king embraced his defenders and made them promise to return. But he was never to see them again; the door of the Temple had closed forever behind them.

On the day of his execution, January 21st, 1793, Paris had the appearance of a vast sepulchre. The streets were deserted, the armed citizens filled the posts which had been assigned them and were not allowed to leave them on any pretext. The rest of the citizens had orders not to leave their houses. The windows were shut, doors closed. The weather was dark and foggy; since the previous day a shroud of snow was stretched over all the town; but the rain which had fallen in the night had already made part of it disappear.

It was eight o'clock. The king expressed a wish to see his family again, as he had promised them on the previous day; but the abbé Edgeworth begged him not to allow the queen and her children such a painful ordeal. Louis submitted to this suggestion and asked that Cléry might be allowed to cut his hair; he did not wish to be touched by the hand of the executioner. But suspicion was so strong, pity so crushed in the hearts of all those who surrounded him, that this request, whose motive was so easy to understand, was brutally refused him.

Santerre appeared, followed by Claude Bernard and Jacques Roux, whom the commune had fixed upon to conduct the condemned man to the scaffold. The commissaries on guard and some of the armed police of the escort accompanied them. Louis XVI, who had heard, though without showing the slightest emotion, the entrance door open noisily, came out of his oratory where he had shut himself in with his confessor, and asked Santerre if it was now the hour. "Yes," laconically answered the commander-inchief of the armed force. "I am busy; wait for me," replied the king with authority.

The only thought which occupied the king at this moment was his eternal salvation. He quietly went back to the turret, knelt before the minister of God, and received his blessing. Soon, returning to his room, he advanced to Santerre and those who accompanied him. "Is there a member of the commune among you?" Jacques Roux advanced, the king held out a sealed paper towards him; "I request you to place this writing in the hands of the president of the general council." "I can take charge of no packet, it is not my business; I have come to conduct you to the scaffold." The king then turned to one of the commissioners on service in the Temple, Baudrais; he at least did not refuse to carry out the last wish of a man who was about to die. Perceiving that all those who surrounded him wore their hats, Louis XVI put his on, and pointing out the faithful Cléry to the municipal guards, "I should like him to be left in the Temple," he said, "in the service of the queen of my wife," he corrected himself. No one answered. The king advanced to Santerre; "Let us start!" he said.

[1793 A.D.]

Immediately the armed police who were in the room went out, and Santerre after them; the king and Abbé Edgeworth followed; the municipal officers closed the march, Cléry remained alone. The king crossed the first courtyard with a firm step. After casting on the tower a look of tenderness and regret for those whom he was leaving, he stepped into the carriage which was to take him to the place of his martyrdom. His confessor took the seat by his side, two armed police were on the front seats of the carriage. He was preceded by Santerre, and on each side of him was one of the two municipal officers, Jacques Roux and Claude Bernard.

The gloomy procession set out; the journey from the Temple to the place de la Révolution lasted an hour: it was disturbed by no serious attempt to release the prisoner. Abbé Edgeworth gave the king the breviary which he was carrying and pointed out the prayers for the dying. The king recited them in a low voice; not a word passed between Louis XVI and his two warders during the whole of the painful journey. Two o'clock struck. The procession arrived at the end of the rue Royale. The carriage in which Louis XVI was seated turned to the right and went to the scaffold raised between the entrance of the Champs Élysées and the pedestal which, after having served as the base of the statue of Louis XV, was now supporting that of Liberty. Louis XVI was completely absorbed in his reading; he only perceived that they had arrived when the carriage stopped. He raised his eyes, then went on reading the psalm which he had begun. Sanson's assistants opened the door, and lowered the step; but the king quietly ended his last prayer; then he closed the book, gave it back to Abbé Edgeworth, charged the armed police to attend to the safety of the courageous priest, and stepped out of the carriage.

The executioners wished to seize him; he resisted them, and took off his coat and cravat, knelt down at the feet of God's minister, and received the last blessing. He then rose and walked towards the stairs which led to the scaffold. The assistants stopped him, and tried to seize his hands. "What do you want to do?" asked Louis XVI. "To bind you." "To bind me! I will never allow it! It is not necessary. I am sure of myself." A violent scene might have ensued: "Sire, offer this last sacrifice," said Abbé Edgeworth, "it is another feature of resemblance between your majesty and the God who will be your reward." Louis submitted and held out his hands to the executioners. They tied them with a handkerchief, then they cut his hair; the preparations were ended. Louis resolutely climbed the few steps which separated him from the platform. Advancing to the edge of the scaffold, his head turned towards the palace of his ancestors, he made an imperious gesture to the drummers who had not ceased beating since the carriage arrived in the square. These men, dominated in spite of themselves by a twofold sentiment of respect and pity, were immediately silent. Frenchmen," cried Louis, "I am innocent, I forgive the authors of my death I pray God that France may never suffer for the blood which is about to be shed; and you, unfortunate people

At this moment an officer on horseback, sword in hand, galloped up to the drummers and ordered them to beat. The executioners seized the victim and thrust him under the fatal knife. The head fell, one of Sanson's assistants picked it up and showed it to the people.

Cries of "Long live the Nation! Long live the Republic!" burst forth and swelled in sound to the outer edge of the square; some rushed toward the scaffold to enjoy at closer range the horrible spectacle. [It is often stated that the abbé Edgeworth exclaimed as the king perished, "Son of St. Louis,

[1793 A.D.] ascend to heaven," but Lord Holland masked the abbé himself, and he denied the poetic outburst, which really belongs to the journalist Charles His.] The crowd, which had been unable to approach beyond the trenches, dispersed silently. The witnesses of the execution went to carry to every quarter of Paris the news that the last king of the French had just died by the sword of the law, and that the republic was founded in France forever.h

All

At home this Killing of a King has divided all friends; and abroad it has united all enemies. Fraternity of Peoples, Revolutionary Propagandism;1 Atheism, Regicide; total destruction of social order in this world! Kings, and lovers of Kings, and haters of Anarchy, rank in coalition; as in a war for life. England signifies to Citizen Chauvelin, the Ambassador or rather Ambassador's-Cloak, that he must quit the country in eight days. Ambassador's-Cloak and Ambassador, Chauvelin and Talleyrand, depart accordingly. Talleyrand, implicated in that Iron Press of the Tuileries, thinks it safest to make for America.

England has cast out the Embassy: England declares war,-being shocked principally, it would seem, at the condition of the River Schelde. Spain declares war; being shocked principally at some other thing; which doubtless the Manifesto indicates.2 Nay we find it was not England that declared war first, or Spain first; but that France herself declared war first on both of them; 3-a point of immense Parliamentary and Journalistic interest in those days, but which has become of no interest whatever in these. They all declare war. The sword is drawn, the scabbard thrown away. It is even as Danton said, in one of his all too gigantic figures: "The coalised Kings threaten us; we hurl at their feet, as gage of battle, the Head of a King."f

[1 On the motion of Danton, the convention had decreed (November 19th, 1792) that France "accorded aid and fraternity to all peoples that wished to seek liberty."]

March 23rd.]

3 February 1st; and March 7th.]

THE French Revolution is apt to present itself to the eye as a hideous spectre. We behold and tremble. We are appalled by its monstrous aspect, and too deeply stricken with horror to regard it fixedly, with scrutiny and patience. Could we but do so, the phantom would lose much of its shadowy character; and although nought can wash away its crimes and blood, it would at least appear but an earthly and human phenomenon, the nature and causes of which we might perceive and store up as the precious materials of wisdom.

Hitherto, however, the Revolution has been treated as the spectre, and considered beyond the pale of humanity. The imagination alone has seized upon its prominent horrors. Even those who have deigned to seek for a cause have found it in some collateral or subordinate circumstance. Philosophy in the opinion of some, the duke of Orleans or Pitt in that of others, prepared and brought about the great catastrophe; whilst others again are satisfied to cast the entire blame on the fickleness and cruelty of man born upon the French soil. Scarcely has a distinction been made betwixt the Revolution and its excesses. Freedom itself has been included in the general stigma, and made answerable for that mass of guilt and folly which its enemies were mainly influential in producing.

Had

The most fatal circumstance of the epoch was foreign interference, fatal alike in the hopes and the fears which it occasioned. Reliance on foreign support caused the emigration of the noblesse, as well as the temporising and at intervals the insincere policy of the unfortunate Louis XVI. king and aristocracy been obliged to confine their views to France, they would either have submitted frankly from the first, in which case power could never have descended lower than the ranks and opinions of the constitutionalists; or they would have stood forth in open and civil war, an alternative preferable to flight, conspiracy, and massacre. The monarch, obedient to the moderation of his character, pursued an uncertain career, a kind of medium between the extremes by which he excited irritation and popular hatred, and compelled the successive parties, which in the assembly advocated the cause of freedom, to call in the popular force, first to their support, and then to their mastery.