“On the night before the 21st of January I could not close my eyes, and yet I could not explain to myself the cause of this unusual excitement.  I rose up early and ran everywhere to and fro where crowds had gathered.  I wondered at, or much more I despised, the weakness of those forty thousand National Guards, of which the nineteenth part were practically the assistants of the executioner.  At the gate of St. Denis I met Santerre; a numerous staff followed him.  I could have cut off his ears.  I spat down before him—­it was all I could do.  In my opinion, the Duke d’Orleans would have filled his place better.  He had set his eyes on a crown, and, as every one knows, such a motive overcomes much hesitancy.

“Following the Boulevards, I came to the Place de la Revolution.  The guillotine, a new invention, I had not yet seen.  A cold perspiration ran over me.  Near me stood a stranger, who attributed my uneasiness and pallor to some special interest on my part for the king’s fate.  ‘Do not be alarmed,’ said he, ’he is not going to die; the Convention is only glad to exhibit its power, and at the foot of the scaffold the king will find his letters of pardon.’  ‘In this case,’ said I, ’the members of the Convention are not far from their own ruin, and could a guilty man have more deserved his fate than they?  Whoever attacks a lion, and desires not to be destroyed by it, must not wound but kill on the spot.’

“A hollow, confused noise was heard.  It was the royal victim.  I pushed forward, making way with my elbows, and being pushed myself.  All my efforts to come closer were fruitless.  Suddenly the noise of drums broke upon the gloomy silence of the crowd.  ’This is the signal for his freedom,’ said the stranger.  ’It will fall back on the head of his murderers,’ answered I; ’half a crime in a case like this is but weakness.’

“A moment’s stillness followed.  Something heavy fell on the scaffold.  This sound went through my heart.

“I inquired of a gendarme the cause of this sound.  ’The axe has fallen,’ said he.  ‘The king is not saved then?’ ‘He is dead.’  ’He is dead!’

“For ten times at least I repeated the words ‘He is dead.’

“For a few moments I remained unconscious.  Without knowing by whom, I was carried along by a crowd, and found myself on the Quai des Theatines, but could say nothing, except ‘He is dead.’

“Entirely bewildered, I went home, but a good hour elapsed before I fully recovered my senses.” [Footnote:  See “Edinburgh Quarterly Review,” 1830.]

CHAPTER XII.

The execution of the queen.

The king’s execution was the signal-fire which announced to the horrified world the beginning of the reign of terror, and told Europe that in France the throne had been torn down, and in its stead the guillotine erected.  Yes, the guillotine alone now ruled over France; the days of moderation, of the Girondists, had passed away; the terrorists, named also men of the Mountain, on account of the high seats they occupied in the Convention, had seized the reins of power, and now controlled the course of events.