1As the Place de la Revolution, the place of execution, came in view, a ray of sunshine fell upon the guillotine—one of those coincidences which the superstitious and the wonder-loving remember and treasure up.

2This open space was filled with a hundred thousand of the lowest rabble; soldiers thick about the scaffold; and high above the people stood a something, the woodwork of which was painted a blood-color.

3This was the guillotine!

4The guillotine had only just been introduced. It had been invented in Italy, and imported into France by a humane doctor, named Guillotin, whose name was cruelly taken and applied to the machine, an “e” being added to make it feminine—for, according to the custom of most men in most times, a something terrible and merciless is always feminine. If the women had the naming, perhaps the other gender would as frequently be applied to things of terror.

5The guillotine was essentially a humane invention. Previous to its introduction, the condemned man knelt down and placed his head on a block. A headsman then with an axe endeavored to sever the head from the body. The least swaying on his part, and instead of death, a wound was the result. Often an executioner, unnerved by the failure of his first blow, would hack and chop many times before the victim ceased to show signs of life, and before the head was off the body.

6The guillotine exactly fell in with the views of the equallist Republicans, for they objected to the executioner, because it was a disgrace to a man to be an executioner. On the other hand, the guillotine, consisting of a heavy, razor-like knife, which worked in grooves, and fell upon a neck irrevocably placed below the knife, the head was separated at a blow, in a moment, and death achieved with the least possible cruelty.

7But if the guillotine was merciful—and of this there can be no doubt—on the other hand—it may be questioned if so many people would have been condemned to death during the Reign of Terror if the old slow mode of decapitation had remained.

8By a singular fatality the head of Guillotin himself was taken off by the very instrument he had introduced from Italy into France.

9All the vagabondage of Paris was present at this execution. The trees bent under the masses of people who had climbed into them. There was not breathing room, while, by connivance of the most bloodthirsty of the revolutionary leaders, the spaces immediately round the scaffold were occupied by the men who had effected the massacre of September.

10These men were there to applaud.

11But when the carriage containing the King drew up before the scaffold, the mob was silent—even the September men, for a little time, held their peace.

12The King perceiving the carriage stop, looked up, and said to the Abbé, “We have arrived, I think.”

13The minister replied by a gesture.

14One of the three brothers Sanson, the three executioners of Paris, opened the door.

15The gendarmes got out, whereupon the King, closing the door, and placing his hand upon the minister, he said authoritatively to those who were pressing forward, “Gentlemen, I recommend this gentleman to your care. Be brave enough to save him from insult after I am dead. I charge you to save him!”

16No one replied.

17“I charge you to save him!”

18One of them, more sinister than the rest, replied.

19“Yes, yes,” he said; “be at peace—we will save him, and let us hear no more about it.”

20Louis now stepped from the carriage.

21Three executioners’ attendants came forward, and wished to undress him at the foot of the scaffold.

22He waved them back, took off his coat, cravat, and turned down his shirt.

23The executioners again approached him.

24“What do you seek to do?” he asked, angrily.

25“Bind you!” they said, seizing his hands.

26“Bind me!” the King cried, all the passion of centuries of petted and idolized royal blood rising in the veins which were now in a few moments to be empty. “Never!—I will not permit it. Do your work, but you shall not bind me—do not even dream of such a thing!”

27This man, the descendant of hundreds of kings, could not, even after recommending his soul to God, uncrown himself. The Convention might call him a citizen—but he had, as all kings must, lived in the belief of that half-divinity which is still in some places supposed to surround a king.

28The executioners had their duty to do. Here was a man to be guillotined. Men who were guillotined had to be bound. Then they must bind their man.

29They again approached.

30A veritable struggle was about to commence at the foot of the scaffold.

31The King saved himself from himself in time. He remembered the dignity of his death, and he looked towards the Abbé.

32“Sire,” said the man of religion, “compare yourself to One far greater than yourself, who was bound with cords, and who will soon welcome you as a brother.”

33The King looked to heaven, appeased, but the royal pride still lingered.

34“Truly, only the Divine example enables me to bear this disgrace.”

35It is probable this final demonstration, in his very extremity, of his superiority to touch from common hands, helped to harden the nation against the life of the widow. On the other hand, it proved the first occasion on which he showed the least sign of impatience with his tormentors.

36“Do as you will,” he said. “I will drink the cup to the dregs.”

37Supported by the help of the aged minister, he ascended the steps of the scaffold, and, it must be admitted, with signs of physical fear—the first he had yet shown. Possibly this condition of body was chiefly brought about by the actual physical resistance he had made at the foot of the ladder. But upon coming to the level, all his natural calmness or courage, whichever it was, came to his aid; and, stepping quickly forward across the platform without help, he contemplated the means of his death.

38Suddenly, he turned, and faced the people, and used the royal gesture of his life. It was quite natural—a habit of his life—and testified to no violent defiance of his position, and of those who placed him where he stood.

39The drummers mechanically obeyed.

40“People,” he said, in a voice which was heard afar off, even in the very confines of the square,—“People, I die innocent of all the crimes of which I am declared guilty. I forgive those who send me to death, and I pray God that the blood you are about to shed may not fall upon France.”

41The crowd trembled—murmured.

42He was about to speak again, when the officer of the troop gave orders to the drums to beat and the King’s voice was drowned.

43He had said enough. Nothing could add to the majesty of those few words. The agony was spared him of learning who the man was that gave the order which drowned his last words. It was the Count d’Oyat, a natural son of Louis XV; and therefore by blood, if not by marriage, the King’s uncle—Louis XVI being the grandson of Louis XV.

44What a fate! His cousin voted for his death, and the last words he uttered were drowned by the command of his uncle.

45The condemned man turned slowly away. As they fastened him to the plank, he cast one look upon the praying minister, and the next moment the plank was sinking forward, carrying down Louis of France, his face towards the earth.

46Another moment—the time for the passage of the heavy blade—and Louis of France was dead!