EXECUTION OF LOUIS XVI.
Close of the Examination.--The King's Counsel.--Heroism of
Malesherbes.--Preparations for Defense.--Gratitude of the King.--The
Trial.--Protracted Vote.--The Result.--The King solicits the
Delay of Execution for three Days.--Last Interview with his
Family.--Preparation for Death.--The Execution.
As soon as the king had withdrawn from the Assembly, that body was
thrown into great tumult in consequence of the application of Louis for
the assistance of counsel. It was, however, after an animated debate,
which continued until the next day, voted that the request of the king
should be granted, and a deputation was immediately sent to inform the
king of the vote, and to ask what counsel he would choose. He selected
two of the most eminent lawyers of Paris--M. Tronchet and M. Target.
Tronchet heroically accepted the perilous commission. Target, with
pusillanimity which has consigned his name to disgrace, wrote a letter
to the Convention stating that his principles would not allow him to
undertake the defense of the king.[383] The venerable Malesherbes, then
seventy years of age, immediately wrote a letter to the president,
imploring permission to assume the defense of the monarch. This
distinguished statesman, a friend of monarchy and a personal friend of
the monarch, had been living in the retirement of his country-seat,
and had taken no part in the Revolution. By permission of the Commune
he was conducted, after he had been carefully searched, to the Temple.
With a faltering step he entered the prison of the king. Louis XVI.
was seated reading Tacitus. The king immediately arose, threw his arms
around Malesherbes in a cordial embrace, and said,
"Ah, is it you, my friend! In what a situation do you find me! See to
what my passion for the amelioration of the state of the people, whom
we have both loved so much, has reduced me! Why do you come hither?
Your devotion only endangers your life and can not save mine."
Malesherbes, with eyes full of tears, endeavored to cheer the king with
words of hope.
"No!" replied the monarch, sadly. "They will condemn me, for they
possess both the power and the will. No matter; let us occupy ourselves
with the cause as if we were to gain it. I shall gain it in fact, since
I shall leave no stain upon my memory."
The two defenders of the king were permitted to associate with them
a third, M. Deséze, an advocate who had attained much renown in his
profession. For a fortnight they were employed almost night and day
in preparing for the defense. Malesherbes came every morning with the
daily papers, and prepared for the labors of the evening. At five
o'clock Tronchet and Deséze came, and they all worked together until
nine.
In the mean time the king wrote his will; a very affecting document,
breathing in every line the spirit of a Christian. He also succeeded
in so far eluding the vigilance of his keepers as to open a slight
correspondence with his family. The queen pricked a message with a
pin upon a scrap of paper, and then concealed the paper in a ball of
thread, which was dropped into a drawer in the kitchen, where Clery
took it and conveyed it to his master. An answer was returned in a
similar way. It was but an unsatisfactory correspondence which could
thus be carried on; but even this was an unspeakable solace to the
captives.
At length the plan of defense was completed. Malesherbes and the king
had furnished the facts, Tronchet and Deséze had woven them all into
an exceedingly eloquent and affecting appeal. Deséze read it aloud
to the king and his associates. The pathetic picture he drew of the
vicissitudes of the royal family was so touching that even Malesherbes
and Tronchet could not refrain from weeping, and tears fell from the
eyes of the king. At the close of the reading, the king turned to
Deséze, and, in the spirit of true majesty of soul, said,
"I have to request of you to make a painful sacrifice. Strike out of
your pleading the peroration. It is enough for me to appear before
such judges and show my entire innocence. I will not move their
feelings."[384]
Deséze was very reluctant to accede to this request, but was
constrained to yield. After Tronchet and Deséze had retired that night,
the king, left alone with Malesherbes, seemed to be troubled with some
engrossing thought. At last he said,
"I have now a new source of regret. Deséze and Tronchet owe me nothing.
They devote to me their time, exertions, and perhaps their life. How
can I requite them? I possess nothing; and were I to leave them a
legacy it would not be paid; besides, what fortune could repay such a
debt?"
[Illustration: LOUIS XVI. AND MALESHERBES.]
"Sire," replied Malesherbes, "their consciences and posterity will
reward them. But it is in your power to grant them a favor they will
esteem more than all those you had it in your power to bestow upon them
formerly."
"What is it?" added the king.
"Sire, embrace them," Malesherbes replied.
The next day, when they entered his chamber, the king approached them
and pressed each to his heart in silence. This touching testimonial
of the king's gratitude, and of his impoverishment, was to the noble
hearts of these noble men an ample remuneration for all their toil and
peril.
The 26th of December had now arrived, the day appointed for the final
trial. At an early hour all Paris was in commotion, and the whole
military force of the metropolis was again marshaled. The sublimity
of the occasion seemed to have elevated the character of the king
to unusual dignity. He was neatly dressed, his beard shaved, and
his features were serene and almost majestic in their expression of
imperturbable resignation. As he rode in the carriage with Chambon, the
mayor, and Santerre, the commander of the National Guard, he conversed
cheerfully upon a variety of topics. Santerre, regardless of the
etiquette which did not allow a subject to wear his hat in the presence
of his monarch, sat with his hat on. The king turned to him, and said,
with a smile,
"The last time, sir, you conveyed me to the Temple, in your hurry you
forgot your hat; and now, I perceive, you are determined to make up for
the omission."
On entering the Convention the king took his seat by the side of his
counsel, and listened with intense interest to the reading of his
defense, watching the countenances of his judges to see the effect it
was producing upon their minds. Occasionally he whispered, and even
with a smile, to Malesherbes and Tronchet. The Convention received the
defense in profound silence.
The defense consisted of three leading divisions. First, it was argued
that by the Constitution the king was inviolable, and not responsible
for the acts of the crown--that the Ministers alone were responsible.
He secondly argued that the Convention had no right to try the king,
for the Convention were his accusers, and, consequently, could not act
as his judges. Thirdly, while protesting, as above, the inviolability
of the king, and the invalidity of the Convention to judge him, he
then proceeded to the discussion of the individual charges. Some of
the charges were triumphantly repelled, particularly that of shedding
French blood on the 10th of August. It was clearly proved that the
people, not Louis XVI., were the aggressors. As soon as Deséze had
finished his defense, the king himself rose and said, in a few words
which he had written and committed to memory,
"You have heard the grounds of my defense. I shall not repeat them. In
addressing you, perhaps for the last time, I declare that my conscience
reproaches me with nothing, and that my defenders have told you the
truth. I have never feared to have my public conduct scrutinized. But
I am grieved to find that I am accused of wishing to shed the blood of
my people, and that the misfortunes of the 10th of August are laid to
my charge. I confess that the numerous proofs I have always given of my
love for the people ought to have placed me above this reproach."
He resumed his seat. The President then asked if he had any thing more
to say. He declared he had not, and retired with his counsel from the
hall. As he was conducted back to the Temple, he conversed with the
same serenity he had manifested throughout the whole day. It was five
o'clock, and the gloom of night was descending upon the city as he
re-entered his prison.
No sooner had the king left the hall than a violent tumult of debate
commenced, which was continued, day after day, with a constant
succession of eager, agitated speakers hurrying to the tribune, for
twelve days. Some were in favor of an immediate judgment, some were for
referring the question to the people; some demanded the death of the
king, others imprisonment or exile. On the 7th of January all seemed
weary of these endless speeches, and the endless repetition of the
same arguments. Still, there were many clamorous to be heard; and,
after a violent contest, it was voted that the decisive measure should
be postponed for a week longer, and that on the 14th of January the
question should be taken.
The fatal day arrived. It was decreed that the subject should be
presented to the Convention in the three following questions: _First_,
Is Louis guilty? _Second_, Shall the decision of the Convention be
submitted to the ratification of the people? The whole of the 15th was
occupied in taking these two votes. Louis was unanimously pronounced
to be guilty, with the exception of ten who refused to vote, declaring
themselves incapable of acting both as accusers and judges. On the
question of an appeal to the people, 281 voices were for it, 423
against it.[385] And now came the _third_ great and solemn question,
What shall be the sentence? Each member was required to write his vote,
sign it, and then, before depositing it, to ascend the tribune and give
it audibly, with any remarks which he might wish to add.
The voting commenced at seven o'clock in the evening of the
16th, and continued all night, and without any interruption, for
twenty-four hours. All Paris was during the time in the highest state
of excitement, the galleries of the Convention being crowded to
suffocation. Some voted for death, others for imprisonment until peace
with allied Europe, and then banishment. Others voted for death, with
the restriction that the execution should be delayed. They wished to
save the king, and yet feared the accusation of being Royalists if
they did not vote for his death. The Jacobins all voted for death.
They had accused their opponents, the Girondists, of being secretly in
favor of royality, and as such had held them up to the execration of
the mob. The Girondists wished to save the king. It was in their power
to save him. But it required more courage, both moral and physical,
than ordinary men possess, to brave the vengeance of the assassins of
September who were hovering around the hall.
It was pretty well understood in the Convention that the fate of
the king depended upon the Girondist vote, and it was not doubted
that the party would vote as did their leader. It was a moment of
fearful solemnity when Vergniaud ascended the tribune. Breathless
silence pervaded the Assembly. Every eye was fixed upon him. His
countenance was pallid as that of a corpse. For a moment he paused,
with downcast eyes, as if hesitating to pronounce the dreadful word.
Then, in a gloomy tone which thrilled the hearts of all present, he
said, _Death_.[386] Nearly all the Girondists voted for death, with
the restriction of delaying the execution. Many of the purest men
in the nation thus voted, with emotions of sadness which could not
be repressed. The noble Carnot gave his vote in the following terms:
"Death; and never did word weigh so heavily on my heart."
When the Duke of Orleans was called, deep silence ensued. He was cousin
of the king, and first prince of the blood. By birth and opulence he
stood on the highest pinnacle of aristocratic supremacy. Conscious
of peril, he had for a long time done every thing in his power to
conciliate the mob by adopting the most radical of Jacobin opinions.
The Duke, bloated with the debaucheries which had disgraced his life,
ascended the steps slowly, unfolded a paper, and read in heartless
tones these words:
"Solely occupied with my duty, convinced that all who have attempted,
or shall attempt hereafter, the sovereignty of the people, merit death,
I vote for death."
The atrocity of this act excited the abhorrence of the Assembly, and
loud murmurs of disapprobation followed the prince to his seat. Even
Robespierre despised his pusillanimity, and said,
"The miserable man was only required to listen to his own heart, and
make himself an exception. But he would not or dare not do so. The
nation would have been more magnanimous than he."[387]
At length the long scrutiny was over, and Vergniaud, who had presided,
rose to announce the result. He was pale as death, and it was observed
that not only his voice faltered, but that his whole frame trembled.
"Citizens," said he, "you are about to exercise a great act of justice.
I hope humanity will enjoin you to keep the most perfect silence. When
justice has spoken humanity ought to be listened to in its turn."
He then read the results of the vote. There were seven hundred and
twenty-one voters in the Convention. Three hundred and thirty-four
voted for imprisonment or exile, three hundred and eighty-seven for
death, including those who voted that the execution should be delayed.
Thus the majority for death was fifty-three; but as of these forty-six
demanded a suspension of the execution, there remained but a majority
of seven for immediate death. Having read this result, Vergniaud, in a
sorrowful tone, said, "I declare, in the name of the Convention, that
the punishment pronounced against Louis Capet is death."[388]
The counsel of Louis XVI., who, during the progress of the vote, had
urged permission to speak, but were refused, were now introduced. In
the name of the king, Deséze appealed to the people from the judgment
of the Convention. He urged the appeal from the very small majority
which had decided the penalty. Tronchet urged that the penal code
required a vote of two thirds to consign one to punishment, and that
the king ought not to be deprived of a privilege which every subject
enjoyed. Malesherbes endeavored to speak, but was so overcome with
emotion that, violently sobbing, he was unable to continue his speech,
and was compelled to sit down. His gray hairs and his tears so moved
the Assembly that Vergniaud rose, and, addressing the Assembly, said,
"Will you decree the honors of the sitting to the defenders of Louis
XVI.?" The unanimous response was, "Yes, yes."
It was now late at night, and the Convention adjourned. The whole of
the 18th and the 19th were occupied in discussing the question of the
appeal to the people. On the 20th, at three o'clock in the morning,
the final vote was taken. Three hundred and ten voted to sustain
the appeal; three hundred and eighty for immediate death. All the
efforts to save the king were now exhausted, and his fate was sealed.
A deputation was immediately appointed, headed by Garat, Minister of
Justice, to acquaint Louis XVI. with the decree of the Convention.
At two o'clock in the afternoon of the 20th, Louis heard the noise of
a numerous party ascending the steps of the tower. As they entered
his apartment he rose and stepped forward with perfect calmness and
dignity to meet them. The decree of the Convention was read to the
king, declaring him to be guilty of treason, that he was condemned to
death, that the appeal to the people was refused, and that he was to be
executed within twenty-four hours.
The king listened to the reading unmoved, took the paper from the hands
of the secretary, folded it carefully, and placed it in his portfolio.
Then turning to Garat, he handed him a paper, saying,
"Monsieur Minister of Justice, I request you to deliver this letter to
the Convention."
Garat hesitated to take the paper, and the king immediately rejoined,
"I will read it to you," and read, in a distinct, unfaltering voice, as
follows:
"I demand of the Convention a delay of three days, in order to prepare
myself to appear before God. I require, farther, to see freely the
priest whom I shall name to the commissaries of the Commune, and that
he be protected in the act of charity which he shall exercise toward
me. I demand to be freed from the perpetual surveillance which has
been exercised toward me for so many days. I demand, during these
last moments, leave to see my family, when I desire it, without
witnesses. I desire most earnestly that the Convention will at once
take into consideration the fate of my family, and that they be allowed
immediately to retire unmolested whithersoever they shall see fit to
choose an asylum. I recommend to the kindness of the nation all the
persons attached to me. There are among them many old men, and women,
and children, who are entirely dependent upon me, and must be in want."
The delegation retired. The king, with a firm step, walked two or
three times up and down his chamber, and then called for his dinner.
He sat down and ate with his usual appetite; but his attendants refused
to let him have either knife or fork, and he was furnished only with a
spoon. This excited his indignation, and he said, warmly,
"Do they think that I am such a coward as to lay violent hands upon
myself? I am innocent, and I shall die fearlessly."
Having finished his repast, he waited patiently for the return of the
answer from the Convention. At six o'clock, Garat, accompanied by
Santerre, entered again. The Convention refused the delay of execution
which Louis XVI. had solicited, but granted the other demands.
In a few moments M. Edgeworth, the ecclesiastic who had been sent for,
arrived. He entered the chamber, and, overwhelmed with emotion, fell at
the monarch's feet and burst into tears. The king, deeply moved, also
wept, and, as he raised M. Edgeworth, said,
"Pardon me this momentary weakness. I have lived so long among my
enemies that habit has rendered me indifferent to their hatred, and
my heart has been closed against all sentiments of tenderness; but
the sight of a faithful friend restores to me my sensibility, which I
believed dead, and moves me to tears in spite of myself."
The king conversed earnestly with his spiritual adviser respecting his
will, which he read, and inquired earnestly for his friends, whose
sufferings moved his heart deeply. The hour of seven had now arrived,
when the king was to hold his last interview with his family. But even
this could not be in private. He was to be watched by his jailers, who
were to hear every word and witness every gesture. The door opened,
and the queen, pallid and woe-stricken, entered, leading her son by
the hand. She threw herself into the arms of her husband, and silently
endeavored to draw him toward her chamber.
"No, no," whispered the king, clasping her to his heart; "I can see you
only here."
Madame Elizabeth, with the king's daughter, followed. A scene of
anguish ensued which neither pen nor pencil can portray. The king sat
down, with the queen upon his right hand, his sister upon his left,
their arms encircling his neck, and their heads resting upon his
breast. The dauphin sat upon his father's knee, with his arm around
his neck. The beautiful princess, with disheveled hair, threw herself
between her father's knees, and buried her face in his lap. More than
half an hour passed during which not an articulate word was spoken; but
cries, groans, and occasional shrieks of anguish, which pierced even
the thick walls of the Temple and were heard in the streets, rose from
the group.
For two hours the agonizing interview was continued. As they gradually
regained some little composure, in low tones they whispered messages
of tenderness and love, interrupted by sobs, and kisses, and blinding
floods of tears. It was now after nine o'clock, and in the morning the
king was to be led to the guillotine. The queen implored permission for
them to remain with him through the night. The king, through tenderness
for his family, declined, but promised to see them again at seven
o'clock the next morning. As the king accompanied them to the staircase
their cries were redoubled, and the princess fainted in utter
unconsciousness at her father's feet. The queen, Madame Elizabeth, and
Clery carried her to the stairs, and the king returned to the room,
and, burying his face in his hands, sank, exhausted, into a chair.
After a long silence he turned to M. Edgeworth and said,
"Ah! monsieur, what an interview I have had! Why do I love so fondly?
Alas! why am I so fondly loved? But we have now done with time. Let us
occupy ourselves with eternity."
[Illustration: LAST INTERVIEW BETWEEN LOUIS XVI. AND HIS FAMILY.]
The king passed some time in religious conversation and prayer, and,
having arranged with M. Edgeworth to partake of the sacrament of the
Lord's Supper in the earliest hours of the morning, at midnight threw
himself upon his bed, and almost immediately fell into a calm and
refreshing sleep.
The faithful Clery and M. Edgeworth watched at the bedside of the king.
At five o'clock they woke him. "Has it struck five?" inquired the king.
"Not yet by the clock of the tower," Clery replied; "but several of the
clocks of the city have struck." "I have slept soundly," remarked the
king. "I was much fatigued yesterday."
He immediately arose. An altar had been prepared in the middle of the
room composed of a chest of drawers, and the king, after engaging
earnestly in prayer, received the sacrament of the Lord's Supper. Then
leading Clery into the recess of a window, he detached from his watch
a seal, and took from his finger a wedding-ring, and handing them to
Clery, said,
"After my death you will give this seal to my son, this ring to the
queen. Tell her I resign it with pain that it may not be profaned with
my body. This small parcel contains locks of hair of all my family:
that you will give her. Say to the queen, my dear children, and my
sister, that I had promised to see them this morning, but that I
desired to spare them the agony of such a bitter separation twice
over. How much it has cost me to depart without receiving their last
embraces!"
He could say no more, for sobs choked his utterance. Soon recovering
himself, he called for scissors, and cut off his long hair, that he
might escape the humiliation of having that done by the executioner.
A few beams of daylight began now to penetrate the gloomy prison
through the grated windows, and the beating of drums, and the rumbling
of the wheels of heavy artillery were heard in the streets. The king
turned to his confessor, and said,
"How happy I am that I maintained my faith on the throne! Where should
I be this day but for this hope? Yes, there is on high a Judge,
incorruptible, who will award to me that measure of justice which men
refuse to me here below."
Two hours passed away, while the king listened to the gathering of
the troops in the court-yard and around the Temple. At nine o'clock a
tumultuous noise was heard of men ascending the staircase. Santerre
entered, with twelve municipal officers and ten gens d'armes. The king,
with commanding voice and gesture, pointed Santerre to the door, and
said,
"You have come for me. I will be with you in an instant. Await me
there."
Falling upon his knees, he engaged a moment in prayer, and then,
turning to M. Edgeworth, said,
"All is consummated. Give me your blessing, and pray to God to sustain
me to the end."
He rose, and taking from the table a paper which contained his last
will and testament, addressed one of the municipal guard, saying, "I
beg of you to transmit this paper to the queen." The man, whose name
was Jacques Roux, brutally replied, "I am here to conduct you to the
scaffold, not to perform your commissions."
"True," said the king, in a saddened tone, but without the slightest
appearance of irritation. Then carefully scanning the countenances of
each member of the guard, he selected one whose features expressed
humanity, and solicited him to take charge of the paper. The man, whose
name was Gobeau, took the paper.
The king, declining the cloak which Clery offered him, said, "Give
me only my hat." Then, taking the hand of Clery, he pressed it
affectionately in a final adieu, and, turning to Santerre, said, "Let
us go." Descending the stairs with a firm tread, followed by the armed
escort, he met a turnkey whom he had the evening before reproached
for some impertinence. The king approached him and said, in tones of
kindness,
"Mathey, I was somewhat warm with you yesterday; excuse me for the sake
of this hour."
As he crossed the court-yard, he twice turned to look up at the windows
of the queen's apartment in the tower, where those so dear to him
were suffering the utmost anguish which human hearts can endure. Two
gens d'armes sat upon the front seat of the carriage. The king and
M. Edgeworth took the back seat. The morning was damp and chill, and
gloomy clouds darkened the sky. Sixty drums were beating at the heads
of the horses, and an army of troops, with all the most formidable
enginery of war, preceded, surrounded, and followed the carriage. The
noise of the drums prevented any conversation, and the king sat in
silence in the carriage, evidently engaged in prayer. The procession
moved so slowly along the Boulevards that it was two hours before
they reached the Place de la Révolution. An immense crowd filled the
place, above whom towered the lofty platform and blood-red posts of the
guillotine.
[Illustration: EXECUTION OF LOUIS XVI.]
As the carriage stopped the king whispered to M. Edgeworth, "We have
arrived, if I mistake not." The drums ceased beating, and the whole
multitude gazed in the most solemn silence. The two gens d'armes
alighted. The king placed his hand upon the knee of the heroic
ecclesiastic, M. Edgeworth, and said to the gens d'armes,
"Gentlemen, I recommend to your care this gentleman. Let him not be
insulted after my death. I entreat you to watch over him."
"Yes, yes," said one, contemptuously; "make your mind easy, we will
take care of him. Let us alone."
Louis alighted. Two of the executioners came to the foot of the
scaffold to take off his coat. The king waved them away, and himself
took off his coat and cravat, and turned down the collar of his shirt,
that his throat might be presented bare to the knife. They then came
with cords to bind his hands behind his back.
"What do you wish to do?" said the king, indignantly.
"Bind you," they replied, as they seized his hands, and endeavored to
fasten them with the cords.
"Bind me!" replied the king, in tones of deepest feeling. "No, no; I
will never consent. Do your business, but you shall not bind me."
The executioners seized him rudely, and called for help. "Sire," said
his Christian adviser, "suffer this outrage, as a last resemblance to
that God who is about to be your reward."
"Assuredly," replied the king, "there needed nothing less than the
example of God to make me submit to such an indignity." Then, holding
out his hands to the executioners, he said, "Do as you will! I will
drink the cup to the dregs."
With a firm tread he ascended the steep steps of the scaffold, looked
for a moment upon the keen and polished edge of the axe, and then,
turning to the vast throng, said, in a voice clear and untremulous,
"People, I die innocent of all the crimes imputed to me! I pardon the
authors of my death, and pray to God that the blood you are about to
shed may not fall again on France."
He would have continued, but the drums were ordered to beat, and his
voice was immediately drowned. The executioners seized him, bound him
to the plank, the slide fell, and the head of Louis XVI. dropped into
the basket.
No one has had a better opportunity of ascertaining the true character
of the king than President Jefferson. Speaking of some of the king's
measures he said, "These concessions came from the very heart of the
king. He had not a wish but for the good of the nation; and for that
object no personal sacrifice would ever have cost him a moment's
regret; but his mind was weakness itself, his constitution timid,
his judgment null, and without sufficient firmness even to stand
by the faith of his word. His queen, too, haughty and bearing no
contradiction, had an absolute ascendency over him; and round her were
rallied the king's brother, D'Artois, the court generally, and the
aristocratic part of his ministers, particularly Breteuil, Broglio,
Vauguyon, Foulon, Luzerne--men whose principles of government were
those of the age of Louis XIV. Against this host, the good counsels of
Necker, Montmorin, St. Priest, although in unison with the wishes of
the king himself, were of little avail. The resolutions of the morning,
formed under their advice, would be reversed in the evening by the
influence of the queen and the court."
The Royalists were exceedingly exasperated by the condemnation of the
king. A noble, Lepelletier St. Fargeau, who had espoused the popular
cause, voted for the king's death. The Royalists were peculiarly
excited against him, in consequence of his rank and fortune. On the
evening of the 20th of January, as Louis was being informed of his
sentence, a life-guardsman of the king tracked Lepelletier into a
restaurateur's in the Palais Royal, and, just as he was sitting down to
the table, stepped up to him and said,
"Art thou Lepelletier, the villain who voted for the death of the king?"
"Yes," replied Lepelletier, "but I am not a villain. I voted according
to my conscience."
"There, then," rejoined the life-guardsman, "take that for thy reward,"
and he plunged his sword to the hilt in his side. Lepelletier fell
dead, and his assassin escaped before they had time to arrest him.
This event created intense excitement, and increased the conviction
that the Royalists had conspired to rescue the king, by force of arms,
at the foot of the scaffold.
[Illustration: ASSASSINATION OF LEPELLETIER DE ST. FARGEAU.]
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 381: Hist. Parl., vol. xxi., p. 314.]
[Footnote 382: Résumé du Rapport du Commissaire Albertier, Hist. Parl.,
vol. xxi., p. 319.]
[Footnote 383: One of Napoleon's first acts upon becoming First Consul
was to show his appreciation of the heroism of Tronchet by placing
him at the head of the Court of Cassation. "Tronchet," he said, "was
the soul of the civil code, as I was its demonstrator. He was gifted
with a singularly profound and correct understanding, but he could not
descend to developments. He spoke badly, and could not defend what he
proposed."--_Napoleon at St. Helena_, p. 192.]
[Footnote 384: Lacretelle.]
[Footnote 385: Lamartine, History of the Girondists, vol. ii., p. 342.]
[Footnote 386: "The crowd in the galleries received with murmurs
all votes that were not for death, and they frequently addressed
threatening gestures to the Assembly itself. The deputies replied to
them from the interior of the hall, and hence resulted a tumultuous
exchange of menaces and abusive epithets. This fearfully ominous scene
had shaken all minds and changed many resolutions. Vergniaud, who
had appeared deeply affected by the fate of Louis XVI., and who had
declared to his friends that he never could condemn that unfortunate
prince, Vergniaud, on beholding this tumultuous scene, imagined that
he saw civil war kindled in France, and pronounced sentence of death,
with the addition, however, of Mailhe's amendment (which required that
the execution should be delayed). On being questioned respecting his
change of opinion, he replied that he thought he saw civil war on the
point of breaking out, and that he durst not balance the life of an
individual against the welfare of France."--_Thiers's History of the
French Revolution_, vol. ii., p. 68.]
[Footnote 387: "Robespierre was by no means the worst character who
figured in the Revolution. He opposed trying the queen. He was not an
atheist; on the contrary, he had publicly maintained the existence of a
Supreme Being, in opposition to many of his colleagues. Neither was he
of opinion that it was necessary to exterminate all priests and nobles,
like many others. Robespierre wanted to proclaim the king an outlaw,
and not to go through the ridiculous mockery of trying him. Robespierre
was a fanatic, a monster; but he was incorruptible, and incapable
of robbing or of causing the deaths of others, either from personal
enmity or a desire of enriching himself. He was an enthusiast, but one
who really believed that he was acting right, and died not worth a
sou. In some respects Robespierre may be said to have been an honest
man."--_Napoleon at St. Helena_, p. 590.]
[Footnote 388: "Of those who judged the king many thought him willfully
criminal; many that his existence would keep the nation in perpetual
conflict with the horde of kings who would war against a generation
which might come home to themselves, and that it were better that one
should die than all. I should not have voted with this portion of the
Legislature. I should have shut up the queen in a convent, putting
harm out of her power, and placed the king in his station, investing
him with limited powers, which I verily believe he would honestly have
exercised, according to the measure of his understanding."--_Thomas
Jefferson, Life by Randall_, vol. i., p. 533. There were obviously
insuperable objections to the plan thus suggested by Mr. Jefferson.]