From a Chamber of the Town Hall.
The Town Hall. Yes, I am here; the execrable journey is over. The place
of execution is before me, and beneath the window, a horrible throng,
laughing and yelling, while they await my appearance. My efforts at
composure were vain: when above the heads of the crowd I saw the
frightful scaffold, my heart failed. I expressed a wish to make my last
declaration; so they brought me in here, and have sent for some
law-officer to receive it. I am now waiting for him; so there is thus
much gained. Here is what occurred, on my removal from the Conciergerie.
At three o’clock they came to tell me it was time. I trembled as if I
had thought of any thing else during the last six hours, six weeks, six
months. It produced on me the effect of something quite unexpected. They
made me cross corridors, and descend stairs, they pushed me through a
low door into a sombre room, narrow, arched, and scarcely lighted by a
day of rain and fog. A chair was in the centre, on which I seated myself
at their desire. Some persons were standing near the door; and beside
the Priest and gendarmes, there were three men. The first of these, the
tallest and oldest, was stout, with a red countenance. This was HE.
This was the Executioner,--the servant of the Guillotine; the others
were his own servants. When I was seated, these walked quietly behind
me; then suddenly I felt the cold of steel in my hair, and heard the
grating action of scissors. My hair, cut carelessly, fell in heavy locks
on my shoulders, and the executioner removed them gently with his coarse
hand.
The parties in the room spoke in subdued tones. There was a heavy dull
sound from without, which I fancied at first was caused by the river;
but a shout of laughter soon proved to me it came from the crowd.
A young man near the window, who was writing with a pencil, in his
pocket-book, asked one of the turnkeys, what was the name of the present
operation? He was answered “The Toilet of the Condemned.” From this I
gathered that he was preparing the Report for to-morrow’s newspaper. One
of the servants then removed my waistcoat, and the other one taking my
hands, placed them behind me, and I felt the knots of a cord rolled
slowly round my wrists; at the same time the other took off my cravat.
My linen,--the only remains of former times,--being of the finest
quality, caused him a sort of hesitation for a moment; but at length he
began to cut off the collar.
At this dreadful precaution, and the sensation of the steel touching my
neck, a tremor passed over me, and a stifled groan escaped; the man’s
hand trembled.
“Sir,” said he, “I beg your pardon; I fear I’ve hurt you.”
The people shouted louder in the street. The tall red-faced man offered
a handkerchief, steeped in vinegar, for me to inhale.
“Thank you,” said I to him, in the firmest tone I could summon, “it is
needless; I am recovered.”
Then one of the men stooped down and fastened a small cord to my ankles,
which restricted my steps; and this was again tied to the cord around my
wrists; finally, the tall man threw my jacket over my shoulders, and
tied the sleeves in front. All was now completed.
Then the Priest drew near with his Crucifix.
“Come, my son,” said he.
The men raised me by my arms; and I walked, but my steps were weak and
tottering. At this moment the folding doors were thrown open. A furious
clamour, a chill breeze, and a strong white light reached me in the
shade. From the extreme of the dark chamber I saw through the rain a
thousand yelling heads of the expectant mass. On the right of the
doorway, a range of mounted gendarmes; in front, a detachment of
soldiers; on the left, the back of the cart, with a ladder. A hideous
picture, with the appropriate frame of a prison-door.
It was for this dread moment that I had reserved my courage. I advanced
a few steps, and appeared on the threshold.
“There he is! there he is!” bellowed the crowd. “He’s come out at last!”
and the nearest to me clapped their hands. Much as a king might be
loved, there could not be more greeting for him.
The tall man first ascended the cart.
“Good morning, _Mr. Sampson_!” cried the children hanging by the
lamp-posts. One of his servants next followed. “Bravo, _Tuesday_!” cried
out the children, as the two placed themselves on the front seat.
It was now my turn, and I mounted with a firm step.
“He goes well to it!” said a woman beside the gendarmes.
This atrocious commendation gave me courage. The Priest took his seat
beside me. They had placed me on the hindmost seat, my back towards the
horse. I shuddered at this last attention. There is a mixture of
humanity in it.
I wished to look around me,--gendarmes before and behind: then crowd!
crowd! crowd! A sea of heads in the street. The officer gave the word,
and the procession moved on, as if pushed forward by a yell from the
populace.
“Hats off! hats off!” cried a thousand voices together, as if for the
King. Then I laughed horribly also myself, and said to the Priest,
“Their hats--my head.”
We passed a street which was full of public-houses, in which the windows
were filled with spectators, seeming to enjoy their good places,
particularly the women.
There were also people letting out tables, chairs, and carts; and these
dealers in human life shouted out, “Who wishes for places?”
A strange rage seized me against these wretches, and I longed to shout
out to them, “Do you wish for mine?”
The procession still advanced. At each step the crowd in the rear
dispersed; and I saw, with my wandering eyes, that they collected again
farther on, to have another view. I know not how it was, that,
notwithstanding the fog and the small white rain which crossed the air
like gossamer, nothing which passed around escaped me; every detail
brought its torture: words fail to convey my emotions. My great dread
was lest I should faint. Last vanity! Then I endeavoured to confuse
myself into being blind and deaf to all, except to the Priest, whose
words I scarcely heard amidst the tumult. I took the Crucifix and kissed
it.
“Have mercy on me,” said I. “O my God!”
And I strove to engross myself with this thought.
But every shake of the cart disturbed me; and then I became excessively
chilled, as the rain had penetrated my clothes, and my head was bare.
“Are you trembling with cold, my son?” demanded the Priest.
“Yes,” answered I. “Alas! not only from cold.”
At the turn to the Bridge, the women expressed pity at my being so
young. We approached the fatal Quay. My hearing and sight seemed about
to fail me. All those voices, all those heads at the windows, at doors,
at shop fronts, on lamp-posts; these thirsting and cruel spectators;
this crowd where all knew me, and I knew none; this road paved and
walled with human visages,--I was confounded, stupefied, senseless.
There is something insupportable in the weight of so many looks being
fixed upon one. I could scarcely maintain my place on the seat, and lent
no further attention to the Priest. In the tumult which surrounded me, I
no longer distinguished exclamations of pity from those of satisfaction,
or the sounds of laughter from those of complaint. All formed together a
noise in my ears like sounding brass.
My eyes read mechanically the signs over the shops.
Once I felt a painful curiosity to look round on _that_ which we were
approaching.
It was the last mental bravado, and the body would not aid it; for my
neck remained paralyzed, and I could not turn it.
And the cart went on, on. The shops passed away; the signs succeeded
each other,--written, painted, gilt; and the populace laughed while they
tramped through the mud; and I yielded my mind, as persons do in
sleeping. Suddenly this series of shops ended as we turned into the
square; the voice of the mob became still more loud, yelling, and
joyous; the cart stopped suddenly, and I had nearly fallen on my face.
The Priest held me up.
“Courage!” murmured he.
They next brought a ladder to the back of the cart. I leaned on the arm
of the Priest and descended. I made one step, and turned round to
advance another, but I had not the power; beyond the lamp I saw
something startling....
Oh, it was THE REALITY!