Part 10 (1/2)
You may, probably, imagine that, whatever dispatch might be employed, the execution of seventy persons, would demand a rather considerable portion of time, an hour and a half, or two hours, for instance. But, how wide of the mark! Samson, the executioner of Paris, worked the guillotine with such astonis.h.i.+ng quickness, that, including the preparatives of the punishment, he has been known to cut off no less than forty-five heads, the one after the other, in the short s.p.a.ce of fifteen minutes; consequently, at this expeditious rate of three heads in one minute it required no more than twenty-three minutes and twenty seconds to decapitate seventy persons.
Guillotin, the physician, who invented or rather improved this machine, which is called after his name with a feminine termination, is said to have been a man of humanity; and, on that principle alone, he recommended the use of it, from the idea of saving from painful sensations criminals condemned to die. Seeing the abuse made of it, from the facility which it afforded of dispatching several persons in a few minutes, he took the circ.u.mstance so much to heart that grief speedily shortened his existence.
According to Robespierre, however, the axe of the guillotine did not do sufficient execution. One of his satellites announced to him the invention of an instrument which struck off nine heads at once: the discovery pleased him, and he caused several trials of this new machine to be made at _Bicetre_. It did not answer; but human nature gained nothing by its failure. Instead of half a dozen victims a day, Robespierre wished to have daily fifty or sixty, or more; and he was but too well obeyed. Not only had he his own private lists of proscription; but all his creatures, from the president of the revolutionary tribunal down to the under-jailers, had similar lists; and the _almanac royal_, or French court calendar, was converted into one by himself.
The inhabitants of the streets through which the unfortunate sufferers were carried, wearied at length by the daily sight of so melancholy a spectacle, ventured to utter complaints. Robespierre, no less suspicious than cruel, was alarmed, and, dreading an insurrection, removed the scene of slaughter. The scaffold was erected on the _Place de la Bastille_: but the inhabitants of this quarter also murmured, and the guillotine was transferred to the _Barriere St. Antoine_.
Had not this modern Nero been cut off in the midst of his cruelties, it is impossible to say where he would have stopped. Being one day asked the question, he coolly answered: ”The generation which has witnessed the old _regime_, will always regret it. Every individual who was more than fifteen in 1789, must be put to death: this is the only way to consolidate the revolution.”
It was the same in the departments as in Paris. Every where blood ran in streams. In all the princ.i.p.al towns the guillotine was rendered permanent, in order, as Robespierre expressed himself, to _regenerate the nation_. If this sanguinary monster did not intend to ”wade through slaughter to a throne,” it is certain at least that he ”shut the gates of mercy on mankind.”
But what cannot fail to excite your astonishment and that of every thinking person, is, that, in the midst of these executions, in the midst of these convulsions of the state, in the midst of these struggles for power, in the midst of these outcries against the despots of the day, in the midst of famine even, not artificial, but real; in short, in the midst of an acc.u.mulation of horrors almost unexampled, the fiddle and tambourin never ceased. Galas, concerts, and b.a.l.l.s were given daily in incredible numbers; and no less than from fifteen to twenty theatres, besides several, other places of public entertainment, were constantly open, and almost as constantly filled.
P. S. I am this moment informed of the arrival of Lord Cornwallis.
[Footnote 1: The ratio between the English fathom and the French toise, as determined between the first astronomers of both countries, is as 72 to 76.734.]
LETTER XIV.
_Paris, November 10, 1801._
On the evening of the 8th, there was a representation _gratis_ at all the theatres, it being the eve of the great day, of the occurrences of which I shall now, agreeably to my promise, endeavour to give you a narrative. I mean the
NATIONAL FeTE, IN HONOUR OF PEACE, _Celebrated on the 18th of Brumaire, year X_, _the anniversary of_ BONAPARTE'S _accession to the consulate_.
Notwithstanding the prayers which the Parisians had addressed to the sun for the preceding twenty-four hours,
”----_Nocte pluit tota, redeunt spectacula mane_,”
it rained all night, and was still raining yesterday morning, when the day was ushered in by discharges of artillery from the saluting battery at the _Hotel des Invalides_. This did not disturb me; I slept soundly till, about eight o'clock, a tintamarre of trumpets, kettle-drums, &c. almost directly under my window, roused me from my peaceful slumber. For fear of losing the sight, I immediately presented myself at the cas.e.m.e.nt, just as I rose, in my s.h.i.+rt and night-cap. The officers of the police, headed by the Prefect, and escorted by a party of dragoons, came to the _Place des Victoires_, as the third station, to give publicity, by word of mouth, to the Proclamation of the Consuls, of which I inclose you a printed copy.
The civil officers were habited in their dresses of parade, and decorated with tricoloured sashes; the heads of their steeds, which, by the bye, were not of a fiery, mettlesome race, being adorned in like manner.
This ceremony being over, I returned not to bed, but sat down to a substantial breakfast, which I considered necessary for preparing my strength for the great fatigues of so busy a day. Presently the streets were crowded with people moving towards the river-side, though small, but heavy rain continued falling all the forenoon. I therefore remained at home, knowing that there was nothing yet to be seen for which it was worth while to expose myself to a good wetting.
At two o'clock the sun appeared, as if to satisfy the eager desire of the Parisians; the mist ceased, and the weather a.s.sumed a promising aspect. In a moment the crowd in the streets was augmented by a number of persons who had till now kept within doors, in readiness to go out, like the Jews keeping Easter, _cincti renibus & comedentes festinantur_. I also sallied forth, but alone, having previously refused every invitation from my friends and acquaintance to place myself at any window, or join any party, conceiving that the best mode to follow the bent of my humour was to go unaccompanied, and, not confining myself to any particular spot or person, stroll about wherever the most interesting objects presented themselves.
With this view, I directed my steps towards the _Tuileries_, which, in spite of the immense crowd, I reached without the smallest inconvenience. The appearance of carriages of every kind had been strictly prohibited, with the exception of those belonging to the British amba.s.sador; a compliment well intended, no doubt, and very gratifying when the streets were so extremely dirty.
For some time I amused myself with surveying the different countenances of the groups within immediate reach of my observation, and which to me was by no means the least diverting part of the scene; but on few of them could I discover any other impression than that of curiosity: I then took my station in the garden of the _Tuileries_, on the terrace next the river. Hence was a view of the _Temple of Commerce_ rising above the water, on that part of the Seine comprised between the _Pont National_ and the _Pont Neuf_. The quays on each side were full of people; and the windows, as well as the roofs of all the neighbouring houses, were crowded beyond conception. In the newspapers, the sum of 500 francs, or 20 sterling, was asked for the hire of a single window of a house in that quarter.
Previously to my arrival, a flotilla of boats, decked with streamers and flags of different colours, had ascended the river from _Chaillot_ to this temple, and were executing divers evolutions around it, for the entertainment of the Parisians, who quite drowned the music by their more noisy acclamations.
About half after three, the First Consul appeared at one of the windows of the apartments of the Third Consul, LEBRUN, which, being situated in the _Pavillon de Flore_, as it is called, at the south end of the palace of the _Tuileries_, command a complete view of the river. He and LEBRUN were both dressed in their consular uniform.
In a few minutes, a balloon, previously prepared at this floating _Temple of Commerce_, and adorned with the flags of different nations, ascended thence with majestic slowness, and presently took an almost horizontal direction to the south-west. In the car attached to it were Garnerin, the celebrated aeronaut, his wife, and two other persons, who kept waving their tricoloured flags, but were soon under the necessity of putting them away for a moment, and getting rid of some of their ballast, in order to clear the steeples and other lofty objects which appeared to lie in their route. The balloon, thus lightened, rose above the grosser part of the atmosphere, but with such little velocity as to afford the most gratifying spectacle to an immense number of spectators.
While following it with my eyes, I began to draw comparisons in my mind, and reflect on the rapid improvement made in these machines, since I had seen Blanchard and his friend, Dr. Jefferies, leave Dover Cliff in January 1785. They landed safely within a short distance of Calais, as every one knows: yet few persons then conceived it possible, or at least probable, that balloons could ever be applied to any useful purpose, still less to the art of war. We find, however, that at the battle of Fleurus, where the Austrians were defeated, Jourdan, the French General, was not a little indebted for his victory to the intelligence given him of the enemy's dispositions by his aeronautic reconnoitring-party.
The sagacious Franklin seems to have had a presentiment of the future utility of this invention. On the first experiments being made of it, some one asked him: ”Of what use are balloons?”--”Of what use is a new-born child!” was the philosopher's answer.