Before he went out Peytel asked the gaoler for a looking-glass;and having examined his face for a moment, said, 'At least, the inhabitants of Bourg will see that I have not grown thin.'
"As twelve o'clock sounded, the prison gates opened, an aide appeared, followed by Peytel, leaning on the arm of the cure.
Peytel's face was pale, he had a long black beard, a blue cap on his head, and his great-coat flung over his shoulders, and buttoned at the neck.
"He looked about at the place and the crowd; he asked if the carriage would go at a trot; and on being told that that would be difficult, he said he would prefer walking, and asked what the road was.He immediately set out, walking at a firm and rapid pace.He was not bound at all.
"An immense crowd of people encumbered the two streets through which he had to pass to the place of execution.He cast his eyes alternately upon them and upon the guillotine, which was before him.
"Arrived at the foot of the scaffold, Peytel embraced the cure, and bade him adieu.He then embraced him again; perhaps, for his mother and sister.He then mounted the steps rapidly, and gave himself into the hands of the executioner, who removed his coat and cap.He asked how he was to place himself, and on a sign being made, he flung himself briskly on the plank, and stretched his neck.In another moment he was no more.
"The crowd, which had been quite silent, retired, profoundly moved by the sight it had witnessed.As at all executions, there was a very great number of women present.
"Under the scaffold there had been, ever since the morning, a coffin.The family had asked for his remains, and had them immediately buried, privately: and thus the unfortunate man's head escaped the modellers in wax, several of whom had arrived to take an impression of it."Down goes the axe; the poor wretch's head rolls gasping into the basket; the spectators go home, pondering; and Mr.Executioner and his aides have, in half an hour, removed all traces of the august sacrifice, and of the altar on which it had been performed.Say, Mr.Briefless, do you think that any single person, meditating murder, would be deterred therefrom by beholding this--nay, a thousand more executions? It is not for moral improvement, as Itake it, nor for opportunity to make appropriate remarks upon the punishment of crime, that people make a holiday of a killing-day, and leave their homes and occupations, to flock and witness the cutting off of a head.Do we crowd to see Mr.Macready in the new tragedy, or Mademoiselle Ellssler in her last new ballet and flesh-colored stockinnet pantaloons, out of a pure love of abstract poetry and beauty; or from a strong notion that we shall be excited, in different ways, by the actor and the dancer? And so, as we go to have a meal of fictitious terror at the tragedy, of something more questionable in the ballet, we go for a glut of blood to the execution.The lust is in every man's nature, more or less.Did you ever witness a wrestling or boxing match? The first clatter of the kick on the shins, or the first drawing of blood, makes the stranger shudder a little; but soon the blood is his chief enjoyment, and he thirsts for it with a fierce delight.It is a fine grim pleasure that we have in seeing a man killed; and Imake no doubt that the organs of destructiveness must begin to throb and swell as we witness the delightful savage spectacle.
Three or four years back, when Fieschi and Lacenaire were executed, I made attempts to see the execution of both; but was disappointed in both cases.In the first instance, the day for Fieschi's death was, purposely, kept secret; and he was, if I remember rightly, executed at some remote quarter of the town.But it would have done a philanthropist good, to witness the scene which we saw on the morning when his execution did NOT take place.
