This
is the first in a series of short stories about the French Revolution called
The Bloodstained Banner. These stories are meant to look at multiple
perspectives of the Revolution and its consequences, negatively and
positively.
***
“It’s time.”
The
words of the officer rang in Danton’s ears, leaving an echo after they left his
head. Danton was still defiant, but the cold glaze of impending death had
settled in already. Desmoulins’s face was contorted in a grimace, but Danton
knew that it wasn't for his own life; Camille was worried about his wife and
children. Danton had heard earlier that Lucile had been arrested just days ago,
but he hadn’t the heart to tell Camille.
Soldiers
used their musket butts to herd the prisoners onto the three tumbrils. The
condemned men were all silent, but there was an air of hopelessness around
them. Many of these men were heroes of the Revolution, Danton thought. Some,
like Herault de Sechelles, had been betrayed by Robespierre and now found
themselves facing the guillotine. Danton glanced at Fabre D’Eglantine, a man
whom Danton had once appointed as his secretary. However, as Danton’s eyes fell
on Camille, he felt a wave of despair fall upon him.
An
army captain had arrived to the prison with a number of soldiers, ordered to be
a further escort in case of mob unrest. The captain then turned to Desmoulins,
his face blank and expressionless.
“Camille
Desmoulins, I am here to inform you that your wife Lucile Duplessis has been
arrested for crimes of aiding and abetting the escape of a man convicted of
treason.”
The
words were spoken without emotion. Camille’s eyes grew wide, and his mouth
opened in a terrible scream.
“No!
Lucile! You can’t do this, she has done nothing wrong!” Camille began to
struggle against his guards, who in turn wrestled him onto the tumbril. Camille
continued to yell madly as the tumbrils began to roll forwards towards the
scaffold.
Danton
looked around at the crowds of people gathered on the route to the guillotine.
Many looked sad, as they watched their hero carted off to his death, but others
were angry. Plenty of Danton’s supporters had turned against him after the
sentenced was given, as they believed that if he was truly innocent, he would
have been acquitted. Many in the crowd shouted insults at the condemned,
throwing pieces of garbage along with the words.
“Traitors!”
one person yelled.
“Sons
of whores!” shouted another.
“Words
won’t save you now!” exclaimed a third.
Some
in the crowd laughed at the last comment, and Danton himself smiled grimly. He
had always been the best orator in the Cordeliers Club. He was a better speaker
than Camille, and he had more restraint than Marat. But all of that was over
now. Words could do nothing now.
The
ride to the scaffold was both agonizingly long and brutally short, Danton
thought. He turned to see Camille, now in pieces after hearing that his wife
was arrested. The verdict would be guilty, and the sentence would be death. The
guillotine came into view as the tumbrils rounded the corner from Rue Royale
into Place de la Revolution. A large crowd had gathered around the scaffold,
larger than usual. The deaths of so many prominent victims would inevitably
draw out a bigger selection of people.
The
tumbrils came to a stop at the foot of the stair leading to the guillotine. No
ceremony was given for the condemned as the soldiers hauled the first grouped
off of the tumbril and towards the scaffold.
The
first man was brought up the steps towards the guillotine. As he was strapped
to the board, he closed his eyes in silent prayer. He was then slid into trap,
the trap was set, and the executioner’s mate gave the signal. The grim-looking
executioner pulled the lever, and the blade fell to earth, severing the man’s
head in one swift motion. His head tumbled into the waiting basket, which was
out of sight for Danton. The man’s headless corpse was removed from the board
and tossed onto a cart at the side of the scaffold.
As
the second victim was taken by a soldier and led up the steps, Danton heard
Camille’s name being called from the crowd. One of the members of the
Cordeliers Club, Claude Dumare, was trying to get through the crowd to talk to
Camille. The guards were forcing Dumare back, but Camille struggling against
his own guards. Danton could not hear what Dumare was trying to tell Camille,
as the second condemned man had already been executed and his body was being
disposed of. Camille fought his captors, ripping his white shirt in the process.
As Dumare was forced away by the guards, Camille called out to the crowd.
“Citizens, you know me! I am one of you! I have been wrongly accused.”
Camille’s desperation, Danton knew, was so that he could free Lucile somehow.
Alas, it was all in vain, as many in the crowd shouted Camille down.
By
this time, the captain, who had escorted the column, ordered two soldiers
towards Camille. The two National Guardsmen grabbed Camille’s shoulders roughly
and pulled him away from the crowd. Camille continued to struggle against the
Guardsmen until he reached the steps of the scaffold.
Danton
saw Camille stare right at the blade of the guillotine, and then the struggling
stopped. Camille had accepted his fate, and he was now going to die with honor.
One of the Guardsmen shoved Camille in the back with his musket. Camille winced
in pain, and then began to ascend the steps. It seemed an eternity before
Camille stepped onto the scaffold. For a moment, Camille stared up at the
blade, transfixed on the blood dripping from its fresh kills. The executioner’s
mates grabbed hold of Camille and pushed him against the board. As they
tightened the belt around his body, Camille closed his eyes tightly. They
executioner’s mates tipped the board and rolled Camille forward. Camille’s head
went through the hole and the trap came down on his neck. The executioner
stepped forward and grabbed hold of the lever. After a moment of hesitation,
the executioner pulled the lever. The blade swiftly came down on Camille’s
head, taking it off in one clean stroke. Danton could not see his friend’s
lifeless face, but he didn’t want to. For the next few minutes of living,
Danton wanted to remember Camille as a patriot, not a dead man convicted of
treason.
After
Camille’s execution, the rest of the prisoners were quickly dispatched. Herault
went to the scaffold stoically, but Fabre was pleading with the executioners
before he was finally silenced by the blade. At last, Danton was the last
condemned man remaining. The captain turned to Danton, motioned in the
direction of the scaffold.
“I
can see, sir.” Danton said venomously, and the captain turned red and stepped
aside as Danton walked slowly up the steps. Danton chuckled to himself
slightly, thinking about the captain who had just been rebuked by a dead man.
Danton reached the top of the scaffold and stopped.
As
the executioner stepped towards him to bring him to the guillotine, Danton
said:
“Show
my head to the people. It’s worth a look.”
The
executioner nodded solemnly, and Danton walked over to the executioner’s mates.
Without a word, they strapped Danton to the board and rolled him forward.
Danton looked down into the basket. He saw Fabre’s head lying in the bottom,
looking up. The expression of disbelief and horror was still upon his face.
Danton would not die like that. The trap was set, and the executioner’s mates
stood back. The executioner took the lever in his hand and pulled it down.
Danton heard the click as the mechanism began, and heard the blade sliding
against the wooden beams.
The
events of the last five years flashed by in an instant. The storming of the
Bastille, drafting the Declaration of the Rights of Man, the insurrection
against the King, the fall of the Girondins, and finally his own fate. Danton
smiled as he realized what they had started would never be fully seen to its
end, not in his children’s lifetimes. France was free, but the world would take
much longer to be rid of their chains.
As
the blade fell closer to his neck, Danton's thoughts turned to fishing.
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