THE EXECUTION OF FIESCHI, MOREY, AND PEPIN.
About one o'clock on a cold winter night in 1835, a party of four persons were seated in the coffee-room of the Hôtel Meurice, at Paris. It was chilly, sloppy, miserable weather; half-melted snow, mixed with the Paris mud, and a driving, sleety rain hissed against the ill-fitting windows.
Our four convives were drinking—not the wines of sunny France, but something much more appropriate and homely—a curiously-fine sample of gin, artfully compounded into toddy, by Achille, the waiter.
When the clock struck one, three of the party made a show of retiring; but the fourth, a punchy gentleman from Wolverhampton, entreated that the rest would not all desert him while he discussed one glass more—nay, perhaps, would join him! But here Achille was inexorable: the master was in bed, and had taken the keys.
Our four friends have taken their candles, and are moving from the room, when a cab drives rapidly to the door—there is a smart ring at the bell, and a gentleman in full evening dress, and enveloped in a Spanish cloak, hastily enters the room.
"Who is inclined to see Fieschi's head chopped off?" said the stranger, unfolding himself from the cloak. "The execution is to take place at daylight—I had it from a peer of France, and the guillotine has been sent off an hour ago."
"Where?"
Our informant could not tell. It was known only to the police—there was an apprehension of some attempt at a rescue, and ten thousand troops were to be on the ground. It will be either the Place St. Jaques, or the Barrière du Trône—the first, most likely; let us try that to begin with, and there will be plenty of time to go on to the other afterward: but we must be early, to get a good place.
We are not of those who make a practice of attending executions with a morbid appetite for such horrors. Under any circumstances, the deliberate cutting off a life is a melancholy spectacle. The mortal agony, unrelieved by excitement, is painful in the extreme to witness, but worse still is reckless bravado. Rarest of all is it to see the inevitable fate met with calm dignity. Here, however, was a miscreant, who, to gratify a political feeling—dignified, in his opinion, with the name of patriotism—deliberately fired the contents of a battery of gun-barrels into a mass of innocent persons, many of whom, it was quite certain, would be killed, for the chance of striking down one man, and, probably, some of his family. That this family, with their illustrious father, should have escaped altogether, is an instance of good fortune as remarkable as the attempt was flagitious. But the magnitude of the crime invested the perpetrators with a terrible interest, which overcame any lingering scruples, and the whole party decided upon setting out forthwith. We made for the nearest coach-stand, which was that upon the quay, near the Pont Neuf.
In something more than half an hour, we jingled into the Place St. Jaques, and, pausing at the corner, had the satisfaction to hear the sounds of hammers busily plied upon a dark mass rising in the centre of the square—it was the platform upon which to erect the guillotine. On all sides of this, workmen were busily engaged, their labor quickened by the exhortations of one who walked about, lantern in hand, upon the top. This was the executioner, who, seen by the light he carried, bore a remarkable resemblance to the great English comedian, the late Mr. Liston. There was the same square form of the countenance, the small nose, the long upper lip, the mirth-provoking gravity, and the same rich, husky chuckle. This curious likeness was at once acknowledged by all present, and an Englishman took the liberty of interrupting the grave functionary with the information that he was the very image of le plus grand farceur que nous avons en Angleterre, a piece of information which the French scion of the House of Ketch received, after the manner of Frenchmen, as a high compliment, being moved to bow and chuckle much thereat.
By this time, the hammering had roused the dwellers in the place, and lights were seen rapidly moving about the windows. A café-keeper had opened his saloon, arranged his little tables, and was bustling about with his waiters attending to the wants of the guests already assembled. An execution is a godsend to the Place St. Jaques at any time, but the execution of three great state criminals, such as these, would go far to pay the year's rent of the houses. As cabs and fiacres began to arrive, we thought it necessary to make arrangement for securing a room from whence to see the execution, and chance conducted us to the corner house, one side of which looked upon the square, directly opposite the guillotine, from which it was scarcely fifty yards distance; and the other side fronted the road by which the prisoners were to be conveyed from their prison to the scaffold.
We found the situation well adapted for our purpose, though only one window looked into the square, the two others were easily made to command a view of the scaffold, which was nearly in a line with that side of the house. Our host had also with much propriety made the bed, set the furniture to rights, raked up the ashes of the wood-fire, and put on another block or two; and the fact of meeting with an open fire-place instead of the eternal stove, made us feel at home at once. The Wolverhampton man declared that it was dangerous to British lungs to be out in these raw mornings in a foreign country without something warm to qualify the air; so a bottle of brandy was sent for to the neighboring café, and our hostess had busied herself in producing hot water and tumblers, as if, through the frequenters of executions, she had arrived at considerable knowledge of the national tastes. Our ancient host, being accommodated with a cigar, narrated the particulars of the many beheadings which had fallen under his observation since his occupancy of the house. One may be mentioned as exhibiting a rare instance of irresistible curiosity. The man had been guilty of an atrocious murder, either of a wife or some near relative, and when his neck was placed under the ax, he contrived to slue himself partly round to see its descent, and had a part of his chin taken off in consequence.
About two hours before day-light a body of mounted municipal guards arrived, and formed round the scaffold. The object of this appeared to be to hide the proceedings as much as possible from those on foot, who could only hope for a very imperfect view between the bodies and the bear-skins of these troops. Soon after the municipal guard the infantry of the line began to arrive, and were formed in a circle four deep outside the municipals, and nearly as far back as the houses of the Place. A considerable crowd had also collected, though extremely orderly and good-humored; in fact, to see the general hilarity, and listen to the bursts of loud laughter, it would seem to be regarded in the light of fête. There was certainly no appearance of sympathy with the criminals. Finding the municipals so materially interfered with the show, the people soon began to occupy the trees and lamp-posts, the adjacent walls, and the roofs of the neighboring houses; while the infantry, having piled arms, waltzed and danced to keep themselves warm.
Soon after daylight the hammering ceased, and the preparations appeared to be completed; and shortly afterward strong bodies of cavalry began to take up their positions in all the streets leading into the Place. The first care of the officer commanding these was to clear the square entirely of all the people who had collected in rear of the infantry, and to drive them out along the adjacent streets; an order was also given to dislodge the people out of the trees, and from the walls and lamp-posts, and this caused much grumbling and swearing of all concerned. Some merriment, however, was excited by the discovery of some women in the trees, and their descent, superintended by the dragoons below, gave occasion for the exercise of much not over decent wit among the troopers. It struck me that in their manner of dealing with the crowd there was much unnecessary harshness on the part of the troops, an irritability and fretfulness often exhibited by persons doubtful of their own authority, and very unlike the calm, good-humored superiority with which our own men are wont to handle the masses.
Presently came two general officers with their staff, and each followed by a mounted "jockey," lads dressed as English grooms, of whom one, as well by his fair complexion and honest round face, the whiteness of his tops and leathers, and the general superiority of his turn-out, as by his firm and easy seat on horseback, was evidently a native of our own country.
About an hour after sun-rise three caleches came rapidly down the road, passing our windows, each carriage containing three persons, the condemned, and two police officers. The troops opened out, and the men were landed at the foot of the platform. It may be well to describe the general appearance of the scaffold.
On a platform about twelve feet square, and seven feet above the ground, are erected the two upright posts, between which is suspended the ax. They somewhat resemble a narrow gallows, scarcely more than a foot between the posts. The ax, which is not unlike a hay-knife, though much heavier and broader, is drawn up to the top of the posts, between which it runs in grooves, and is held suspended by a loop in the halyards, passed over a button at the bottom. The edge of the ax, as it hangs suspended, is not horizontal, or at a right angle with the post, but diagonal, giving the instrument a fearful power, in conjunction with its weight and long fall, of shearing through a resisting substance of many times more opposing force than a human neck. On the centre of the platform stands a frame, or large box, much resembling a soldier's arm-chest, about six feet long by two and a half wide, and probably as much high. One end of this abuts upon the upright posts, at the other end is a small frame like a truck, connected about its centre with the chest by hinges, and with a strap and buckle, to make it fast to the man's body.
The prisoners having dismounted, were placed in a line on the ground facing the guillotine, their arms pinioned. They were very different in appearance. Fieschi had a most sinister and ferocious expression of face, rendered more so by the scars, scarcely healed apparently, inflicted by the bursting of his gun-barrels. He was plainly dressed, and appeared like a workman of the better class; his age about thirty-five. Morey was a man advanced in life, perhaps seventy; his bald head was partly covered with a black cap revealing the white hairs behind, and at the sides: he was a corpulent large figure, dressed completely in black, with a mild intelligent face, and altogether a very gentlemanly air and manner. Pepin was a small, thin-faced, insignificant man.
Pepin was chosen first for execution. Having been deprived of his coat and neck-handkerchief, and the collar of his shirt turned down, he was led by the executioner up the steps of the platform. He ascended with an air of considerable bravado, shook himself, and looked round with much confidence, and spoke some words which we could not catch, and which the executioner appeared disposed to cut short. Having advanced with his breast against the truck, to which his body was rapidly strapped, he was then tilted down, truck and all, upon his face; and the truck moving upon small wheels or castors in grooves upon the chest, he was moved rapidly forward, till his neck came directly under the chopper, when the rope being unhooked from the button, the ax fell with a loud and awful "chop!" the head rolling down upon the bare platform. After the separation of the head, the body moved with much convulsive energy, and had it not been made fast to what I have called the truck, and that also connected with the raised platform, would probably have rolled down on the lower stage. The executioner then held up the head to view for a moment, and I suspect, from some laughter among the troops, made a facetious remark. The lid of a large basket alongside the chest was then raised, and the body rolled into it.
Morey was the next victim. He ascended the steps feebly, and requiring much assistance; he was also supported during the process of strapping him. His bald head and venerable appearance made a favorable impression upon the spectators, and elicited the only expressions of sympathy observable throughout the executions.
Fieschi came last, and was the most unnerved of the three. He appeared throughout in a fainting condition, and hung his head in a pitiable state of prostration. Very little consideration was shown him, or rather he was pushed and thrust about in a way which was indecent, if not disgusting, whatever might have been his crimes. Some little difficulty occurred in placing his head conveniently under the ax, from a recoiling motion of the prisoner. He was certainly the least brave of the three. The executioner having rolled his body into the larger basket with the others, took up that containing the three heads, which having emptied upon the bodies, he gave the bottom of the basket a jocular tap, which, being accompanied with a lifting of his foot behind, and probably some funny and seasonable observation, created a good deal of merriment among the spectators.
The guillotine is apparently the most merciful, but certainly the most terrible to witness, of any form of execution in civilized Europe. The fatal chop, the raw neck, the spouting blood, are very shocking to the feelings, and demoralizing; as such exhibitions can not fail to generate a spirit of ferocity and a love of bloodshed among those who witness them. It was not uncommon at this period in Paris to execute sheep and calves with the guillotine; and fathers of families would pay a small sum to obtain such a gratifying show for their children. In such a taste may we not trace the old leaven of the first Revolution, and the germ of future ones?
The fate of poor Dr. Guillotin was a singular one. He lived to see the machine which he had invented, from feelings of pure philanthropy, made the instrument of the most horrible butcheries, the aptness of the invention notoriously increasing the number of the victims who fell by it; and he died in extreme old age, with the bitter reflection that his name would be handed down to posterity, in connection with the most detestable ferocities which have ever stained the annals of mankind.