Blood had by this time, drenched nine prisons. From one alone, the tumbrils had removed one hundred and ninety bodies.
Sixty assassins; this was the number to be seen at each prison door, waiting for the blood of the aristocrats.
Meanwhile, one hundred and sixty heads fell upon the scaffold, some being those of women. The poor Princess de Lamballe, the Queen’s devoted friend, was not one of those saved. She had followed the royal family to the Temple prison, but she was torn from them after a few days. She was a very young widow, passionately loved by her father-in-law, who lived far away in the country. He forwarded 12,000l. to save her life, if possible. It was her want of courage, or, perhaps, ability to dissemble, which cost this poor lady her life. On September 3rd, she appeared before the tribunal. She had passed two days continually fainting; and when ordered, with feigned brutality, by two National Guards to follow them, she asked permission to die where she was. One of them leant down, and whispered, “It is to save you.”
Upon coming before the tribunal, the sight of the blood all about deprived her of consciousness. It was long before she comprehended what was required of her.
“Swear the love of liberty and equality, and hatred of kings!”
“I swear the first,” she said, “but not the second. It is not in my heart.”
One of the judges whispered to her—“Swear everything, or you are lost.”
She remained silent.
“Well—when you go out, cry ‘Long live the nation!’”
She nodded; but upon being led out by two men, one of them a leader in the massacres—one Grand Nicholas,—upon sight of the dead bodies, she cried, “Good God! how horrible!”