The King saved himself from himself in time. He remembered the dignity of his death, and he looked towards the Abbé.
“Sire,” said the man of religion, “compare yourself to One far greater than yourself, who was bound with cords, and who will soon welcome you as a brother.”
The King looked to heaven, appeased, but the royal pride still lingered.
“Truly, only the Divine example enables me to bear this disgrace.”
It is probable this final demonstration, in his very extremity, of his superiority to touch from common hands, helped to harden the nation against the life of the widow. On the other hand, it proved the first occasion on which he showed the least sign of impatience with his tormentors.
“Do as you will,” he said. “I will drink the cup to the dregs.”
Supported by the help of the aged minister, he ascended the steps of the scaffold, and, it must be admitted, with signs of physical fear—the first he had yet shown. Possibly this condition of body was chiefly brought about by the actual physical resistance he had made at the foot of the ladder. But upon coming to the level, all his natural calmness or courage, whichever it was, came to his aid; and, stepping quickly forward across the platform without help, he contemplated the means of his death.
Suddenly, he turned, and faced the people, and used the royal gesture of his life. It was quite natural—a habit of his life—and testified to no violent defiance of his position, and of those who placed him where he stood.
The drummers mechanically obeyed.
“People,” he said, in a voice which was heard afar off, even in the very confines of the square,—“People, I die innocent of all the crimes of which I am declared guilty. I forgive those who send me to death, and I pray God that the blood you are about to shed may not fall upon France.”